, we river-drivers. We have to be. It's a rowdy
business."

"I never noticed that," she replied, gravely smiling. "When I was small
I used to go to the river-drivers' camps with my brother, and they were
always kind to us. They used to sing and play the fiddle, and joke; but
I didn't think then that they were rowdy, and I don't now. They were
never rough with us."

"No one'd ever be rough with you," was the reply. "Oh yes," she said
suddenly, and turned her head away. She was thinking of what the young
doctor had said to her that morning; how like a foolish boy he had
acted: upbraiding her, questioning her, saying unreasonable things, as
young egoists always do. In years she was younger than he, but in wisdom
much older: in all things more wise and just. He had not struck her,
but with his reckless tongue he had cut her to the heart. "Oh yes," she
repeated, and her eyes ran up to his face and over his great stalwart
body; and then she leaned over the railing and looked into the water.

"I'd break the man into pieces that was rough with you," he said between
his teeth.

"Would you?" she asked in a whisper. Then, not giving him a chance to
reply, "We are very poor, you know, and some people are rough with the
poor--and proud. I remember," she went on, simply, dreamily, and as if
talking to herself, "the day when we first came to the Bridge House.
I sat down on a box and looked at the furniture--it was so little--and
cried. Coming here seemed the last of what grandfather used to be. I
couldn't help it. He sat down too, and didn't say anything. He was very
pale, and I saw that his eyes ached as he looked at me. Then I got angry
with myself, and sprang up and went to work--and we get along pretty
well."

She paused and sighed; then, after a minute: "I love the river. I don't
believe I could be happy away from it. I should like to live on it, and
die on it, and be buried in it."

His eyes were on her eagerly. But she looked so frail and dainty that
his voice, to himself, sounded rude. Still, his hand blundered along the
railing to hers, and covered it tenderly--for so big a hand. She drew
her fingers away, but not very quickly. "Don't!" she said, "and--and
someone is coming!"

There were footsteps behind them. It was her grandfather, carrying
a board fished from the river. He grasped the situation, and stood
speechless with wonder. He had never thought of this. He was a
gentleman, in spite of all, and this man was a