xtravagance. 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
remorse.

At the Thanksgiving sociable some one had observed her turquoise
engagement ring,--some one who said that such a hand was worthy of a
diamond, that turquoises were a pretty color, but that there was only
one stone for an engagement ring, and that was a diamond. At the
Christmas dance the same some one had said her waltzing would make her
"all the rage" in Boston. She wondered if it were true, and wondered
whether, if she had not promised to marry Stephen, some splendid being
from a city would have descended from his heights, bearing diamonds in
his hand. Not that she would have accepted them; she only wondered.
These disloyal thoughts came seldom, and she put them resolutely away,
devoting herself with all the greater assiduity to her muslin curtains
and ruffled pillow-shams. Stephen, too, had his momentary pangs. There
were times when he could calm his doubts only by working on the little
house. The mere sight of the beloved floors and walls and ceilings
comforted his heart, and brought him good cheer.

The winter was a cold one, so bitterly cold that even the rapid water at
the Gray Rock was a mass of curdled yellow ice, something that had only
occurred