CONISTON

By Winston Churchill

BOOK 2. 

CHAPTER IX

When William Wetherell and Cynthia had reached the last turn in the roadin Northcutt's woods, quarter of a mile from Coniston, they met the nasalMr. Samuel Price driving silently in the other direction. The word"silently" is used deliberately, because to Mr. Price appertained acertain ghostlike quality of flitting, and to Mr. Price's horse and wagonlikewise. He drew up for a brief moment when he saw Wetherell. 

"Wouldn't hurry back if I was you, Will. "

"Why not?"

Mr. Price leaned out of the wagon. 

"Bije has come over from Clovelly to spy around a little mite. "

It was evident from Mr. Price's manner that he regarded the storekeeperas a member of the reform party. 

"What did he say, Daddy?" asked Cynthia, as Wetherell stood staring afterthe flitting buggy in bewilderment. 

"I haven't the faintest idea, Cynthia, " answered her father, and theywalked on. 

"Don't you know who 'Bije' is?

"No, " said her father, "and I don't care. "

It was almost criminal ignorance for a man who lived in that part of thecountry not to know Bijah Bixby of Clovelly, who was paying a littlesocial visit to Coniston that day on his way home from the statecapital, --tending, as it were, Jethro's flock. Still, Wetherell must beexcused because he was an impractical literary man with troubles of hisown. But how shall we chronicle Bijah's rank and precedence in the Jethroarmy, in which there are neither shoulder-straps nor annual registers? Todesignate him as the Chamberlain of that hill Rajah, the Honorable HethSutton, would not be far out of the way. The Honorable Heth, whom we allknow and whom we shall see presently, is the man of substance and ofbroad acres in Clovelly: Bijah merely owns certain mortgages in thattown, but he had created the Honorable Heth (politically) as surely ascertain prime ministers we could name have created their sovereigns. TheHonorable Heth was Bijah's creation, and a grand creation he was, as noone will doubt when they see him. 

Bijah--as he will not hesitate to tell you--took Heth down in his pocketto the Legislature, and has more than once delivered him, in certainblocks of five and ten, and four and twenty, for certain considerations. The ancient Song of Sixpence applies to Bijah, but his pocket wasgenerally full of proxies instead of rye, and the Honorable Heth wasfrequently one of the four and twenty blackbirds. In short, Bijah was theworking bee, and the Honorable Heth the ornamental drone. 

I do not know why I have dwelt so long on such a minor character asBijah, except that the man fascinates me. Of all the lieutenants in thestate, his manners bore the closest resemblance to those of Jethro Bass. When he walked behind Jethro in the corridors of the Pelican, kicking uphis heels behind, he might have been taken for Jethro's shadow. He was ofa good height and size, smooth-shaven, with little eyes that kindled, andhis mouth moved not at all when he spoke: unlike Jethro, he "used"tobacco. 

When Bijah had driven into Coniston village and hitched his wagon to therail, he went direct to the store. Chester Perkins and others werewatching him with various emotions from the stoop, and Bijah took a seatin the midst of them, characteristically engaging in conversation withoutthe usual conventional forms of greeting, as if he had been there allday. 

"H-how much did you git for your wool, Chester--h-how much?"

"Guess you hain't here to talk about wool, Bije, " said Chester, red withanger. 

"Kind of neglectin' the farm lately, I hear, " observed Bijah. 

"Jethro Bass sent you up to find out how much I was neglectin' it, "retorted Chester, throwing all caution to the winds. 

"Thinkin' of upsettin' Jethro, be you? Thinkin' of upsettin' Jethro?"remarked Bije, in a genial tone. 

"Folks in Clovelly hain't got nothin' to do with it, if I am, " saidChester. 

"Leetle early for campaignin', Chester, leetle early. "

"We do our campaignin' when we're a mind to. "

Bijah looked around. 

"Well, that's funny. I could have took oath I seed Rias Richardson here. "

There was a deep silence. 

"And Sam Price, " continued Bijah, in pretended astonishment, "wahn't hesettin' on the edge of the stoop when I drove up?"

Another silence, broken only by the enraged breathing of Chester, who wasunable to retort. Moses Hatch laughed. The discreet departure of thesegentlemen certainly had its comical side. 

"Rias as indoostrious as ever, Mose?" inquired Bijah. 

"He has his busy times, " said Mose, grinning broadly. 

"See you've got the boys with their backs up, Chester, " said Bijah. 

"Some of us are sick of tyranny, " cried Chester; "you kin tell that toJethro Bass when you go back, if he's got time to listen to you buyin'and sellin' out of railroads. "

"Hear Jethro's got the Grand Gulf Road in his pocket to do as he's a mindto with, " said Moses, with a view to drawing Bijah out. But the remarkhad exactly the opposite effect, Bijah screwing up his face into anexpression of extraordinary secrecy and cunning. 

"How much did you git out of it, Bije?" demanded Chester. 

"Hain't looked through my clothes yet, " said Bijah, his face screwed uptighter than ever. "N-never look through my clothes till I git home, Chester, it hain't safe. "

It has become painfully evident that Mr. Bixby is that rare type of manwho can sit down under the enemy's ramparts and smoke him out. It was arule of Jethro's code either to make an effective departure or else toremain and compel the other man to make an ineffective departure. LemHallowell might have coped with him; but the stage was late, and aftersome scratching of heads and delving for effectual banter (through whichMr. Bixby sat genial and unconcerned), Chester's followers took theirleave, each choosing his own pretext. 

In the meantime William Wetherell had entered the store by the backdoor--unperceived, as he hoped. He had a vehement desire to be left inpeace, and to avoid politics and political discussions forever--vaindesire for the storekeeper of Coniston. Mr. Wetherell entered the store, and to take his mind from his troubles, he picked up a copy of Byron:gradually the conversation on the stoop died away, and just as he wasbeginning to congratulate himself and enjoy the book, he had anunpleasant sensation of some one approaching him measuredly. Wetherelldid not move; indeed, he felt that he could not--he was as though charmedto the spot. He could have cried aloud, but the store was empty, andthere was no one to hear him. Mr. Bixby did not speak until he was withina foot of his victim's ear. His voice was very nasal, too. 

"Wetherell, hain't it?"

The victim nodded helplessly. 

"Want to see you a minute. "

"What is it?"

"Where can we talk private?" asked Mr. Bixby, looking around. 

"There's no one here, " Wetherell answered. "What do you wish to say?"

"If the boys was to see me speakin' to you, they might gitsuspicious--you understand, " he confided, his manner conveying a hintthat they shared some common policy. 

"I don't meddle with politics, " said Wetherell, desperately. 

"Exactly!" answered Bijah, coming even closer. "I knowed you was alevel-headed man, moment I set eyes on you. Made up my mind I'd have alittle talk in private with you--you understand. The boys hain't got noreason to suspicion you care anything about politics, have they?"

"None whatever. "

"You don't pay no attention to what they say?"

"None. "

You hear it?"

"Sometimes I can't help it. "

"Ex'actly! You hear it. "

"I told you I couldn't help it. "

"Want you should vote right when the time comes, " said Bijah. "D-don'twant to see such an intelligent man go wrong an' be sorry for it--youunderstand. Chester Perkins is hare-brained. Jethro Bass runs things inthis state. "

"Mr. Bixby--"

"You understand, " said Bijah, screwing up his face. "Guess your watch isa-comin' out. " He tucked it back caressingly, and started for thedoor--the back door. Involuntarily Wetherell put his hand to his pocket, felt something crackle under it, and drew the something out. To hisamazement it was a ten-dollar bill. 

"Here!" he cried so sharply in his fright that Mr. Bixby, turned around. Wetherell ran after him. "Take this back!"

"Guess you got me, " said Bijah. "W-what is it?"

"This money is yours, " cried Wetherell, so loudly that Bijah started andglanced at the front of the store. 

