generation, sometimes "Turrible Wiley" and sometimes "Old Kennebec," because
of the frequency with which these words appeared in his conversation. There
were not wanting those of late who dubbed him Uncle Ananias, for reasons too
obvious to mention. After a long, indolent, tolerably truthful, and useless
life, he had, at seventy-five, lost sight of the dividing line between fact
and fancy, and drew on his imagination to such an extent that he almost
staggered himself when he began to indulge in reminiscence. He was a feature
of the Edgewood "drive," being always present during the five or six days that
it was in progress, sometimes sitting on the river-bank, sometimes leaning
over the bridge, sometimes reclining against the butt-end of a huge log, but
always chewing tobacco and expectorating to incredible distances as he
criticized and damned impartially all the expedients in use at the particular
moment.

"I want to stay down by the river this afternoon," said Rose. "Ever so many of
the girls will be there, and all my sewing is done up. If grandpa will leave
the horse for me, I'll take the drivers' lunch to them at noon, and bring the
dishes back in time to wash them before supper."

"I suppose you can go, if the rest do," said her grandmother, "though it's an
awful lazy way of spendin' an afternoon. When I was a girl there was no such
dawdlin' goin' on, I can tell you. Nobody thought o' lookin' at the river in
them days; there was n't time."

"But it's such fun to watch the logs!" Rose exclaimed. "Next to dancing, the
greatest fun in the world."

"'Specially as all the young men in town will be there, watchin', too," was
the grandmother's reply. "Eben Brooks an' Richard Bean got home yesterday with
their doctors' diplomas in their pockets. Mrs. Brooks says Eben stood