he felt that Rose was not wholly his,
that she reserved, withheld something; and it was the subjugation of
this rebellious province that he sought. He and Rose had agreed to wait
a year for their marriage, in which time Rose's cousin would finish
school and be ready to live with the old people; meanwhile Stephen had
learned that his maiden aunt would be glad to come and keep house for
Rufus. The work at the River Farm was too hard for a girl, so he had
persuaded himself of late, and the house was so far from the village
that Rose was sure to be lonely. He owned a couple of acres between
his place and the Edgewood bridge, and here, one afternoon only a month
after their engagement, he took Rose to see the foundations of a little
house he was building for her. It was to be only a story-and-a-half
cottage of six small rooms, the two upper chambers to be finished off
later on. Stephen had placed it well back from the road, leaving space
in front for what was to be a most wonderful arrangement of flower-beds,
yet keeping a strip at the back, on the river-brink, for a small
vegetable garden. There had been a house there years before-so many
years that the blackened ruins were entirely overgrown; but a few elms
and an old apple-orchard remained to shade the new dwelling and give
welcome to the coming inmates.

Stephen had fifteen hundred dollars in bank, he could turn his hand to
almost anything, and his love was so deep that Rose's plumb-line had
never sounded 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