difference in his excitement, for there was always the possible
chance that she might change her mind and say yes, if only for
variety. Wanting a thing continuously, unchangingly, unceasingly,
year after year, he thought,--longing to reach it as the river
longed to reach the sea,--such wanting might, in course of
time, mean having.

Rose drove up to the bridge with the men's luncheon, and the
under boss came up to take the baskets and boxes from the back of
the wagon.

"We've had a reg'lar tussle this mornin', Rose," he said. "The
logs are determined not to move. Ike Billings, that's the
han'somest and fluentest all-round swearer on the Saco, has tried
his best on the side jam. He's all out o' cuss-words and there
hain't a log budged. Now, stid o' dogwarpin' this afternoon, an'
lettin' the oxen haul off all them stubborn logs by main force,
we're goin' to ask you to set up on the bank and smile at the
jam. 'Land! she can do it!' says Ike a minute ago. 'When Rose
starts smilin',' he says, 'there ain't a jam nor a bung in me
that don't melt like wax and jest float right off same as the
logs do when they get into quiet, sunny water.'"

Rose blushed and laughed, and drove up the hill to Mite
Shapley's, where she put up the horse and waited till the men had
eaten their luncheon. The drivers slept and had breakfast and
supper at the Billings house, a mile down river, but for several
years Mrs. Wiley had furnished the noon meal, sending it down
piping hot on the stroke of twelve. The boys always said that up
or down the whole length of the Saco there was no such cooking as