Homespun Tales

broadens suddenly, sweeping over the dam in a luminous torrent. Gushes of pure amber mark the middle of the dam, with cryst

-flecked torrent, deep, strong, and troubled to its heart, sweeps majestically under the bridge, then

at the bridge, and a goodly audience of villagers from both sides of the river. There were some who never came, some who had no fancy for the sight,

out" process, on the last day of the drive, should release them and give them their chance of display, their brief mo

the hidden ledges (about which it would seem they must have heard whispers from the old pine trees along the river), have kept a straight course and reached their destination without costing the Edgewood Lumber Company a small fortune. Or, if they had inclined toward a jolly and adventurous career, they could

er set it free. Below the bridge were always the real battle-grounds, the scenes of the first and the fiercest conflicts. A ragged ledge of rock, standing well above the yeasty torrent, marked the middle of the river. Stephen had been stranded there once, just at dusk,

loud cheers when Stephen ran lightly across the slender pathway that led to safety-ran so fast that the ladders had scarce time to bend beneath his weight. He had certainly "taken chances," but when did he not do that? The logger's life is one of "moving accidents by flood and field," and Stephen welcomed with wild exhilaration every hazard that came in his path. To him there was never a dull hour from the moment that the first notch

g the old Waterman name in good repute. "Ye can't drownd some folks," Old Kennebec had said, as he stood in a group on the shore; "not without you tie sand-bags to 'em an' drop 'em in the Gre

d them rapids," exclaimed one of the riv

shing under the hurrahs of the boys, and, coming to the wagon where she sat waiting for her grandf

ght trembled in him, stirring the deeps of his heart like a great wave, almost sweeping him off his feet when he held it too close and let it have full sway. It would be the fourth time that he had asked Rose this question of all questions, but there was no unerceptible difference in his excitement,

ncheon, and the under boss came up to take th

o' cuss-words and there hain't a log budged. Now, stid o' dog-warpin' this afternoon, an' lettin' the oxen haul off all them stubborn logs by main force, we're goin' to ask you to set up on the bank and smile at the jam. 'La

he stroke of twelve. The boys always said that up or down the whole length of the Saco there was no such cooking as the Wileys', and much of this praise was earned by Rose's serving. It was the old grandmother who burnished the tin plates and dippers till they looked like silver; for-crotchety and sharp-tongued as she was-sh

ice as come only from slow fires and long, quiet hours in brick ovens. Who else could steam and bake such mealy loaves of brown bread, brown as plum-pudding, yet with no suspicion of sogginess? Who such soda biscuits, big, feathery, tasting of cream, and hardly nee

ife, two daughters, and four sisters like them Wileys, and jest set still on the river-bank an'

nie Eagle Pond," said Ike Billings. "I'd like to

so 't our rags won't show so bad. Land! it's lucky my hundred days is about up! If I don't git home soon, I shall be arrested for goin' without clo'es. I set up 'bout all night puttin' these blue patches in my pants an' tryin' to piece together a couple of old red-flannel shirts to m