and
the drivers themselves would pass from heated discussion into long
consultations.

"They're paid by the day," Old Kennebec would philosophize to the
doctor; "an' when they're consultin' they don't hev to be doggin', which
is a turrible sight harder work."

Rose had created a small sensation, on one occasion, by pointing out to
the under boss the key-log in a jam. She was past mistress of the
pretty game of jackstraws, much in vogue at that time. The delicate
little lengths of polished wood or bone were shaken together and emptied
on the table. Each jackstraw had one of its ends fashioned in the shape
of some sort of implement,--a rake, hoe, spade, fork, or mallet. All the
pieces were intertwined by the shaking process, and they lay as they
fell, in a hopeless tangle. The task consisted in taking a tiny
pick-pole, scarcely bigger than a match, and with the bit of curved wire
on the end lifting off the jackstraws one by one without stirring the
pile or making it tremble. When this occurred, you gave place to your
opponent, who relinquished his turn to you when ill fortune descended
upon him, the game, which was a kind of river-driving and jam-picking in
miniature, being decided by the number of pieces captured and their
value. No wonder that the under boss asked Rose's advice as to the
key-log. She had a fairy's hand, and her cunning at deciding the pieces
to be moved, and her skill at extricating and lifting them from the
heap, were looked upon in Edgewood as little less than supernatural. It
was a favorite pastime; and although a man's hand is ill adapted to it,
being over-large and heavy; the game has obvious advantages for a lover
in bringing his head very close to that of his beloved adversary. The
jackstraws have to be watched with a hawk's eagerness, since the
"trembling" can be discerned only by a keen eye; but there were moments
when Stephen was willing to risk the loss of a battle if he could watch
Rose's drooping eyelashes, the delicate down on her pink cheek, and the
feathery curls that broke away from her hair.

He was looking at her now from a distance, for she and Mite Shapley were
assisting Jed Towle to pile up the tin plates and tie the tin dippers
together. Next she peered into one of the bean-pots, and seemed pleased
that there was still something in its depths; then she gathered the
fragments neatly together in a basket, and, followed by her friend,
clambered down the banks to a shady spot wher