later on. Stephen had placed it well back from the road, leaving space

in front for what was to be a most wonderful arrangement of flower-beds,

yet keeping a strip at the back, on the river-brink, for a small

vegetable garden. There had been a house there years before--so many

years that the blackened ruins were entirely overgrown; but a few elms

and an old apple-orchard remained to shade the new dwelling and give

welcome to the coming inmates.

Stephen had fifteen hundred dollars in bank, he could turn his hand to

almost anything, and his love was so deep that Rose's plumb-line had

never sounded bottom; accordingly he was able, with the help of two

steady workers, to have the roof on before the first of November. The

weather was clear and fine, and by Thanksgiving clapboards, shingles,

two coats of brown paint, and even the blinds had all been added. This

exhibition of reckless energy on Stephen's part did not wholly commend

itself to the neighborhood.

"Steve's too turrible spry," said Rose's grandfather; "he'll trip

himself up some o' these times."

"You never will," remarked his better half, sagely.

"The resks in life come along fast enough, without runnin' to meet 'em,"

continued the old man. "There's good dough in Rose, but it ain't more'n

half riz. Let somebody come along an' drop in a little more yeast, or

set the dish a little mite nearer the stove, an' you'll see what'll


"Steve's kept house for himself some time, an' I guess he knows more

about bread-makin' than you do."

"There don't nobody know more'n I do about nothin', when my pipe's

drawin' real good an' nobody's thornin' me to go to work," replied Mr.

Wiley; "but nobody's willin' to take the advice of a man that's seen the

world an' lived in large places, an' the risin' generation is in a

turrible hurry. I don' know how 't is: young folks air allers settin'

the clock forrard an' the old ones puttin' it back."

"Did you ketch anything for dinner when you was out this mornin'?" asked

his wife. "No, I fished an' fished, till I was about ready to drop, an'

I did git a few shiners, but land, they wa'n't as big as the worms I was

ketchin' 'em with, so I pitched 'em back in the water an' quit."

During the progress of these remarks Mr. Wiley opened the door under the

sink, and from beneath a huge iron pot drew a round tray loaded with a

glass pitcher and half a dozen tumblers, which he placed carefully on

the kitchen table.

"This is the last day's option I've got on this lemonade-set," he said,

"an' if I'm goin'to Biddeford to-morrer I've got to make up my mind here

an' now."

With this observation he took off his shoes, climbed in his stocking

feet to the vantage ground of a kitchen chair, and lifted a stone china

pitcher from a corner of the highest cupboard shelf where it had been


"This lemonade's gittin' kind o' dusty," he complained, "I cal'lated to

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