To the casual eye it would have appeared as quite uniquely
hideous until the red and yellow or the purple and orange ones
had been seen; after that, no human being could have made a
decision, where each was so unparalleled in its ugliness, and Old
Kennebec's confusion of mind would have been perfectly understood
by the connoisseur.

"How do you like it with the lemonade in, mother?" he inquired
eagerly. "The thing that plagues me most is that the red an'
yaller one I hed home last week lights up better'n this, an' I
believe I'll settle on that; for as I was thinkin' last night in
bed, lemonade is mostly an evenin' drink an' Rose won't be usin'
the set much by daylight. Root beer looks the han'somest in this
purple set, but Rose loves lemonade better'n beer, so I guess
I'll pack up this one an' change it to-morrer. Mebbe when I get
it out o' sight an' give the lemonade to the pig I'll be easier
in my mind."

In the opinion of the community at large Stephen's forehandedness
in the matter of preparations for his marriage was imprudence,
and his desire for neatness and beauty flagrant extravagance.
The house itself was a foolish idea, it was thought, but there
were extenuating circumstances, for the maiden aunt really needed
a home, and Rufus was likely to marry before long and take his
wife to the River Farm. It was to be hoped in his case that he
would avoid the snares of beauty and choose a good stout girl who
would bring the dairy back to what it was in Mrs. Waterman's
time.