Roses grandfather was called, by the irreverent younger generation, sometimes Turrible Wiley and sometimes Old Kennebec, because of the frequency with which these words appeared in his conversation. There were not wanting those of late who dubbed him Uncle Ananias, for reasons too obvious to mention. After a long, indolent, tolerably truthful, and useless life, he had, at seventy-five, lost sight of the dividing line between fact and fancy, and drew on his imagination to such an extent that he almost staggered himself when he began to indulge in reminiscence. He was a feature of the Edgewood drive, being always present during the five or six days that it was in progress, sometimes sitting on the river-bank, sometimes leaning over the bridge, sometimes reclining against the butt-end of a huge log, but always chewing tobacco and expectorating to incredible distances as he criticized and damned impartially all the expedients in use at the particular moment.
I want to stay down by the river this afternoon, said Rose. Ever so many of the girls will be there, and all my sewing is done up. If grandpa will leave the horse for me, Ill take the drivers lunch to them at noon, and bring the dishes back in time to wash them before supper.
I suppose you can go, if the rest do, said her grandmother, though its an awful lazy way of spendin an afternoon. When I was a girl there was no such dawdlin goin on, I can tell you. Nobody thought o lookin at the river in them days; there wasnt time.
But its such fun to watch the logs! Rose exclaimed. Next to dancing, the greatest fun in the world.
Specially as all the young men in town will be there, watchin, too, was the grandmothers reply. Eben Brooks an Richard Bean got home yesterday with their doctors diplomas in their pockets. Mrs. Brooks says Eben stood forty-nine in a class o fifty-five, an seemed considable proud of him; an I guess it is the first time he ever stood anywheres but at the foot. I tell you when these fifty-five new doctors git scattered over the country therell be considable many folks keepin house under ground. Dick Beans goin to stop a spell with Rufe an Steve Waterman. Thatll make one more to play in the river.
Rufus aint hardly got his workin legs on yit, allowed Mr. Wiley, but Steves all right. Hes a turrible smart driver, an turrible reckless, too. Hell take all the chances there is, though to a man thats lived on the Kennebec there aint what can rightly be called any turrible chances on the Saco.
Hed better be tendin to his farm, objected Mrs. Wiley.
His hay is all in, Rose spoke up quickly, and he only helps on the river when the farm work isnt pressing. Besides, though its all play to him, he earns his two dollars and a half a day.
He dont keer about the two and a half, said her grandfather. He jest cant keep away from the logs. Theres some that cant. When I first moved here from Gardner, where the climate never suited me
The climate of any place where you hev regular work never did an never will suit you, remarked the old mans wife; but the interruption received no comment: such mistaken views of his character were too frequent to make any impression.
As I was sayin, Rose, he continued, when we first moved here from Gardner, we lived neighbor to the Watermans. Steve an Rufus was little boys then, always playin with a couple o wild cousins o theirn, considable older. Steve would scare his mother pretty nigh to death stealin away to the mill to ride on the carriage, side o the log that was bein sawed, hitchin clean out over the river an then jerkin back most into the jaws o the machinery.
He never hed any common sense to spare, even when he was a young one, remarked Mrs. Wiley; and I dont see as all the cademy education his father throwed away on him has changed him much. And with this observation she rose from the table and went to the sink.
Steve aint nobodys fool, dissented the old man; but hes kind o daft about the river. When he was little he was allers buildin dams in the brook, an sailin chips, an runnin on the logs; allers choppin up stickins an raftin em together in the pond. I callate Mis Waterman died considable afore her time, jest from fright, lookin out the winders and seein her boys slippin between the logs an gittin their daily dousin. She couldnt understand it, an theres a heap o things women-folks never do an never can understand,jest because they air women-folks.
One o the things is men, I spose, interrupted Mrs. Wiley.
Men in general, but more particlarly husbands, assented Old Kennebec; howsomever, theres another thing they dont an cant never take in, an thats sport. Steve does river drivin as he would horseracin or tiger-shootin or tight-rope dancin; an he always did from a boy. When he was about twelve or fifteen, he used to help the river-drivers spring and fall, reglar. He couldnt do nothin but shin up an down the rocks after hammers an hatchets an ropes, but he was turrible pleased with his job. Stepanfetchit, they used to call him them days,Stephanfetchit Waterman.
Good name for him yet, came in acid tones from the sink. Hes still steppin an fetchin, only its Rose thats doin the drivin now.
Im not driving anybody, that I know of, answered Rose, with heightened color, but with no loss of her habitual self-command.
Then, when he graduated from errants, went on the crafty old man, who knew that when breakfast ceased, churning must begin, Steve used to get seventy-five cents a day helpin clear up the riverif you can call this here silvry streamlet a river. Hed pick off a log here an there an send it afloat, an dig out them that hed got ketched in the rocks, and tidy up the banks jest like spring house-cleanin. If hed hed any kind of a boss, an hed ben trained on the Kennebec, hed a made a turrible smart driver, Steve would.
Hell be drownded, thats whatll become o him, prophesied Mrs. Wiley; specially if Rose encourages him in such silly foolishness as ridin logs from his house down to ourn, dark nights.
Seein as how Steve built ye a nice pig pen last month, pears to me you might have a good word for him now an then, mother, remarked Old Kennebec, reaching for his second piece of pie.
I want a mite deceived by that pig pen, no moren I was by Jed Towles hen coop, nor Ivory Dunns well-curb, nor Pitt Packards shed-steps. If you hed ever kep up your buildins yourself, Roses beaux wouldnt hev to do their courtin with carpenters tools.
Its the pigpen an the hencoop you want to keep your eye on, mother, not the motives of them as made em. Its turrible onsettlin to inspeck folks motives too turrible close.
Riding a log is no more to Steve than riding a horse, so he says, interposed Rose, to change the subject; but I tell him that a horse doesnt revolve under you, and go sideways at the same time that it is going forwards.
Log-ridin aint no trick at all to a man of sperit, said Mr. Wiley. Theres a few places in the Kennebec where the waters too shaller to let the logs float, so we used to build a flume, an the logs would whiz down like arrers shot from a bow. The boys used to collect by the side o that there flume to see me ride a log down, an Ive watched em drop in a dead faint when I spun by the crowd; but land! you cant drownd some folks, not without you tie nail-kags to their head an feet an drop em in the falls; I ve rid logs down the bilinest rapids o the Kennebec an never lost my head. I remember well the year o the gret freshet, I rid a log from