novelist, and Uncle Jerry, though a stage-driver and no reading
man, at once perceived the flabbiness and transparency of the
Parted Lovers the moment they were held up to his inspection.

"You see Riverboro people WILL make a story!" asserted Rebecca
triumphantly as she finished her reading and folded the paper.
"And it all came from my noticing the river drivers' tracks by
the roadside, and wondering about them; and wondering always
makes stories; the minister says so."

"Ye-es," allowed Uncle Jerry reflectively, tipping his chair back
against the apple tree and forcing his slow mind to violent and
instantaneous action, for Rebecca was his pride and joy; a
person, in his opinion, of superhuman talent, one therefore to be
"whittled into shape" if occasion demanded.

"It's a Riverboro story, sure enough, because you've got the
river and the bridge and the hill and the drivers all right there
in it; but there's something awful queer bout it; the folks don't
act Riverboro, and don't talk Riverboro, cordin' to my notions. I
call it a reg'lar book story."

"But," objected Rebecca, "the people in Cinderella didn't act
like us, and you thought that was a beautiful story when I told
it to you."

"I know," replied Uncle Jerry, gaining eloquence in the heat of
argument. "They didn't act like us, but 't any rate they acted
like 'emselves! Somehow they was all of a piece. Cinderella was a
little too good, mebbe, and the sisters was most too thunderin'