noon
says Ike a minute ago . ` When Rose starts smilin ' , ' he says , ` there ai n't a jam nor a bung in me that do n't melt like wax and jest float right off same as the logs do when they get into quiet , sunny water . ' '' Rose blushed and laughed , and drove up the hill to Mite Shapley 's , where she put up the horse and waited till the men had eaten their luncheon . The drivers slept and had breakfast and supper at the Billings house , a mile down river , but for several years Mrs. Wiley had furnished the noon meal , sending it down piping hot on the 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 -- she never allowed Rose to spoil her hands with soft soap and sand : but it was Rose who planned and packed , Rose who hemmed squares of old white tablecloths and sheets to line the baskets and keep things daintily separate , Rose , also , whose tarts and cakes were the pride and admiration of church sociables and sewing societies . Where could such smoking pots of beans be found ?