sink.

"Steve ain't nobody's fool," dissented the old man; "but he's
kind o' daft about the river. When he was little he was allers
buildin' dams in the brook, an' sailin' chips, an' runnin' on the
logs; allers choppin' up stickins an' raftin' 'em together in the
pond. I cal'late Mis' Waterman died consid'able afore her time,
jest from fright, lookin' out the winders and seein' her boys
slippin' between the logs an' gittin' their daily dousin'. She
could n't understand it, an' there's a heap o' things women-folks
never do an' never can understand,--jest because they air
women-folks."

"One o' the things is men, I s'pose," interrupted Mrs. Wiley.

"Men in general, but more partic'larly husbands," assented Old
Kennebec; "howsomever, there's another thing they don't an' can't
never take in, an' that's sport. Steve does river drivin' as he
would horseracin' or tiger-shootin' or tight-rope dancin'; an' he
always did from a boy. When he was about twelve or fifteen, he
used to help the river-drivers spring and fall, reg'lar. He
couldn't do nothin' but shin up an' down the rocks after hammers
an' hatchets an' ropes, but he was turrible pleased with his job.
'Stepanfetchit,' they used to call him them days,
--Stephanfetchit Waterman."

"Good name for him yet," came in acid tones from the sink. "He's
still steppin' an' fetchin', only it's Rose that's doin' the
drivin' now."