lcome to know.'

"He spoke right out, loud an' plain, jest as if he was readin' the
Declaration of Independence. I expected the boys would everlastin'ly
poke fun at him, but they never said a word. I guess his eyes flashed,
for he come out the screen door, slammin' it after him, and stalked by
me as if he was too worked up to notice anything or anybody. I did n't
foller him, for his long legs git over the ground too fast for me, but
thinks I, 'Mebbe I'll hev some use for my lemonade-set after all.'"

"I hope to the land you will," responded Mrs. Wiley, "for I'm about sick
o' movin' it round when I sweep under my bed. And I shall be glad if
Rose an' Stephen do make it up, for Wealthy Ann Brooks's gossip is too
much for a Christian woman to stand."

XIV. Housebreaking

Where was the pale Rose, the faded Rose, that crept noiselessly down
from her room, wanting neither to speak nor to be spoken to? Nobody ever
knew. She vanished forever, and in her place a thing of sparkles and
dimples flashed up the stairway and closed the door softly. There was
a streak of moon-shine lying across the bare floor, and a merry ghost,
with dressing-gown held prettily away from bare feet, danced a gay
fandango among the yellow moonbeams. There were breathless flights to
the open window, and kisses thrown in the direction of the River Farm.
There were impressive declamations at the looking-glass, where a radiant
creature pointed to her reflection and whispered, "Worthless little pig,
he loves you, after all!"

Then, when quiet joy had taken the place of mad delight, there was a
swoop down upon the floor, an impetuous hiding of brimming eyes in the
white counterpane, and a dozen impassioned promises to herself and to
something higher than herself, to be a better girl.

The mood lasted, and deepened, and still Rose did not move. Her heart
was on its knees before Stephen's faithful love, his chivalry, his
strength. Her troubled spirit, like a frail boat tossed about in the
rapids, seemed entering a quiet harbor, where there were protecting
shores and a still, still evening star. Her sails were all torn
and drooping, but the harbor was in sight, and the poor little
weather-beaten craft could rest in peace.

A period of grave reflection now ensued, under the bedclothes, where one
could think better. Suddenly an inspiration seized her, an inspiration
so original, so delicious, and above all so humble and praiseworthy,
that it brought