So, on one bank of the river grew the brier rose, a fragile thing, swaying on a slender stalk and looking at its pretty reflection in the water; and on the other a sturdy pine tree, well rooted against wind and storm. And the sturdy pine yearned for the wild rose; and the rose, so far as it knew, yearned for nothing at all, certainly not for rugged pine trees standing tall and grim in rocky soil. If, in its present stage of development, it gravitated toward anything in particular, it would have been a well-dressed white birch growing on an irreproachable lawn.
And the river, now deep, now shallow, now smooth, now tumultuous, now sparkling in sunshine, now gloomy under clouds, rolled on to the engulfing sea. It could not stop to concern itself with the petty comedies and tragedies that were being enacted along its shores, else it would never have reached its destination. Only last night, under a full moon, there had been pairs of lovers leaning over the rails of all the bridges along its course; but that was a common sight, like that of the ardent couples sitting on its shady banks these summer days, looking only into each others eyes, but exclaiming about the beauty of the water. Lovers would come and go, sometimes reappearing with successive installments of loves in a way wholly mysterious to the river. Meantime it had its own work to do and must be about it, for the side jams were to be broken and the boom let out at the Edgewood bridge.
II. Old Kennebec
It was just seven oclock that same morning when Rose Wiley smoothed the last wrinkle from her dimity counterpane, picked up a shred of corn-husk from the spotless floor under the bed, slapped a mosquito on the window-sill, removed all signs of murder with a moist towel, and before running down to breakfast cast a frowning look at her pincushion. Almira, otherwise Mite, Shapley had been in her room the afternoon before and disturbed with her careless hand the pattern of Roses pins. They were kept religiously in the form of a Maltese cross; and if, while she was extricating one from her clothing, there had been an alarm of fire, Rose would have stuck the pin in its appointed place in the design, at the risk of losing her life.
Entering the kitchen with her light step, she brought the morning sunshine with her. The old people had already engaged in differences of opinion, but they commonly suspended open warfare in her presence. There were the usual last things to be done for breakfast, offices that belonged to her as her grandmothers assistant. She took yesterdays soda biscuits out of the steamer where they were warming and softening; brought an apple pie and a plate of seed cakes from the pantry; settled the coffee with a piece of dried fish skin and an egg shell; and transferred some fried potatoes from the spider to a covered dish.
Did you remember the meat, grandpa? Were all out, she said, as she began buttoning a stiff collar around his reluctant neck.
Remember? Land, yes! I wisht I ever could forgit anything! The butcher says hes bout tired o travelin over the country lookin for critters to kill, but if he finds anything hell be up along in the course of a week. He aint a real smart butcher, Cyse Higgins aint.Land, Rose, dont button that dickey clean through my epperdummis! I have to sport starched collars in this life on account o you and your granmother bein so chock full o style; but I hope to the Lord I shant have to wear em in another world!
You wont, his wife responded with the snap of a dish towel, or if you do, theyll wilt with the heat.
Rose smiled, but the soft hand with which she tied the neckcloth about the old mans withered neck pacified his spirit, and he smiled knowingly back at her as she took her seat at the breakfast table spread near the open kitchen door. She was a dazzling Rose, and, it is to be feared, a wasted one, for there was no one present to observe her clean pink calico and the still more subtle note struck in the green ribbon which was tied round her throat,the ribbon that formed a sort of calyx, out of which sprang the flower of her face, as fresh and radiant as if it had bloomed that morning.
Give me my coffee turrible quick, said Mr. Wiley; I must be down to the bridge fore they start dog-warpin the side jam.
I notice youre always due at the bridge on churnin days, remarked his spouse, testily.
T aint me as appints drivin dates at Edgewood, replied the old man. The boysll hev a turrible job this year. The logs air ricked up jest like Roses jack-straws; I never see em so turrible ricked up in all my experence; an Lije Dennett don know no more bout pickin a jam than Coopers cow. Turrible sot in his ways, too; cant take a mite of advice. I was tellin him how to go to work on that bung thats formed between the gret gray rock an the shore,the awfullest place to bung that there is between this an Biddeford,and says he: Look here, Ive ben boss on this river for twelve year, an Ill be doggoned if Im goin to be taught my business by any man! This aint no river, says I, as youd know, says I, if youd ever lived on the Kennebec. Pity you hed nt stayed on it, says he. I wish to the land I hed, says I. An then I come away, for my tongues so turrible spry an sarcustic that I knew if I stopped any longer I should stir up strife. Theres some folks thatll set on addled aigs year in an year out, as if there want good fresh ones bein laid every day; an Lije Dennetts one of em, when it comes to river-drivin.
Theres lots o folks as have made a good livin by mindin their own business, observed the still sententious Mrs. Wiley, as she speared a soda biscuit with her fork.
Mindin your own business is a turrible selfish trade, responded her husband loftily. If your neighbor is more ignorant than what you are,particlarly if hes as ignorant as Coopers cow,youd ought, as a Kennebec man an a Christian, to set him on the right track, though its always a turrible risky thing to do. 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 was nt time.
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 was nt 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 is nt 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 cailate 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 could nt 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 horse-racin or tiger-shootin or tight-rope dancin; an he always did from a boy. When he was about twelve to fifteen, he used to help the river-drivers spring and fall, reglar. He could nt 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,Stepanfetchit 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 pigpen 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 pigpen, no moren I was by Jed Towles hencoop, nor Ivory Dunns well-curb, nor Pitt Packards shed-steps. If you hed ever kep up your buildins yourself, Roses beaux would nt 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 does nt 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; Ive 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
There, there, father, thatll do, said Mrs. Wiley, decisively. Ill put the cream in the churn, an you jest work off some o your steam by bringin the butter for us afore you start for the bridge. It dont do no good to brag afore your own women-folks; work goes considable bettern stories at every place cept the loafers bench at the tavern.
And the baffled raconteur, who had never done a piece of work cheerfully in his life, dragged himself reluctantly to the shed, where, before long, one could hear him moving the dasher up and down sedately to his favorite churning tune of