loved Stephen more or less: more when he was away from her, because she never
approved his collars nor the set of his shirt bosom; and as he naturally wore
these despised articles of apparel whenever he proposed to her, she was always
lukewarm about marrying him and settling down on the River Farm. Still, today
she discovered in herself, with positive gratitude, a warmer feeling for him
than she had experienced before. He wore a new and becoming gray flannel
shirt, with the soft turn-over collar that belonged to it, and a blue tie, the
color of his kind eyes. She knew that he had shaved his beard at her request
not long ago, and that when she did not like the effect as much as she had
hoped, he had meekly grown a mustache for her sake; it did seem as if a man
could hardly do more to please an exacting ladylove.

And she had admired him unreservedly when he pulled off his boots and jumped
into the river to save Alcestis Crambry's life, without giving a single
thought to his own.

And was there ever, after all, such a noble, devoted, unselfish fellow, or a
better brother? And would she not despise herself for rejecting him simply
because he was countrified, and because she longed to see the world of the
fashion plates in the magazines?

"The logs are so like people!" she exclaimed as they sat down. "I could name
nearly every one of them for somebody in the village. Look at Mite Shapley,
that dancing little one, slipping over the falls and skimming along the top of
the water, keeping out of all the deep places, and never once touching the
rocks."

Stephen fell into her mood. "There's Squire Anderson coming down crosswise and
bumping everything in reach. You know he's always buying lumber and logs
without knowing what he is going to do with them. They just lie and rot by the