toes in his hilly yard.

"There he is now," said Rose.

They watched Richard Alger coming towards them, past a great tree
whose new leaves were as red as flowers.

"What do you suppose the reason is?" Rebecca said, in a low voice.

"I don't know. I suppose he's got used to living this way."

"I shouldn't think they'd be very happy," Rebecca said; and she
blushed, and her voice had a shamefaced tone.

"I don't suppose it makes so much difference when folks get older,"
Rose returned.

"Maybe it don't. Rose."

"What is it?"

"I wish you'd go into the store with me."

Rose laughed. "What for?"

"Nothing. Only I wish you would."

"You afraid of William?" Rose peered around into Rebecca's bonnet.

Rebecca blushed until tears came to her eyes. "I'd like to know what
I'd be afraid of William Berry for," she replied.

"Then what do you want me to go into the store with you for?"

"Nothing."

"You're a great ninny, Rebecca Thayer," Rose said, laughing, "but
I'll go if you want me to. I know William won't like it. You run away
from him the whole time. There isn't another girl in Pembroke treats
him as badly as you do."

"I don't treat him badly."

"Yes, you do. And I don't believe but what you like him, Rebecca
Thayer; you wouldn't act so silly if you didn't."

Rebecca was silent. Rose peered around in her face again. "I was only
joking. I think a sight more of you for not running after him, and so
does William. You haven't any idea how some of the girls act chasing
to the store. Mother and I have counted 'em some days, and then we
plague William about it, but he won't own up they come to see him. He
acts more ashamed of it than the girls do."

"That's one thing I never would do--run after any fellow," said
Rebecca.

"I wouldn't either."

Then the two girls had reached the tavern and the store. Rose's
father, Silas Berry, had kept the tavern, but now it was closed,
except to occasional special guests. He had gained a competency, and
his wife Hannah had rebelled against further toil. Then, too, the
railroad had been built through East Pembroke instead of Pembroke,
the old stage line had become a thing of the past, and the tavern was
scantily patronized. Still, Silas Berry had given it up with great
reluctance; he cherished a grudge against his wife because she had
insisted upon it, and would never admit that business policy had
aught to do with it.

The store adjoining the tavern, which he had owned