Now, after many denials, the hopes and longings of his nature had
been answered, and Rose had promised to marry him. He would
sacrifice his passion for logging and driving in the future, and
become a staid farmer and man of affairs, only giving himself a
river holiday now and then. How still and peaceful it was under
the trees, and how glad his mother would be to think that the old
farm would wake from its sleep, and a woman's light foot be heard
in the sunny kitchen!

Heaven was full of silent stars, and there was a moonglade on the
water that stretched almost from him to Rose. His heart embarked
on that golden pathway and sailed on it to the farther shore.
The river was free of logs, and under the light of the moon it
shone like a silver mirror. The soft wind among the fir branches
breathed Rose's name; the river, rippling against the shore,
sang, "Rose;" and as Stephen sat there dreaming of the future,
his dreams, too, could have been voiced in one word, and that
word " Rose."



THE LITTLE HOUSE

The autumn days flew past like shuttles in a loom. The river
reflected the yellow foliage of the white birch and the scarlet
of the maples. The wayside was bright with goldenrod, with the
red tassels of the sumac, with the purple frost-flower and
feathery clematis.

If Rose was not as happy as Stephen, she was quietly content, and