"Guess you made some mistake, " he said, staring at the storekeeper withsuch amazing innocence that he began to doubt his senses, and clutchedthe bill to see if it was real. 

"But I had no money in my pocket, " said Wetherell, perplexedly. And then, gaining, indignation, "Take this to the man who sent you, and give itback to him. "

But Bijah merely whispered caressingly in his ear, "Nobody sent me, --youunderstand, --nobody sent me, " and was gone. Wetherell stood for a moment, dazed by the man's audacity, and then, hurrying to the front stoop, themoney still in his hand, he perceived Mr. Bixby in the sunlit roadwalking, Jethro-fashion, toward Ephraim Prescott's harness shop. 

"Why, Daddy, " said Cynthia, coming in from the garden, "where did you getall that money? Your troubles must feel better. "

"It is not mine, " said Wetherell, starting. And then, quivering withanger and mortification, he sank down on the stoop to debate what heshould do. 

"Is it somebody else's?" asked the child, presently. 

"Yes. "

"Then why don't you give it back to them, Daddy?"

How was Wetherell to know, in his fright, that Mr. Bixby had for onceindulged in an overabundance of zeal in Jethro's behalf? He went to thedoor, laughter came to him across the green from the harness shop, andhis eye following the sound, fastened on Bijah seated comfortably in themidst of the group there. Bitterly the storekeeper comprehended that, hadhe possessed courage, he would have marched straight after Mr. Bixby andconfronted him before them all with the charge of bribery. The bloodthrobbed in his temples, and yet he sat there, trembling, despisinghimself, repeating that he might have had the courage if Jethro Bass hadnot bought the mortgage. The fear of the man had entered thestorekeeper's soul. 

"Does it belong to that man over there?" asked Cynthia. 

"Yes. "

"I'll take it to him, Daddy, " and she held out her hand. 

"Not now, " Wetherell answered nervously, glancing at the group. He wentinto the store, addressed an envelope to "Mr. Bijah Bixby of Clovelly, "and gave it to Cynthia. "When he comes back for his wagon, hand it tohim, " he said, feeling that he would rather, at that moment, face thedevil himself than Mr. Bixby. 

Half an hour later, Cynthia gave Mr. Bixby the envelope as he unhitchedhis horse; and so deftly did Bijah slip it into his pocket, that he mustcertainly have misjudged its contents. None of the loungers at Ephraim'sremarked the transaction. 

If Jethro had indeed instructed Bijah to look after his flock atConiston, it was an ill-conditioned move, and some of the flock resentedit when they were quite sure that Bijah was climbing the notch roadtoward Clovelly. The discussion (from which the storekeeper wasprovidentially omitted) was in full swing when the stage arrived, and LemHallowell's voice silenced the uproar. It was Lem's boast that he neverhad been and never would be a politician. 

"Why don't you folks quit railin' against Jethro and do somethin'?" hesaid. "Bije turns up here, and you all scatter like a flock of crows. I'mtired of makin' complaints about that Brampton road, and to-day the hullside of it give way, and put me in the ditch. Sure as the sun risesto-morrow, I'm goin' to make trouble for Jethro. "

"What be you a-goin' to do, Lem?"

"Indict the town, " replied Lem, vigorously. "Who is the town? Jethro, hain't he? Who has charge of the highways? Jethro Bass, Chairman of theSelectmen. I've spoke to him, time and agin, about that piece, and hehain't done nothin'. To-night I go to Harwich and git the court toapp'int an agent to repair that road, and the town'll hev to pay thebill. "

The boldness of Lem's intention for the moment took away their breaths, and then the awe-stricken hush which followed his declaration was brokenby the sound of Chester's fist hammering on the counter. 

"That's the sperrit, " he cried; "I'll go along with you, Lem. "

"No, you won't, " said Lem, "you'll stay right whar you be. "

"Chester wants to git credit for the move, " suggested Sam Price, slyly. 

"It's a lie, Sam Price, " shouted Chester. "What made you sneak off whenBije Bixby come?"

"Didn't sneak off, " retorted Sam, indignantly, through his nose; "forgotthem eggs I left to home. "

"Sam, " said Lem, with a wink at Moses Hatch, "you hitch up your hoss andfetch me over to Harwich to git that indictment. Might git a chance tosee that lady. "

"Wal, now, I wish I could, Lem, but my hoss is stun lame. "

There was a roar of laughter, during which Sam tried to look unconcerned. 

"Mebbe Rias'll take me over, " said Lem, soberly. "You hitch up, Rias?"

"He's gone, " said Joe Northcutt, "slid out the door when you was speakin'to Sam. "

"Hain't none of you folks got spunk enough to carry me over to see thejedge?" demanded Lem; "my horses ain't fit to travel to-night. " Anothersilence followed, and Lem laughed contemptuously but good-naturedly, andturned on his heel. "Guess I'll walk, then, " he said. 

"You kin have my white hoss, Lem, " said Moses Hatch. 

"All right, " said Lem; "I'll come round and hitch up soon's I git mysupper. "

An hour later, when Cynthia and her father and Millicent Skinner--whocondescended to assist in the work and cooking of Mr. Wetherell'shousehold--were seated at supper in the little kitchen behind the store, the head and shoulders of the stage-driver were thrust in at the window, his face shining from its evening application of soap and water. He wasmaking eyes at Cynthia. 

"Want to go to Harwich, Will?" he asked. 

William set his cup down quickly. 

"You hain't afeard, be you?" he continued. "Most folks that hasn't wentWest or died is afeard of Jethro Bass. "

"Daddy isn't afraid of him, and I'm not, " said Cynthia. 

"That's right, Cynthy, " said Lem, leaning over and giving a tug to thepigtail that hung down her back; "there hain't nothin' to be afeard of. "

"I like him, " said Cynthia; "he's very good to me. "

"You stick to him, Cynthy, " said the stage driver. 

"Ready, Will?"

It may readily be surmised that Mr. Wetherell did not particularly wishto make this excursion, the avowed object of which was to get Mr. Bassinto trouble. But he went, and presently he found himself jogging alongon the mountain road to Harwich. From the crest of Town's End ridge theylooked upon the western peaks tossing beneath a golden sky. The spell ofthe evening's beauty seemed to have fallen on them both, and for a longtime Lem spoke not a word, and nodded smilingly but absently to thegreetings that came from the farm doorways. 

"Will, " he said at last, "you acted sensible. There's no mite of use ofyour gettin' mixed up in politics. You're too good for 'em. "

"Too good!" exclaimed the storekeeper. 

"You're eddicated, " Lem replied, with a tactful attempt to cover up adeficiency; "you're a gentleman, ef you do keep store. "

Lemuel apparently thought that gentlemen and politics werecontradictions. He began to whistle, while Wetherell sat and wonderedthat any one could be so care-free on such a mission. The day faded, andwent out, and the lights of Harwich twinkled in the valley. Wetherell wasalmost tempted to mention his trouble to this man, as he had been toEphraim: the fear that each might think he wished to borrow money heldhim back. 

"Jethro's all right, " Lem remarked, "but if he neglects the road, he'sgot to stand for it, same's any other. I writ him twice to the capital, and give him fair warning afore he went. He knows I hain't doin' of itfor politics. I've often thought, " Lem continued, "that ef some smart, good woman could have got hold of him when he was young, it would havemade a big difference. What's the matter?"

"Have you room enough?"

"I guess I've got the hull seat, " said Lem. "As I was sayin', if someable woman had married Jethro and made him look at things a little mitedifferent, he would have b'en a big man. He has all the earmarks. Why, when he comes back to Coniston, them fellers'll hunt their holes likerabbits, mark my words. "

"You don't think--"

"Don't think what?"

"I understand he holds the mortgages of some of them, " said Wetherell. 

