bottom; accordingly he was able, with the help of two steady workers, to have
the roof on before the first of November. The weather was clear and fine, and
by Thanksgiving clapboards, shingles, two coats of brown paint, and even the
blinds had all been added. This exhibition of reckless energy on Stephen's
part did not wholly commend itself to the neighborhood.

"Steve's too turrible spry," said Rose's grandfather; "he'll trip himself up
some o' these times."

"_You_ never will," remarked his better half, sagely.

"The resks in life come along fast enough, without runnin' to meet 'em,"
continued the old man. "There's good dough in Rose, but it ain't more'n half
riz. Let somebody come along an' drop in a little more yeast, or set the dish
a little mite nearer the stove, an' you'll see what 'll happen."

"Steve's kept house for himself some time, an' I guess he knows more about
bread-makin' than you do."

"There don't nobody know more'n I do about nothin', when my pipe's drawin'
real good an' nobody's thornin' me to go to work," replied Mr. Wiley; "but
nobody's willin' to take the advice of a man that's seen the world an' lived
in large places, an' the risin' generation is in a turrible hurry. I don' know
how 't is: young folks air allers settin' the clock forrard an' the old ones
puttin' it back."

"Did you ketch anything for dinner when you was out this mornin'?" asked his
wife.

"No, I fished an' fished, till I was about ready to drop, an' I did git a few