Lute bent forward to inspect the hiatus between trousers and waistcoat. “By time!” he exclaimed, “I told Sim Eldredge they was too short in the waist. He said if they was any longer they'd wrinkle under the arms. I don't know what to do. If I hist 'em up they'll be what the fellers call high-water, won't them?” “Humph! I'd ruther have 'em high-water than shoal in the middle of the channel. You'll have to average up somehow. I ought to have known better than to trust you to buy anything all by yourself.” She condescended to approve of my appearance when, an hour later, I came downstairs, garbed in my best. “Humph!” she vouchsafed, after a long look. “I declare! I'd hardly know you, Roscoe. You look more as you used to when you fust come here to live.” “Thanks,” I answered, drily. “I'm glad to see that you respect old age. This suit is venerable enough to command that kind of respect.” “'Tain't the suit, though that's all right enough. It's the way you wear it, I guess. You look BETTER than you used to. You're browned up and broadened out and it's real becomin'. But,” she added, with characteristic caution, “you must remember that good looks don't count for much. My father used to say to me that handsome is that handsome does. Not that I was so homely I'd scare the crows, but he didn't want me to be vain. Now don't fall overboard in THAT suit, will you?” Mother noticed my unwonted grandeur when I went in to say good-night to her. “Why, Roscoe!” she exclaimed. “You must consider this strawberry festival very important.” “Why, Mother?” “Because you've taken such pains to dress for it.” “It did not require a great deal of pains. I merely put on what Dorinda calls my Sunday clothes. I don't know why I did, either. I certainly don't consider the festival important.” “I am glad you did. I have been a little troubled about you of late, Boy. It has seemed to me that you were growing--well, not careless, exactly, but indifferent. As if you were losing interest in life. I don't blame you. Compelled to waste your time here in the country, a companion to a bedridden old woman like me.” “Hush, Mother. You're not old; and as to wasting my time--why, Mother, you know--” “Yes, yes, Boy, I know what you would say. But it does trouble me, nevertheless. I ought to bid you go back into the world, and take your place among men. A hundred times I have been upon the point of telling you to leave me, but--but--I am SO selfish.” “Hush, Mother, please.” “Yes, I AM selfish and I know it. I am growing stronger every day; I am sure of it. Just a little longer, Roscoe, just a little longer, and then--” “Mother, I--” “There, there!” she stroked my hand. “We won't be sad, will we. It pleases me to see you taking an interest in affairs. I think this Shore Lane matter may be a good thing, after all. Dorinda says that Luther tells her you are becoming very popular in town because of your independent stand. Everyone recognizes your public spirit.”