"How do you like it with the lemonade in, mother?" he inquired eagerly. "The
thing that plagues me most is that the red an' yaller one I hed home last week
lights up better'n this, an' I believe I'll settle on that; for as I was
thinkin' last night in bed, lemonade is mostly an evenin' drink an' Rose won't
be usin' the set much by daylight. Root beer looks the han'somest in this
purple set, but Rose loves lemonade better'n beer, so I guess I'll pack up
this one an' change it tomorrer. Mebbe when I get it out o' sight an' give the
lemonade to the pig I'll be easier in my mind."
In the opinion of the community at large Stephen's forehandedness in the
matter of preparations for his marriage was imprudence, and his desire for
neatness and beauty flagrant extravagance. The house itself was a foolish
idea, it was thought, but there were extenuating circumstances, for the maiden
aunt really needed a home, and Rufus was likely to marry before long and take
his wife to the River Farm. It was to be hoped in his case that he would avoid
the snares of beauty and choose a good stout girl who would bring the dairy
back to what it was in Mrs. Waterman's time.
All winter long Stephen labored on the inside of the cottage, mostly by
himself.
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