, an'
I did git a few shiners, but land, they wa'n't as big as the worms I was
ketchin' 'em with, so I pitched 'em back in the water an' quit."

During the progress of these remarks Mr. Wiley opened the door under the
sink, and from beneath a huge iron pot drew a round tray loaded with a
glass pitcher and half a dozen tumblers, which he placed carefully on
the kitchen table.

"This is the last day's option I've got on this lemonade-set," he said,
"an' if I'm goin'to Biddeford to-morrer I've got to make up my mind here
an' now."

With this observation he took off his shoes, climbed in his stocking
feet to the vantage ground of a kitchen chair, and lifted a stone china
pitcher from a corner of the highest cupboard shelf where it had been
hidden.

"This lemonade's gittin' kind o' dusty," he complained, "I cal'lated to
hev a kind of a spree on it when I got through choosin' Rose's weddin'
present, but I guess the pig'll he v to help me out."

The old man filled one of the glasses from the pitcher, pulled up the
kitchen shades to the top, put both hands in his pockets, and walked
solemnly round the table, gazing at his offering from every possible
point of view.

There had been three lemonade sets in the window of a Biddeford crockery
store when Mr. Wiley chanced to pass by, and he had brought home the
blue and green one on approval.

To the casual eye it would have appeared as quite uniquely hideous until
the red and yellow or the purple and orange ones had been seen; after
that, no human being could have made a decision, where each was so
unparalleled in its ugliness, and Old Kennebec's confusion of mind would
have been perfectly understood by the connoisseur.

"How do you like it with the lemonade in, mother?" he inquired eagerly.
"The thing that plagues me most is that the red an' yaller one I hed
home last week lights up better'n this, an' I believe I'll settle on
that; for as I was thinkin' last night in bed, lemonade is mostly an
evenin' drink an' Rose won't be usin' the set much by daylight. Root
beer looks the han'somest in this purple set, but Rose loves lemonade
better'n beer, so I guess I'll pack up this one an' change it to-morrer.
Mebbe when I get it out o' sight an' give the lemonade to the pig I'll
be easier in my mind."

In the opinion of the community at large Stephen's forehandedness in the
matter of preparations for his marriage was imprudence, and his desire
for neatness and beauty flagrant e