"Shouldn't blame him a great deal ef he did git tired and sell Chesterout soon. This thing happens regular as leap year. "

"Jethro Bass doesn't seem to frighten you, " said the storekeeper. 

"Well, " said Lem, "I hain't afeard of him, that's so. For the life of me, I can't help likin' him, though he does things that I wouldn't do for allthe power in Christendom. Here's Jedge Parkinson's house. "

Wetherell remained in the wagon while Lemuel went in to transact hisbusiness. The judge's house, outlined in the starlight, was a modestdwelling with a little porch and clambering vines, set back in its owngarden behind a picket fence. Presently, from the direction of the linesof light in the shutters, came the sound of voices, Lem's deep andinsistent, and another, pitched in a high nasal key, deprecatory andprotesting. There was still another, a harsh one that growled somethingunintelligible, and Wetherell guessed, from the fragments which he heard, that the judge before sitting down to his duty was trying to dissuade thestage driver from a step that was foolhardy. He guessed likewise that Lemwas not to be dissuaded. At length a silence followed, then the doorswung open, and three figures came down the illuminated path. 

"Like to make you acquainted with Jedge Abner Parkinson, Mr. Wetherell, and Jim Irving. Jim's the sheriff of Truro County, and I guess the jedgedon't need any recommendation as a lawyer from me. You won't mind stayin'awhile with the jedge while Jim and I go down town with the team? You'reboth literary folks. "

Wetherell followed the judge into the house. He was sallow, tall andspare and stooping, clean-shaven, with a hooked nose and bright eyes--theface of an able and adroit man, and he wore the long black coat of thepolitician-lawyer. The room was filled with books, and from these JudgeParkinson immediately took his cue, probably through a fear thatWetherell might begin on the subject of Lemuel's errand. However, itinstantly became plain that the judge was a true book lover, and despitethe fact that Lem's visit had disturbed him not a little, he soon grewanimated in a discussion on the merits of Sir Walter Scott, paced theroom, pitched his nasal voice higher and higher, covered his table withvolumes of that author to illustrate his meaning. Neither of them heard aknock, and they both stared dumfounded at the man who filled the doorway. 

It was Jethro Bass!

He entered the room with characteristic unconcern, as if he had just leftit on a trivial errand, and without a "How do you do?" or a "Goodevening, " parted his coat tails, and sat down in the judge's armchair. The judge dropped the volume of Scott on the desk, and as for Wetherell, he realized for once the full meaning of the biblical expression of aman's tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth; the gleam of one ofJethro's brass buttons caught his eye and held it fascinated. 

"Literary talk, Judge?" said Jethro. "D-don't mind me--go on. "

"Thought you were at the capital, " said the judge, reclaiming some of hisself-possession. 

"Good many folks thought so, " answered Jethro, "g-good many folks. "

There was no conceivable answer to this, so the judge sat down with anaffectation of ease. He was a man on whom dignity lay heavily, and wasnot a little ruffled because Wetherell had been a witness of hisdiscomfiture. He leaned back in his chair, then leaned forward, stretching his neck and clearing his throat, a position in which he borea ludicrous resemblance to a turkey gobbler. 

"Most through the Legislature?" inquired the judge. 

"'Bout as common, " said Jethro. 

There was a long silence, and, forgetful for the moment of his ownpredicament, Wetherell found a fearful fascination in watching thecontortions of the victim whose punishment was to precede his. It hadbeen one of the delights of Louis XI to contemplate the movements of acertain churchman whom he had had put in a cage, and some inkling of thepleasure to be derived from this pastime of tyrants dawned on Wetherell. Perhaps the judge, too, thought of this as he looked at "Quentin Durward"on the table. 

"I was just sayin' to Lem Hallowell, " began the judge, at last, "that Ithought he was a little mite hasty--"

"Er--indicted us, Judge?" said Jethro. 

The judge and Wetherell heard the question with different emotions. Mr. Parkinson did not seem astonished at the miracle which had put Jethro inpossession of this information, but heaved a long sigh of relief, as aman will when the worst has at length arrived. 

"I had to, Jethro--couldn't help it. I tried to get Hallowell to waittill you come back and talk it over friendly, but he wouldn't listen;said the road was dangerous, and that he'd spoken about it too often. Hesaid he hadn't anything against you. "

"Didn't come in to complain, " said Jethro, "didn't come in to complain. Road is out of repair. W-what's the next move?"

"I'm sorry, Jethro--I swan I'm sorry. " He cleared his throat. "Well, " hecontinued in his judicial manner, "the court has got to appoint an agentto repair that road, the agent will present the bill, and the town willhave to pay the bill--whatever it is. It's too bad, Jethro, that you haveallowed this to be done. "

"You say you've got to app'int an agent?"

"Yes--I'm sorry--"

"Have you app'inted one?"

"No. "

"G-got any candidates?"

The judge scratched his head. 

"Well, I don't know as I have. "

"Well, have you?"

"No, " said the judge. 

"A-any legal objection to my bein' app'inted?" asked Jethro. 

The judge looked at him and gasped. But the look was an involuntarytribute of admiration. 

"Well, " he said hesitatingly, "I don't know as there is, Jethro. No, there's no legal objection to it. "

"A-any other kind of objection?" said Jethro. 

The judge appeared to reflect. 

"Well, no, " he said at last, "I don't know as there is. "

"Well, is there?" said Jethro, again. 

"No, " said the judge, with the finality of a decision. A smile seemed tobe pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

"Well, I'm a candidate, " said Jethro. 

"Do you tell me, Jethro, that you want me to appoint you agent to fixthat road?"

"I-I'm a candidate. "

"Well, " said the judge, rising, "I'll do it. "

"When?" said Jethro, sitting still. 

"I'll send the papers over to you within two or three days. 

"O-ought to be done right away, Judge. Road's in bad shape. "

"Well, I'll send the papers over to you to-morrow. "

"How long--would it take to make out that app'intment--how long?"

"It wouldn't take but a little while. "

"I'll wait, " said Jethro. 

"Do you want to take the appointment along with you to-night?" asked thejudge, in surprise. 

"G-guess that's about it. "

Without a word the judge went over to his table, and for a while thesilence was broken only by the scratching of his pen. 

"Er--interested in roads, --Will, --interested in roads?"

The judge stopped writing to listen, since it was now the turn of theother victim. 

"Not particularly, " answered Mr. Wetherell, whose throat was dry. 

"C-come over for the drive--c-come over for the drive?"

"Yes, " replied the storekeeper, rather faintly. 

"H-how's Cynthy?" said Jethro. 

The storekeeper was too astonished to answer. At that moment there was aheavy step in the doorway, and Lem Hallowell entered the room. He tookone long look at Jethro and bent over and slapped his hand on his knee, and burst out laughing. 

"So here you be!" he cried. "By Godfrey! ef you don't beat all outdoors, Jethro. Wal, I got ahead of ye for once, but you can't say I didn't warnye. Come purty nigh bustin' the stage on that road today, and now I'ma-goin' to hev an agent app'inted. "

"W-who's the agent?" said Jethro. 

"We'll git one. Might app'int Will, there, only he don't seem to want toget mixed up in it. "

"There's the agent, " cried the judge, holding out the appointment toJethro. 

"Wh-what?" ejaculated Lem. 

Jethro took the appointment, and put it in his cowhide wallet. 

"Be you the agent?" demanded the amazed stage driver. 

"C-callate to be, " said Jethro, and without a smile or another word toany one he walked out into the night, and after various exclamations ofastonishment and admiration, the stage driver followed. 

No one, indeed, could have enjoyed this unexpected coup of Jethro's morethan Lem himself, and many times on their drive homeward he burst intoloud and unexpected fits of laughter at the sublime conception of theChairman of the Selectmen being himself appointed road agent. 

