of many teams brought home, and the pits and the hoisting tackle
were being prepared and strengthened to deal with it, Mr. Gundry, being
full of the subject, declared that he would have his dinner in the mill
yard. He was anxious to watch, without loss of time, the settlement of
some heavy timbers newly sunk in the river's bed, to defend the outworks
of the mill. Having his good leave to bring him his pipe, I found him
sitting upon a bench with a level fixed before him, and his empty
plate and cup laid by, among a great litter of tools and things. He was
looking along the level with one eye shut, and the other most sternly
intent; but when I came near he rose and raised his broad pith hat, and
made me think that I was not interrupting him.

"Here is your pipe, Uncle Sam," I said; for, in spite of all his formal
ways, I would not be afraid of him. I had known him now quite long
enough to be sure he was good and kind. And I knew that the world around
these parts was divided into two hemispheres, the better half being
of those who loved, and the baser half made of those who hated, Sawyer
Sampson Gundry.

"What a queer world it is!" said Mr. Gundry, accepting his pipe to
consider that point. "Who ever would have dreamed, fifty years agone,
that your father's daughter would ever have come with a pipe to light
for my father's son?"

"Uncle Sam," I replied, as he slowly began to make those puffs which
seem to be of the highest essence of pleasure, and wisps of blue
smoke flitted through his white eyebrows and among the snowy curls of
hair--"dear Uncle Sam, I am sure that it would be an honor to a princess
to light a pipe for a man like you."

"Miss Rema, I should rather you would talk no nonsense," he answered,
very shortly, and he set his eye along his level, as if I had offended
him. Not knowing how to assert myself and declare that I had spoken my
honest thoughts, I merely sat down on the bench and waited for him to
speak again to me. But he made believe to be very busy, and scarcely to
know that I was there. I had a great mind to cry, but resolved not to do
it.

"Why, how is this? What's the matter?" he exclaimed at last, when I had
been watching the water so long that I sighed to know where it was going
to. "Why, missy, you look as if you had never a friend in all the wide
world left."

"Then I must look very ungrateful," I said; "for at any rate I have one,
and a good one."

"And don't you know of any one but m