"This is the last day's option I've got on this lemonade-set," he said, "an'
if I'm goin' to Biddeford tomorrer I've got to make up my mind here an' now."
With this observation he took off his shoes, climbed in his stocking feet to
the vantage ground of a kitchen chair, and lifted a stone china pitcher from a
corner of the highest cup-board shelf where it had been hidden. "This
lemonade's gittin' kind o' dusty," he complained. "I cal'lated to hev a kind
of a spree on it when I got through choosin' Rose's weddin' present, but I
guess the pig 'll hev to help me out." The old man filled one of the glasses
from the pitcher, pulled up the kitchen shades to the top, put both hands in
his pockets, and walked solemnly round the table, gazing at his offering from
every possible point of view. There had been three lemonade-sets in the window
of a Biddeford crockery store when Mr. Wiley chanced to pass by, and he had
brought home the blue and green one on approval. To th': casual cyc it would
have appeared as quite uniquely hideous until the red and yellow or the purple
and orange ones had been seen; after that, no human being could have made a
decision, where each was so unparalleled in its ugliness, and Old Kennebec's
confusion of mind would have been perfectly understood by the connoisseur.
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