"Will, " said he, "don't you tell this to a soul. We'll have some fun outof some of the boys to-morrow. "

The storekeeper promised, but he had an unpleasant presentiment that hehimself might be one of the boys in question. 

"How do you suppose Jethro Bass knew you were going to indict the town?"he asked of the stage driver. 

Lem burst into fresh peals of laughter; but this was something which hedid not attempt to answer. 

CHAPTER X

It so happened that there was a certain spinster whom Sam Price had beentrying to make up his mind to marry for ten years or more, and it wasthat gentleman's habit to spend at least one day in the month in Harwichfor the purpose of paying his respects. In spite of the fact that hishorse had been "stun lame" the night before, Mr. Price was able to startfor Harwich, via Brampton, very early the next morning. He was drivingalong through Northcutt's woods with one leg hanging over the wheel, humming through his nose what we may suppose to have been a love-ditty, and letting his imagination run riot about the lady in question, when henearly fell out of his wagon. The cause of this was the sight of fat Tomcoming around a corner, with Jethro Bass behind him. Lem Hallowell andthe storekeeper had kept their secret so well that Sam, if he wasthinking about Jethro at all, believed him at that moment to be seated inthe Throne Room at the Pelican House, in the capital. 

Mr. Price, however, was one of an adaptable nature, and by the time hehad pulled up beside Jethro he had recovered sufficiently to make a fewremarks on farming subjects, and finally to express a polite surprise atJethro's return. 

"But you come a little mite late, hain't you, Jethro?" he asked finally, with all of the indifference he could assume. 

"H-how's that, Sam--how's that?"

"It's too bad, --I swan it is, --but Lem Hallowell rode over to Harwichlast night and indicted the town for that piece of road by the FourCorners. Took Will Wetherell along with him. "

"D-don't say so!" said Jethro. 

"I callate he done it, " responded Sam, pulling a long face. "The court'llhev to send an agent to do the job, and I guess you'll hev to foot thebill, Jethro. "

"C-court'll hev to app'int an agent?"

"I callate. "

"Er--you a candidate--Sam--you a candidate?"

"Don't know but what I be, " answered the usually wary Mr. Price. 

"G-goin' to Harwich--hain't you?"

"Mebbe I be, and mebbe I hain't, " said Sam, not able to repress aself-conscious snicker. 

"M-might as well be you as anybody, Sam, " said Jethro, as he drove on. 

It was not strange that the idea, thus planted, should grow in Mr. Price's favor as he proceeded. He had been surprised at Jethro'scomplaisance, and he wondered whether, after all, he had done well tohelp Chester stir people up at this time. When he reached Harwich, instead of presenting himself promptly at the spinster's house, he wentfirst to the office of Judge Parkinson, as became a prudent man ofaffairs. 

Perhaps there is no need to go into the details of Mr. Price'sdiscomfiture on the occasion of this interview. The judge was by natureof a sour disposition, but he haw-hawed so loudly as he explained to Mr. Price the identity of the road agent that the judge of probate in thenext office thought his colleague had gone mad. Afterward Mr. Price stoodfor some time in the entry, where no one could see him, scratching hishead and repeating his favorite exclamation, "I want to know!" It hasbeen ascertained that he omitted to pay his respects to the spinster onthat day. 

Cyamon Johnson carried the story back to Coniston, where it had theeffect of eliminating Mr. Price from local politics for some time tocome. 

That same morning Chester Perkins was seen by many driving wildly aboutfrom farm to farm, supposedly haranguing his supporters to make a finalstand against the tyrant, but by noon it was observed by thosenaturalists who were watching him that his activity had ceased. Chesterarrived at dinner time at Joe Northcutt's, whose land bordered on thepiece of road which had caused so much trouble, and Joe and half a dozenothers had been at work there all morning under the road agent whom JudgeParkinson had appointed. Now Mrs. Northcutt was Chester's sister, a womanwho in addition to other qualities possessed the only sense of humor inthe family. She ushered the unsuspecting Chester into the kitchen, andthere, seated beside Joe and sipping a saucer of very hot coffee, wasJethro Bass himself. Chester halted in the doorway, his face brick-red, words utterly failing him, while Joe sat horror-stricken, holding alofton his fork a smoking potato. Jethro continued to sip his coffee. 

"B-busy times, Chester, " he said, "b-busy times. "

Chester choked. Where were the burning words of denunciation which cameso easily to his tongue on other occasions? It is difficult to denounce aman who insists upon drinking coffee. 

"Set right down, Chester, " said Mrs. Northcutt, behind him. 

Chester sat down, and to this day he cannot account for that action. Onceseated, habit asserted itself; and he attacked the boiled dinner with aferocity which should have been exercised against Jethro. 

"I suppose the stores down to the capital is finer than ever, Mr. Bass, "remarked Mrs. Northcutt. 

"So-so, Mis' Northcutt, so-so. "

"I was there ten years ago, " remarked Mrs. Northcutt, with a sigh ofreminiscence, "and I never see such fine silks and bonnets in my life. Now I've often wanted to ask you, did you buy that bonnet with thetrembly jet things for Mis' Bass?"

"That bonnet come out full better'n I expected, " answered Jethro, modestly. 

"You have got taste in wimmin's fixin's, Mr. Bass. Strange? Now Iwouldn't let Joe choose my things for worlds. "

So the dinner progressed, Joe with his eyes on his plate, Chester silent, but bursting with anger and resentment, until at last Jethro pushed backhis chair, and said good day to Mrs. Northcutt and walked out. Chestergot up instantly and went after him, and Joe, full of forebodings, followed his brother-in-law! Jethro was standing calmly on the grassplot, whittling a toothpick. Chester stared at him a moment, and thenstrode off toward the barn, unhitched his horse and jumped in his wagon. Something prompted him to take another look at Jethro, who was stillwhittling. 

"C-carry me down to the road, Chester--c-carry me down to the road?" saidJethro. 

Joe Northcutt's knees gave way under him, and he sat down on a sugarkettle. Chester tightened up his reins so suddenly that his horse reared, while Jethro calmly climbed into the seat beside him and they drove off. It was some time before Joe had recovered sufficiently to arise andrepair to the scene of operations on the road. 

It was Joe who brought the astounding news to the store that evening. Chester was Jethro's own candidate for senior Selectman! Jethro himselfhad said so, that he would be happy to abdicate in Chester's favor, andmake it unanimous--Chester having been a candidate so many times, anddisappointed. 

"Whar's Chester?" said Lem Hallowell. 

Joe pulled a long face. 

"Just come from his house, and he hain't done a lick of work sence noontime. Jest sets in a corner--won't talk, won't eat--jest sets thar. "

Lem sat down on the counter and laughed until he was forced to brush thetears from his cheeks at the idea of Chester Perkins being Jethro'scandidate. Where was reform now? If Chester were elected, it would be inthe eyes of the world as Jethro's man. No wonder he sat in a corner andrefused to eat. 

"Guess you'll ketch it next, Will, for goin' over to Harwich with Lem, "Joe remarked playfully to the storekeeper, as he departed. 

These various occurrences certainly did not tend to allay the uneasinessof Mr. Wetherell. The next afternoon, at a time when a slack trade wasslackest, he had taken his chair out under the apple tree and was sittingwith that same volume of Byron in his lap--but he was not reading. Thehumorous aspects of the doings of Mr. Bass did not particularly appeal tohim now; and he was, in truth, beginning to hate this man whom the fateshad so persistently intruded into his life. William Wetherell was not, itmay have been gathered, what may be called vindictive. He was asensitive, conscientious person whose life should have been in the vale;and yet at that moment he had a fierce desire to confront Jethro Bassand--and destroy him. Yes, he felt equal to that. 

Shocks are not very beneficial to sensitive natures. William Wetherelllooked up, and there was Jethro Bass on the doorstep. 

