hev a kind of a spree on it when I got through choosin' Rose's weddin'

present, but I guess the pig'll he v to help me out."

The old man filled one of the glasses from the pitcher, pulled up the

kitchen shades to the top, put both hands in his pockets, and walked

solemnly round the table, gazing at his offering from every possible

point of view.

There had been three lemonade sets in the window of a Biddeford crockery

store when Mr. Wiley chanced to pass by, and he had brought home the

blue and green one on approval.

To the casual eye it would have appeared as quite uniquely hideous until

the red and yellow or the purple and orange ones had been seen; after

that, no human being could have made a decision, where each was so

unparalleled in its ugliness, and Old Kennebec's confusion of mind would

have been perfectly understood by the connoisseur.

"How do you like it with the lemonade in, mother?" he inquired eagerly.

"The thing that plagues me most is that the red an' yaller one I hed

home last week lights up better'n this, an' I believe I'll settle on

that; for as I was thinkin' last night in bed, lemonade is mostly an

evenin' drink an' Rose won't be usin' the set much by daylight. Root

beer looks the han'somest in this purple set, but Rose loves lemonade

better'n beer, so I guess I'll pack up this one an' change it to-morrer.

Mebbe when I get it out o' sight an' give the lemonade to the pig I'll

be easier in my mind."

In the opinion of the community at large Stephen's forehandedness in the

matter of preparations for his marriage was imprudence, and his desire

for neatness and beauty flagrant extravagance. The house itself was a

foolish idea, it was thought, but there were extenuating circumstances,

for the maiden aunt really needed a home, and Rufus was likely to marry

before long and take his wife to the River Farm. It was to be hoped in

his case that he would avoid the snares of beauty and choose a good

stout girl who would bring the dairy back to what it was in Mrs.

Waterman's time.

All winter long Stephen labored on the inside of the cottage, mostly by

himself. He learned all trades in succession, Love being his only

master. He had many odd days to spare from his farm work, and if he had

not found days he would have taken nights. Scarcely a nail was driven

without Rose's advice; and when the plastering was hard and dry, the

wall-papers were the result of weeks of consultation.

Among the quiet joys of life there is probably no other so deep, so

sweet, so full of trembling hope and delight, as the building and making

of a home,--a home where two lives are to be merged in one and flow on

together, a home full of mysterious and delicious possibilities, hidden

in a future which is always rose-colored.

Rose's sweet little nature broadened under Stephen's influence; but she

had her moments of discontent and unrest, always followed quickly by

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