was the subjugation of this rebellious province that he sought.

He and Rose had agreed to wait a year for their marriage, in

which time Rose's cousin would finish school and be ready to live

with the old people; meanwhile Stephen had learned that his

maiden aunt would be glad to come and keep house for Rufus. The

work at the River Farm was too hard for a girl, so he had

persuaded himself of late, and the house was so far from the

village that Rose was sure to be lonely. He owned a couple of

acres between his place and the Edgewood bridge, and here, one

afternoon only a month after their engagement, he took Rose to

see the foundations of a little house he was building for her.

It was to be only a story-and-a-half cottage of six small rooms,

the two upper chambers to be finished off 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


"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 happen."

"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

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