"G-great resource--readin'--great resource, " he remarked. 

In this manner Jethro snuffed out utterly that passion to destroy, andanother sensation took its place--a sensation which made it verydifficult for William Wetherell to speak, but he managed to reply thatreading had been a great resource to him. Jethro had a parcel in hishand, and he laid it down on the step beside him; and he seemed, for oncein his life, to be in a mood for conversation. 

"It's hard for me to read a book, " he observed. "I own to it--it's alittle mite hard. H-hev to kind of spell it out in places. Hain't hadmuch time for readin'. But it's kind of pleasant to l'arn what otherfolks has done in the world by pickin' up a book. T-takes your mind offthings--don't it?"

Wetherell felt like saying that his reading had not been able to do thatlately. Then he made the plunge, and shuddered as he made it. 

"Mr. Bass--I--I have been waiting to speak to you about that mortgage. "

"Er--yes, " he answered, without moving his head, "er--about themortgage. "

"Mr. Worthington told me that you had bought it. "

"Yes, I did--yes, I did. "

"I'm afraid you will have to foreclose, " said Wetherell; "I cannotreasonably ask you to defer the payments any longer. "

"If I foreclose it, what will you do?" he demanded abruptly. 

There was but one answer--Wetherell would have to go back to the city andface the consequences. He had not the strength to earn his bread on afarm. 

"If I'd a b'en in any hurry for the money--g-guess I'd a notified you, "said Jethro. 

"I think you had better foreclose, Mr. Bass, " Wetherell answered; "Ican't hold out any hopes to you that it will ever be possible for me topay it off. It's only fair to tell you that. "

"Well, " he said, with what seemed a suspicion of a smile, "I don't knowbut what that's about as honest an answer as I ever got. "

"Why did you do it?" Wetherell cried, suddenly goaded by another fear;"why did you buy that mortgage?"

But this did not shake his composure. 

"H-have a little habit of collectin' 'em, " he answered, "same as you dobooks. G-guess some of 'em hain't as valuable. "

William Wetherell was beginning to think that Jethro knew something alsoof such refinements of cruelty as were practised by Caligula. He drewforth his cowhide wallet and produced from it a folded piece of newspaperwhich must, Wetherell felt sure, contain the mortgage in question. 

"There's one power I always wished I had, " he observed, "the power tomake folks see some things as I see 'em. I was acrost the Water to-night, on my hill farm, when the sun set, and the sky up thar above the mountainwas all golden bars, and the river all a-flamin' purple, just as if ithad been dyed by some of them Greek gods you're readin' about. Now if Icould put them things on paper, I wouldn't care a haycock to bePresident. No, sir. "

The storekeeper's amazement as he listened to this speech may beimagined. Was this Jethro Bass? If so, here was a side of him theexistence of which no one suspected. Wetherell forgot the matter in hand. 

"Why don't you put that on paper?" he exclaimed. 

Jethro smiled, and made a deprecating motion with his thumb. 

"Sometimes when I hain't busy, I drop into the state library at thecapital and enjoy myself. It's like goin' to another world without anyfolks to bother you. Er--er--there's books I'd like to talk to youabout--sometime. "

"But I thought you told me you didn't read much, Mr. Bass?"

He made no direct reply, but unfolded the newspaper in his hand, and thenWetherell saw that it was only a clipping. 

"H-happened to run across this in a newspaper--if this hain't thiscounty, I wahn't born and raised here. If it hain't Coniston Mountainabout seven o'clock of a June evening, I never saw Coniston Mountain. Er--listen to this. "

Whereupon he read, with a feeling which Wetherell had not supposed hepossessed, an extract: and as the storekeeper listened his blood began torun wildly. At length Jethro put down the paper without glancing at hiscompanion. 

"There's somethin' about that that fetches you spinnin' through the air, "he said slowly. "Sh-showed it to Jim Willard, editor of the NewcastleGuardian. Er--what do you think he said?"

"I don't know, " said Wetherell, in a low voice. 

"Willard said, 'Bass, w-wish you'd find me that man. I'll give him fivedollars every week for a letter like that--er--five dollars a week. '"

He paused, folded up the paper again and put it in his pocket, took out acard and handed it to Wetherell. 

 James G. Willard, Editor. Newcastle Guardian. 

"That's his address, " said Jethro. "Er--guess you'll know what to do withit. Er--five dollars a week--five dollars a week. "

"How did you know I wrote this article?" said Wetherell, as the cardtrembled between his fingers. 

"K-knowed the place was Coniston seen from the 'east, knowed there wahn'tany one is Brampton or Harwich could have done it--g-guessed therest--guessed the rest. "

Wetherell could only stare at him like a man who, with the halter abouthis neck, has been suddenly reprieved. But Jethro Bass did not appear tobe waiting for thanks. He cleared his throat, and had Wetherell not beenin such a condition himself, he would actually have suspected him ofembarrassment. 

"Er--Wetherell?"

"Yes?"

"W-won't say nothin' about the mortgage--p-pay it when you can. "

This roused the storekeeper to a burst of protest, but he stemmed it. 

"Hain't got the money, have you?"

"No--but--"

"If I needed money, d'ye suppose I'd bought the mortgage?"

"No, " answered the still bewildered Wetherell, "of course not. " There hestuck, that other suspicion of political coercion suddenly risinguppermost. Could this be what the man meant? Wetherell put his hand tohis head, but he did not dare to ask the question. Then Jethro Bass fixedhis eyes upon him. 

"Hain't never mixed any in politics--hev you n-never mixed any?"

Wetherell's heart sank. 

"No, " he answered. 

"D-don't--take my advice--d-don't. "

"What!" cried the storekeeper, so loudly that he frightened himself. 

"D-don't, " repeated Jethro, imperturbably. 

There was a short silence, the storekeeper being unable to speak. Coniston Water, at the foot of the garden, sang the same song, but itseemed to Wetherell to have changed its note from sorrow to joy. 

"H-hear things, don't you--hear things in the store?"

"Yes. "

"Don't hear 'em. Keep out of politics, Will, s-stick to store-keepin'and--and literature. "

Jethro got to his feet and turned his back on the storekeeper and pickedup the parcel he had brought. 

"C-Cynthy well?" he inquired. 

"I--I'll call her, " said Wetherell, huskily. "She--she was down by thebrook when you came. "

But Jethro Bass did not wait. He took his parcel and strode down toConiston Water, and there he found Cynthia seated on a rock with her toesin a pool. 

"How be you, Cynthy?" said he, looking down at her. 

"I'm well, Uncle Jethro, " said Cynthia. 

"R-remembered what I told you to call me, hev you, " said Jethro, plainlypleased. "Th-that's right. Cynthy?"

Cynthia looked up at him inquiringly. 

"S-said you liked books--didn't you? S-said you liked books?"

"Yes, I do, " she replied simply, "very much. "

He undid the wrapping of the parcel, and there lay disclosed a book witha very gorgeous cover. He thrust it into the child's lap. 

"It's 'Robinson Crusoe'!" she exclaimed, and gave a little shiver ofdelight that made ripples in the pool. Then she opened it--not withoutawe, for William Wetherell's hooks were not clothed in this magnificentmanner. "It's full of pictures, " cried Cynthia. "See, there he is makinga ship!"

"Y-you read it, Cynthy?" asked Jethro, a little anxiously. 

No, Cynthia hadn't. 

"L-like it, Cynthy--l-like it?" said he, not quite so anxiously. 

Cynthia looked up at him with a puzzled expression. 

"F-fetched it up from the capital for you, Cynthy--for you. "

"For me!"

A strange thrill ran through Jethro Bass as he gazed upon the wonder anddelight in the face of the child. 

