a new and becoming gray flannel shirt, with the soft turnover

collar that belonged to it, and a blue tie, the color of his kind

eyes. She knew that he had shaved his beard at her request not

long ago, and that when she did not like the effect as much as

she had hoped, he had meekly grown a mustache for her sake; it

did seem as if a man could hardly do more to please an exacting


And she had admired him unreservedly when he pulled off his boots

and jumped into the river to save Alcestis Crambry's life,

without giving a single thought to his own. And was there ever,

after all, such a noble, devoted, unselfish fellow, or a better

brother? And would she not despise herself for rejecting him

simply because he was countrified, and because she longed to see

the world of the fashion-plates in the magazines?

"The logs are so like people!" she exclaimed, as they sat down.

"I could name nearly every one of them for somebody in the

village. Look at Mite Shapley, that dancing little one, slipping

over the falls and skimming along the top of the water, keeping

out of all the deep places, and never once touching the rocks."

Stephen fell into her mood. "There's Squire Anderson coming down

crosswise and bumping everything in reach. You know he's always

buying lumber and logs without knowing what he is going to do

with them. They just lie and rot by the roadside. The boys

always say that a toad-stool is the old Squire's 'mark' on a


"And that stout, clumsy one is Short Dennett.--What are you

doing, Stephen!"

"Only building a fence round this clump of harebells," Stephen

replied. "They've just got well rooted, and if the boys come

skidding down the bank with their spiked shoes, the poor things

will never hold up their heads again. Now they're safe.--Oh,

look, Rose! There come the minister and his wife!"

A portly couple of peeled logs, exactly matched in size, came

ponderously over the falls together, rose within a second of each

other, joined again, and swept under the bridge side by side.

"And--oh! oh! Dr. and Mrs. Cram just after them! Isn't that

funny?" laughed Rose, as a very long, slender pair of pines swam

down, as close to each other as if they had been glued in that

position. Rose thought, as she watched them, who but Stephen

would have cared what became of the clump of delicate harebells.

How gentle such a man would be to a woman! How tender his touch

would be if she were ill or in trouble!

Several single logs followed,--crooked ones, stolid ones,

adventurous ones, feeble swimmers, deep divers. Some of them

tried to start a small jam on their own account; others stranded

themselves for good and all, as Rose and Stephen sat there side

by side, with little Dan Cupid for an invisible third on the


"There never was anything so like people," Rose repeated, leaning

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