wounded like hers?

At last she fell asleep, but it was only by stopping her ears to the

noises of the city streets and making herself imagine the sound of the

river rippling under her bedroom windows at home. The back yards of

Boston faded, and in their place came the banks of the Saco, strewn with

pine needles, fragrant with wild flowers. Then there was the bit of

sunny beach, where Stephen moored his boat. She could hear the sound of

his paddle. Boston lovers came a-courting in the horse-cars, but hers

had floated down stream to her just at dusk in a birch-bark canoe, or

sometimes, in the moonlight, on a couple of logs rafted together.

But it was all over now, and she could see only Stephen's stern face as

he flung the despised turquoise ring down the river bank.


It was early in August when Mrs. Wealthy Brooks announced her speedy

return from Boston to Edgewood.

"It's jest as well Rose is comin' back," said Mr. Wiley to his wife. "I

never favored her goin' to Boston, where that rosy-posy Claude feller is.

When he was down here he was kep' kind o' tied up in a boxstall, but

there he's caperin' loose round the pastur'."

"I should think Rose would be ashamed to come back, after the way she's

carried on," remarked Mrs. Wiley, "but if she needed punishment I guess

she's got it bein' comp'ny-keeper to Wealthy Ann Brooks. Bein' a church

member in good an' reg'lar standin', I s'pose Wealthy Ann'll go to

heaven, but I can only say that it would be a sight pleasanter place for

a good many if she didn't."

"Rose has be'n foolish an' flirty an' wrong-headed," allowed her

grandfather; "but it won't do no good to treat her like a hardened

criminile, same's you did afore she went away. She ain't hardly got her

wisdom teeth cut, in love affairs! She ain't broke the laws of the State

o' Maine, nor any o' the ten commandments; she ain't disgraced the

family, an' there's a chance for her to reform, seein' as how she ain't

twenty year old yet. I was turrible wild an' hot-headed myself afore you

ketched me an' tamed me down."

"You ain't so tame now as I wish you was," Mrs. Wiley replied testily.

"If you could smoke a clay pipe 't would calm your nerves, mother, an'

help you to git some philosophy inter you; you need a little philosophy

turrible bad."

"I need patience consid'able more," was Mrs. Wiley's withering retort.

"That's the way with folks," said Old Kennebec reflectively, as he went

on peacefully puffing. "If you try to indoose 'em to take an int'rest in

a bran'-new virtue, they won't look at it; but they'll run down a side

street an' buy half a yard more o' some turrible old shopworn trait o'

character that they've kep' in stock all their lives, an' that

everybody's sick to death of. There was a man in Gard'ner"--

But alas! the experiences of the Gardiner man, though told in the same

delightful fashion that had won Mrs. Wiley's heart many years before,

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