"F-fetched it for you, Cynthy. "

For a moment Cynthia sat very still, and then she slowly closed the bookand stared at the cover again, Jethro looking down at her the while. Totell the truth, she found it difficult to express the emotions which theevent had summoned up. 

"Thank you--Uncle Jethro, " she said. 

Jethro, however, understood. He had, indeed, never failed to understandher from the beginning. He parted his coat tails and sat down on the rockbeside her, and very gently opened the book again, to the first chapter. 

"G-goin' to read it, Cynthy?"

"Oh, yes, " she said, and trembled again. 

"Er--read it to me?"

So Cynthia read "Robinson Crusoe" to him while the summer afternoon woreaway, and the shadows across the pool grew longer and longer. 

CHAPTER XI

Thus William Wetherell became established in Coniston, and was started atlast--poor man--upon a life that was fairly tranquil. Lem Hallowell hadonce covered him with blushes by unfolding a newspaper in the store andreading an editorial beginning: "We publish today a new and attractivefeature of the Guardian, a weekly contribution from a correspondent whosemodesty is to be compared only with his genius as a writer. We areconfident that the readers of our Raper will appreciate the letter inanother column signed 'W. W. '" And from that day William was accordedmuch of the deference due to a litterateur which the fates had hithertodenied him. Indeed, during the six years which we are about to skip overso lightly, he became a marked man in Coniston, and it was voted in townsmeeting that he be intrusted with that most important of literary labors, the Town History of Coniston. 

During this period, too, there sprang up the strangest of intimaciesbetween him and Jethro Bass. Surely no more dissimilar men than thesehave ever been friends, and that the friendship was sometimes misjudgedwas one of the clouds on William Wetherell's horizon. As the years wenton he was still unable to pay off the mortgage; and sometimes, indeed, hecould not even meet the interest, in spite of the princely sum hereceived from Mr. Willard of the Guardian. This was one of the clouds onJethro's horizon, too, if men had but known it, and he took such moneysas Wetherell insisted upon giving him grudgingly enough. It is needlessto say that he refrained from making use of Mr. Wetherell politically, although no poorer vessel for political purposes was ever constructed. Itis quite as needless to say, perhaps, that Chester Perkins never got tobe Chairman of the Board of Selectmen. 

After Aunt Listy died, Jethro was more than ever to be found, when inConiston, in the garden or the kitchen behind the store. Yes, Aunt Listyis dead. She has flitted through these pages as she flitted through lifeitself, arrayed by Jethro like the rainbow, and quite as shadowy andunreal. There is no politician of a certain age in the state who does notremember her walking, clad in dragon-fly colors, through the streets ofthe capital on Jethro's arm, or descending the stairs of the PelicanHouse to supper. None of Jethro's detractors may say that he ever failedin kindness to her, and he loved her as much as was in his heart to loveany woman after Cynthia Ware. As for Aunt Listy, she never seemed to feelany resentment against the child Jethro brought so frequently to ThousandAcre Hill. Poor Aunt Listy! some people used to wonder whether she everfelt any emotion at all. But I believe that she did, in her own way. 

It is a well-known fact that Mr. Bijah Bixby came over from Clovelly, torequest the place of superintendent of the funeral, a position which hadalready been filled. A special office, too, was created on this occasionfor an old supporter of Jethro's, Senator Peleg Hartington of Brampton. He was made chairman of the bearers, of whom Ephraim Prescott was one. 

After this, as we have said, Jethro was more than ever at the store--orrather in that domestic domain behind it which Wetherell and Cynthiashared with Miss Millicent Skinner. Moses Hatch was wont to ask Cynthiahow her daddies were. It was he who used to clear out the road to thelittle schoolhouse among the birches when the snow almost buried thelittle village, and on sparkling mornings after the storms his oxen wouldstop to breathe in front of the store, a cluster of laughing childrenclinging to the snow-plough and tumbling over good-natured Moses in theirfrolics. Cynthia became a country girl, and grew long and lithe of limb, and weather-burnt, and acquired an endurance that spoke wonders for thelife-giving air of Coniston. But she was a serious child, and Wetherelland Jethro sometimes wondered whether she was ever a child at all. WhenEben Hatch fell from the lumber pile on the ice, it was she who bound thecut in his head; and when Tom Richardson unexpectedly embraced theschoolhouse stove, Cynthia, not Miss Rebecca Northcutt, took charge ofthe situation. 

It was perhaps inevitable, with such a helpless father, that the girlshould grow up with a sense of responsibility, being what she was. DidWilliam Wetherell go to Brampton, Cynthia examined his apparel, and hewas marched shamefacedly back to his room to change; did he read too lateat night, some unseen messenger summoned her out of her sleep, and he waspacked off to bed. Miss Millicent Skinner, too, was in a like mysteriousway compelled to abdicate her high place in favor of Cynthia, andWetherell was utterly unable to explain how this miracle wasaccomplished. Not only did Millicent learn to cook, but Cynthia, at theage of fourteen, had taught her. Some wit once suggested that thenational arms of the United States should contain the emblem of crossedfrying-pans, and Millicent was in this respect a true American. WhenWetherell began to suffer from her pies and doughnuts, the revolutiontook place--without stampeding, or recriminations, or trouble of anykind. One evening he discovered Cynthia, decked in an apron, bending overthe stove, and Millicent looking on with an expression that was (forMillicent) benign. 

This was to some extent explained, a few days later, when Wetherell foundhimself gazing across the counter at the motherly figure of Mrs. MosesHatch, who held the well-deserved honor of being the best cook inConiston. 

"Hain't had so much stomach trouble lately, Will?" she remarked. 

"No, " he answered, surprised; "Cynthia is learning to cook. "

"Guess she is, " said Mrs. Moses. "That gal is worth any seven grown-upwomen in town. And she was four nights settin' in my kitchen before Iknowed what she was up to. "

"So you taught her, Amanda?

"I taught her some. She callated that Milly was killin' you, and I guessshe was. "

During her school days, Jethro used frequently to find himself in frontof the schoolhouse when the children came trooping out--quite byaccident, of course. Winter or summer, when he went away on hisperiodical trips, he never came back without a little remembrance in hiscarpet bag, usually a book, on the subject of which he had spent hours inconference with the librarian at the state library at the capital. But inJune of the year when Cynthia was fifteen, Jethro yielded to that passionwhich was one of the man's strangest characteristics, and appeared oneevening in the garden behind the store with a bundle which certainly didnot contain a book. With all the gravity of a ceremony he took off thepaper, and held up in relief against the astonished Cynthia a length ofcardinal cloth. William Wetherell, who was looking out of the window, drew his breath, and even Jethro drew back with an exclamation at thechange wrought in her. But Cynthia snatched the roll from his hand andwound it up with a feminine deftness. 

"Wh-what's the matter, Cynthy?"

"Oh, I can't wear that, Uncle Jethro, " she said. 

"C-can't wear it! Why not?"

Cynthia sat down on the grassy mound under the apple tree and clasped herhands across her knees. She looked up at him and shook her head. 

"Don't you see that I couldn't wear it, Uncle Jethro?"

"Why not?" he demanded. "Ch-change it if you've a mind to hev green. "

She shook her head, and smiled at him a little sadly. 

"T-took me a full hour to choose that, Cynthy, " said he. "H-had to go toBoston so I got it there. "

He was, indeed, grievously disappointed at this reception of his gift, and he stood eying the cardinal cloth very mournfully as it lay on thepaper. Cynthia, remorseful, reached up and seized his hand. 

"Sit down here, Uncle Jethro. " He sat down on the mound beside her, verymuch perplexed. She still held his hand in hers. "Uncle Jethro, " she saidslowly, "you mustn't think I'm not grateful. "

"N-no, " he answered; "I don't think that, Cynthy. I know you be. "

"I am grateful--I'm very grateful for everything you give me, although Ishould love you just as much if you didn't give me anything. "

She was striving very hard not to offend him, for in some ways he was assensitive as Wetherell himself. Even Coniston folk had laughed at theidiosyncrasy which Jethro had of dressing his wife in brilliant colors, and the girl knew this. 

