roadside. The boys always say that a toadstool is the old Squire's 'mark' on a
log."

"And that stout, clumsy one is Short Dennett.--What are you doing, Stephen?"

"Only building a fence round this clump of harebells," Stephen replied.
"They've just got well rooted, and if the boys come skidding down the bank
with their spiked shoes, the poor things will never hold up their heads again.
Now they're safe.--Oh, look, Rose! There come the minister and his wife!"

A portly couple of peeled logs, exactly matched in size, came ponderously over
the falls together, rose within a second of each other, joined again, and
swept under the bridge side by side.

"And--oh! oh!--Dr. and Mrs. Cram just after them! Isn't that funny?" laughed
Rose, as a very long, slender pair of pines swam down, as close to each other
as if they had been glued in that position. Rose thought, as she watched them,
who but Stephen would have cared what became of the clump of delicate
harebells. How gentle such a man would be to a woman! How tender his touch
would be if she were ill or in trouble!

Several single logs followed,--crooked ones, stolid ones, adventurous ones,
feeble swimmers, deep divers. Some of them tried to start a small jam on their
own account; others stranded themselves for good and all, as Rose and Stephen
sat there side by side, with little Dan Cupid for an invisible third on the
bench.

"There never was anything so like people," Rose repeated, leaning forward
excitedly. "And, upon my word, the minister and doctor couples are still
together. I wonder if they'll get as far as the fails at Union? That would be