Rose had reason to remember Stephen's adventure, for he had clambered up the
bank, smiling and blushing under the hurrahs of the boys, and, coming to the
wagon where she sat waiting for her grandfather, had seized a moment to
whisper: "Did you care whether I came across safe, Rose? Say you did!"

Stephen recalled that question, too, on this August morning; perhaps because
this was to be a red-letter day, and some time, when he had a free moment,--
some time before supper, when he and Rose were sitting apart from the others,
watching the logs,--he intended again to ask her to marry him. This thought
trembled in him, stirring the deeps of his heart like a great wave, almost
sweeping him off his feet when he held it too close and let it have full sway.
It would be the fourth time that he had asked Rose this question of all
questions, but there was no úperceptible difference in his excitement, for
there was always the possible chance that she might change her mind and say
yes, if only for variety. Wanting a thing continuously, unchangingly,
unceasingly, year after year, he thought,--longing to reach it as the river
longed to reach the sea,--such wanting might, in course of time, mean having.

Rose drove up to the bridge with the men's luncheon, and the under boss came
up to take the baskets and boxes from the back of the wagon.

"We've had a reg'lar tussle this mornin', Rose," he said. "The logs are
determined not to move. Ike Billings, that's the han'somest and fluentest
all-round swearer on the Saco, has tried his best on the side jam. He's all
out o' cuss-words and there hain't a log budged. Now, stid o' dog-warpin' this
afternoon, an' lettin' the oxen haul off all them stubborn logs by main force,
we're goin' to ask you to set up on the bank and smile at the jam. 'Land! she
can do it!' says Ike a minute ago. 'When Rose starts smilin',' he says, 'there
ain't a jam nor a bung in _me_ that don't melt like wax and jest float right