Gard'ner, we lived neighbor to the Watermans. Steve an' Rufus was little boys
then, always playin' with a couple o' wild cousins o' theirn, consid'able
older. Steve would scare his mother pretty nigh to death stealin' away to the
mill to ride on the 'carriage,' 'side o' the log that was bein' sawed,
hitchin' clean out over the river an' then jerkin' back 'most into the jaws o'
the machinery."

"He never hed any common sense to spare, even when he was a young one,"
remarked Mrs. Wiley; "and I don't see as all the 'cademy education his father
throwed away on him has changed him much." And with this observation she rose
from the table and went to the sink.

"Steve ain't nobody's fool," dissented the old man; "but he's kind o' daft
about the river. When he was little he was allers buildin' dams in the brook,
an' sailin' chips, an' runnin' on the logs; allers choppin' up stickins an'
raftin' 'em together in the pond. I cai'late Mis' Waterman died consid'able
afore her time, jest from fright, lookin' out the winders and seein' her boys
slippin' between the logs an' gittin' their daily dousin'. She could n't
understand it, an' there's a heap o' things women-folks never do an' never can
understand,--jest because they _air_ women-folks."

"One o' the things is men, I s'pose," interrupted Mrs. Wiley.

"Men in general, but more partic'larly husbands," assented Old Kennebec;
"howsomever, there's another thing they don't an' can't never take in, an'
that's sport. Steve does river-drivin' as he would horse-racin' or tiger-
shootin' or tight-rope dancin'; an' he always did from a boy. When he was
about twelve to fifteen, he used to help the river-drivers spring and fall,
reg'lar. He could n't do nothin' but shin up an' down the rocks after hammers
an' hatchets an' ropes, but he was turrible pleased with his job.