Take it altogether, sisters, it seems to me that catching and eating crabs is an amusement which promises better than bathing. If I am not very much mistaken, Mr. Burke held my hand longer than was quite necessary when he said good-night after we reached the hotel. I saw E. E. looking at us sideways, and I let it rest--rest lovingly in his clasp long enough to wring her heart. What right has she to have any feeling about it, I should like to know? Isn't she married? CHAPTER XCIV. EXTRA POLITENESS. Dear sisters:--Life is a pleasant thing to have when its chariot-wheels revolve in smooth places. I went to bed last night angry with Cousin E. E. Ever since Mr. Burke was introduced into our party she has exhibited a desire for gentlemen's attention which I think entirely unbecoming a married lady. I do not wish to be severe or captious; such feelings should be left to maiden ladies of an age that I have not yet dreamed of reaching. But a married woman who hankers after any other man's society than that of her own lawful husband is--well, not to speak harshly, an example that some people may follow, but I won't. This morning, as we sat on the long stoop of the hotel, gazing out on the broad expanse of the boundless ocean, Mr. Burke came gently to my side, and spoke: "Miss Frost." My heart beat; my eyelids dropped, but I lifted them, in shy innocence, to his face, inquiringly, wistfully. What would he say next? "Miss Frost, have you ever seen a clam-bake?" I reflected a moment. Were clam-bakes indigenous to our Vermont soil? Were they a product of the mountains, or a spontaneous growth of the river vales? "I do not think I have ever seen them growing in Vermont," says I, at last; "yet there are few roots or vegetables, wild or tame, that I don't know something about. There is wake-robin, on the mountains, with its spokes of red berries; and snake-root, and adder's-tongue; but I don't remember clam-bakes among them, and I know they are not cultivated in our parts as garden-sas, I beg pardon, as vegetables." Mr. Burke smiled out loud, and his black mustache curled down on each side of his lips delightfully. "I fancy you have never seen anything of the kind in Vermont. Clam-bakes are only found at the sea-side--principally around Rhode Island. I don't think they prevail much in the mountains, as yet." "You don't say so!" says I. "Then they are a salt-water plant?" "Principally found in the sand and mud." "That don't seem to me very remarkable," says I; "most vegetables are found in one or the other. Watermelons, for instance, grow best in a bare sand-bank: perhaps your new-fangled vegetable is of that species?" Again his black mustache gave a lovely curl, and his black eyes looked into mine so tenderly, as if something I had said tickled him almost to death. "You _are_ an original creature," said he. I put one hand on my heart, and bowed.