r
room I can't keep 'em in here with the groc'ries. Jim (that's his new
store boy), you jest take a lantern an' run out in the far corner o' the
shed, at the end o' the hickory woodpile, an' see how many pulpits we've
got in stock!' Well, Jim run out, an' when he come back he says, 'We've
got two, Mr. Pike. Shall I bring one of 'em in?'

"At that the boys all bust out laughin' an' hollerin' an' tauntin' the
Gorham man, an' he paid up with a good will, I tell ye!"

"I don't approve of bettin'," said Mrs. Wiley grimly, "but I'll try to
sanctify the money by usin' it for a new wash-boiler."

"The fact is," explained Old Kennebec, somewhat confused, "that the boys
made me spend every cent of it then an' there."

Rose heard her grandmother's caustic reply, and then paid no further
attention until her keen ear caught the sound of Stephen's name. It was
a part of her unhappiness that since her broken engagement no one
would ever allude to him, and she longed to hear him mentioned, so that
perchance she could get some inkling of his movements.

"I met Stephen tonight for the first time in a week," said Mr. Wiley.
"He kind o' keeps out o' my way lately. He's goin' to drive his span
into Portland tomorrow mornin' and bring Rufus home from the hospital
Sunday afternoon. The doctors think they've made a success of their job,
but Rufus has got to be bandaged up a spell longer. Stephen is goin' to
join the drive Monday mornin' at the bridge here, so I'll get the latest
news o' the boy. Land! I'll be turrible glad if he gets out with his
eyesight, if it's only for Steve's sake. He's a turrible good fellow,
Steve is! He said something tonight that made me set more store by him
than ever. I told you I hed n't heard an unkind word ag'in' Rose sence
she come home from Boston, an' no more I hev till this evenin'. There
was two or three fellers talkin' in the post-office, an' they did n't
suspicion I was settin' on the steps outside the screen door. That Jim
Jenkins, that Rose so everlastin'ly snubbed at the tavern dance, spoke
up, an' says he: 'This time last year Rose Wiley could 'a' hed the
choice of any man on the river, an' now I bet ye she can't get nary
one.'

"Steve was there, jest goin' out the door, with some bags o' coffee an'
sugar under his arm.

"'I guess you're mistaken about that,' he says, speakin' up jest like
lightnin'; 'so long as Stephen Waterman's alive, Rose Wiley can have
him, for one; and that everybody's we