"G-got it for you to wear to Brampton on the Fourth of July, Cynthy, " hesaid. 

"Uncle Jethro, I couldn't wear that to Brampton!"

"You'd look like a queen, " said he. 

"But I'm not a queen, " objected Cynthia. 

"Rather hev somethin' else?"

"Yes, " she said, looking at him suddenly with the gleam of laughter inher eyes, although she was on the verge of tears. 

"Wh-what?" Jethro demanded. 

"Well, " said Cynthia, demurely gazing down at her ankles, "shoes andstockings. " The barefooted days had long gone by. 

Jethro laughed. Perhaps some inkling of her reasons came to him, for hehad a strange and intuitive understanding of her. At any rate, heaccepted her decision with a meekness which would have astonished manypeople who knew only that side of him which he showed to the world. Gently she released her hand, and folded up the bundle again and gave itto him. 

"B-better keep it--hadn't you?"

"No, you keep it. And I will wear it for you when I am rich, UncleJethro. "

Jethro did keep it, and in due time the cardinal cloth had its uses. ButCynthia did not wear it on the Fourth of July. 

That was a great day for Brampton, being not only the nation's birthday, but the hundredth year since the adventurous little band of settlers fromConnecticut had first gazed upon Coniston Water at that place. Early inthe morning wagon loads began to pour into Brampton Street from Harwich, from Coniston, from Tarleton Four Corners, and even from distantClovelly, and Brampton was banner-hung for the occasion--flags across thestores, across the dwellings, and draped along the whole breadth of themeeting-house; but for sheer splendor the newly built mansion of Isaac D. Worthington outshone them all. Although its owner was a professedbeliever in republican simplicity, no such edifice ornamented any town tothe west of the state capital. Small wonder that the way in front of itwas blocked by a crowd lost in admiration of its Gothic proportions! Itstands to-day one of many monuments to its builder, with its windows ofone pane (unheard-of magnificence), its tower of stone, its porch withpointed arches and scroll-work. No fence divides its grounds from thepublic walk, and on the smooth-shaven lawn between the ornamental flowerbeds and the walk stand two stern mastiffs of iron, emblematic of thesolidity and power of their owner. It was as much to see this house as tohear the oratory that the countryside flocked to Brampton that day. 

All the day before Cynthia and Milly, and many another housewife, hadbeen making wonderful things for the dinners they were to bring, andstowing them in the great basket ready for the early morning start. Atsix o'clock Jethro's three-seated farm wagon was in front of the store. Cousin Ephraim Prescott, in a blue suit and an army felt hat with a cord, got up behind, a little stiffly by reason of that Wilderness bullet; andthere were also William Wetherell and Lem Hallowell, his honest faceshining, and Sue, his wife, and young Sue and Jock and Lilian, alla-quiver with excitement in their Sunday best. 

And as they drove away there trotted up behind them Moses and AmandyHatch, with their farm team, and all the little Hatches, --Eben and Georgeand Judy and Liza. As they jogged along they drank in the fragrance ofthe dew-washed meadows and the pines, and a great blue heron stoodknee-deep on the far side of Deacon Lysander's old mill-pond, watchingthem philosophically as they passed. 

It was eight o'clock when they got into the press of Brampton Street, andthere was a hush as they made their way slowly through the throng, andmany a stare at the curious figure in the old-fashioned blue swallowtailand brass buttons and tall hat, driving the farm wagon. Husbands pointedhim out to their wives, young men to sisters and sweethearts, someopenly, some discreetly. "There goes Jethro Bass, " and some were boldenough to say, "Howdy, Jethro?" Jake Wheeler was to be observed in thecrowd ahead of them, hurried for once out of his Jethro step, actuallyrunning toward the tavern, lest such a one arrive unheralded. Commotionis perceived on the tavern porch, --Mr. Sherman, the proprietor, bustlingout, Jake Wheeler beside him; a chorus of "How be you, Jethros?" from themore courageous there, --but the farm team jogs on, leaving a discomfitedgathering, into the side street, up an alley, and into the cool, ammonia-reeking sheds of lank Jim Sanborn's livery stable. Noobsequiousness from lank Jim, who has the traces slipped and the reinsfestooned from the bits almost before Jethro has lifted Cynthia to thefloor. Jethro, walking between Cynthia and her father, led the way, Ephraim, Lem, and Sue Hallowell following, the children, in unwontedshoes and stockings, bringing up the rear. The people parted, andpresently they found themselves opposite the new-scrolled band standamong the trees, where the Harwich band in glittering gold and red hadjust been installed. The leader; catching sight of Jethro's party, and ofEphraim's corded army hat, made a bow, waved his baton, and they struckup "Marching through Georgia. " It was, of course, not dignified to cheer, but I think that the blood of every man and woman and child ran fasterwith the music, and so many of them looked at Cousin Ephraim that heslipped away behind the line of wagons. So the day began. 

"Jest to think of bein' that rich, Will!" exclaimed Amanda Hatch to thestorekeeper, as they stood in the little group which had gathered infront of the first citizen's new mansion. "I own it scares me. Think howmuch that house must hev cost, and even them dogs, " said Amanda, staringat the mastiffs with awe. "They tell me he has a grand piano from NewYork, and guests from Boston railroad presidents. I call IsaacWorthington to mind when he wahn't but a slip of a boy with a cough, runnin' after Cynthy Ware. " She glanced down at Cynthia with something ofcompassion. "Just to think, child, he might have be'n your father!"

"I'm glad he isn't, " said Cynthia, hotly. 

"Of course, of course, " replied the good-natured and well-intentionedAmanda, "I'd sooner have your father than Isaac Worthington. But I wasonly thinkin' how nice it would be to be rich. "

Just then one of the glass-panelled doors of this house opened, and agood-looking lad of seventeen came out. 

"That's Bob Worthington, " said Amanda, determined that they should missnothing. "My! it wahn't but the other day when he put on long pants. Itwon't be a great while before he'll go into the mills and git all thatmoney. Guess he'll marry some city person. He'd ought to take you, Cynthy. "

"I don't want him, " said Cynthia, the color flaming into her cheeks. Andshe went off across the green in search of Jethro. 

There was a laugh from the honest country folk who had listened. BobWorthington came to the edge of the porch and stood there, franklyscanning the crowd, with an entire lack of self-consciousness. Some ofthem shifted nervously, with the New Englander's dislike of being caughtin the act of sight-seeing. 

"What in the world is he starin' at me for?" said Amanda, backing behindthe bulkier form of her husband. "As I live, I believe he's comin' here. "

Young Mr. Worthington was, indeed, descending the steps and walkingacross the lawn toward them, nodding and smiling to acquaintances as hepassed. To Wetherell's astonishment he made directly for the place wherehe was standing and held out his hand. 

"How do you do, Mr. Wetherell?" he said. "Perhaps you don't rememberme, --Bob Worthington. "

"I can't say that I should have known you, " answered the storekeeper. Theywere all absurdly silent, thinking of nothing to say and admiring the boybecause he was at ease. 

"I hope you have a good seat at the exercises, " he said, pressingWetherell's hand again, and before he could thank him, Bob was off in thedirection of the band stand. 

"One thing, " remarked Amanda, "he ain't much like his dad. You'd nevercatch Isaac Worthington bein' that common. "

Just then there came another interruption for William Wetherell, who wasstartled by the sound of a voice in his ear--a nasal voice that awokeunpleasant recollections. He turned to confront, within the distance ofeight inches, the face of Mr. Bijah Bixby of Clovelly screwed up into agreeting. The storekeeper had met Mr. Bixby several times since thatfirst memorable meeting, and on each occasion, as now, his hand had madean involuntary movement to his watch pocket. 

"Hain't seed you for some time, Will, " remarked Mr. Bixby; "goin' over tothe exercises? We'll move along that way, " and he thrust his hand underMr. Wetherell's elbow. "Whar's Jethro?"

"He's here somewhere, " answered the storekeeper, helplessly, moving alongin spite of himself. 

"Keepin' out of sight, you understand, " said Bijah, with a knowing wink, as much as to say that Mr. Wetherell was by this time a past master inJethro tactics. Mr. Bixby could never disabuse his mind of a certaininterpretation which he put on the storekeeper's intimacy with Jethro. "You done well to git in with him, Will. Didn't think you had it in youwhen I first looked you over. "

Mr. Wetherell wished to make an indignant denial, but he didn't knowexactly how to begin. 

"Smartest man in the United States of America--guess you know that, " Mr. Bixby continued amiably. "They can't git at him unless he wants 'em to. There's a railroad president at Isaac Worthington's who'd like to git athim to-day, --guess you know that, --Steve Merrill. "

Mr. Wetherell didn't know, but he was given no time to say so. 

"Steve Merrill, of the Grand Gulf and Northern. He hain't here to seeWorthington; he's here to see Jethro, when Jethro's a mind to. Guess youunderstand. "

"I know nothing about it, " answered Wetherell, shortly. Mr. Bixby gavehim a look of infinite admiration, as though he could not have pursuedany more admirable line. 

"I know Steve Merrill better'n I know you, " said Mr. Bixby, "and he knowsme. Whenever he sees me at the state capital he says, 'How be you, Bije?'just as natural as if I was a railroad president, and slaps me on theback. When be you goin' to the capital, Will? You'd ought to come downand be thar with the boys on this Truro Bill. You could reach some on 'emthe rest of us couldn't git at. "

William Wetherell avoided a reply to this very pointed inquiry byescaping into the meeting-house, where he found Jethro and Cynthia andEphraim already seated halfway up the aisle. 

On the platform, behind a bank of flowers, are the velvet covered chairswhich contain the dignitaries of the occasion. The chief of these is, ofcourse, Mr. Isaac Worthington, the one with the hawk-like look, sittingnext to the Rev. Mr. Sweet, who is rather pudgy by contrast. On the otherside of Mr. Sweet, next to the parlor organ and the quartette, is thegenial little railroad president Mr. Merrill, batting the flies whichassail the unprotected crown of his head, and smiling benignly on theaudience. 

Suddenly his eye becomes fixed, and he waves a fat hand vigorously atJethro, who answers the salute with a nod of unwonted cordiality for him. Then comes a hush, and the exercises begin. 

There is a prayer, of course, by the Rev. Mr. Sweet, and a rendering of"My Country" and "I would not Change my Lot, " and other choice selectionsby the quartette; and an original poem recited with much feeling by alady admirer of Miss Lucretia Penniman, and the "Hymn to Coniston"declaimed by Mr. Gamaliel Ives, president of the Brampton Literary Club. But the crowning event is, of course, the oration by Mr. Isaac D. Worthington, the first citizen, who is introduced under that title by thechairman of the day; and as the benefactor of Brampton, who has bestowedupon the town the magnificent gift which was dedicated such a short timeago, the Worthington Free Library. 

Mr. Isaac D. Worthington stood erect beside the table, his hand thrustinto the opening of his coat, and spoke at the rate of one hundred andeight words a minute, for exactly one hour. He sketched with much skillthe creed of the men who had fought their way through the forests tobuild their homes by Coniston Water, who had left their clearings to risktheir lives behind Stark and Ethan Allen for that creed; he paid agraceful tribute to the veterans of the Civil War, scattered among hishearers--a tribute, by the way, which for some reason made Ephraim veryindignant. Mr. Worthington went on to outline the duty of citizens of thepresent day, as he conceived it, and in this connection referred, withbecoming modesty, to the Worthington Free Library. He had made his moneyin Brampton, and it was but right that he should spend it for the benefitof the people of Brampton. The library, continued Mr. Worthington whenthe applause was over, had been the dream of a certain delicate youth whohad come, many years ago, to Brampton for his health. (It is a curiousfact, by the way, that Mr. Worthington seldom recalled the delicate youthnow, except upon public occasions. )

Yes, the dream of that youth had been to benefit in some way thatcommunity in which circumstances had decreed that he should live, and inthis connection it might not be out of place to mention a bill thenbefore the Legislature of the state, now in session. If the bill became alaw, the greatest modern factor of prosperity, the railroad, would cometo Brampton. The speaker was interrupted here by more applause. Mr. Worthington did not deem it dignified or necessary to state that therailroad to which he referred was the Truro Railroad; and that he, as thelargest stockholder, might indirectly share that prosperity withBrampton. That would be wandering too far, from his subject, which, itwill be recalled, was civic duties. He took a glass of water, and went onto declare that he feared--sadly feared--that the ballot was not held assacred as it had once been. He asked the people of Brampton, and of thestate, to stop and consider who in these days made the laws and grantedthe franchises. Whereupon he shook his head very slowly and sadly, asmuch as to imply that, if the Truro Bill did not pass, the corruption ofthe ballot was to blame. No, Mr. Worthington could think of no bettersubject on this Birthday of Independence than a recapitulation of thecreed of our forefathers, from which we had so far wandered. 

In short, the first citizen, as became him, had delivered the firstreform speech ever heard in Brampton, and the sensation which it createdwas quite commensurate to the occasion. The presence in the audience ofJethro Bass, at whom many believed the remarks to have been aimed, addedno little poignancy to that sensation, although Jethro gave no outwardsigns of the terror and remorse by which he must have been struck whilelistening to Mr. Worthington's ruminations of the corruption of theballot. Apparently unconscious of the eyes upon him, he walked out of themeeting-house with Cynthia by his side, and they stood waiting forWetherell and Ephraim under the maple tree there. 

The be-ribboned members of the Independence Day committee were now on thesteps, and behind them came Isaac Worthington and Mr. Merrill. Thepeople, scenting a dramatic situation, lingered. Would the mill ownerspeak to the boss? The mill owner, with a glance at the boss, did nothingof the kind, but immediately began to talk rapidly to Mr. Merrill. Thatgentleman, however, would not be talked to, but came running over toJethro and seized his hand, leaving Mr. Worthington to walk on byhimself. 

"Jethro, " cried the little railroad president, "upon my word. Well, well. And Miss Jethro, " he took off his hat to Cynthia, "well, well. Didn'tknow you had a girl, Jethro. "

"W-wish she was mine, Steve, " said Jethro. "She's a good deal to me as itis. Hain't you, Cynthy?"

"Yes, " said Cynthia. 

"Well, well, " said Mr. Merrill, staring at her, "you'll have to look outfor her some day--keep the boys away from her--eh? Upon my word! Well, Jethro, " said he, with a twinkle in his eye, "are you goin' to reform?I'll bet you've got an annual over my road in your pocket right now. "

"Enjoy the speech-makin', Steve?" inquired Mr. Bass, solemnly. 

Mr. Merrill winked at Jethro, and laughed heartily. 

"Keep the boys away from her, Jethro, " he repeated, laying his hand onthe shoulder of the lad who stood beside him. "It's a good thing Bob'sgoing off to Harvard this fall. Seems to me I heard about some cutting upat Andover--eh, Bob?"

Bob grinned, showing a line of very white teeth. 

Mr. Merrill took Jethro by the arm and led him off a little distance, having a message of some importance to give him, the purport of whichwill appear later. And Cynthia and Bob were left face to face. Of courseBob could have gone on, if he had wished it. 

"Don't remember me, do you?" he said. 

"I do now, " said Cynthia, looking at him rather timidly through herlashes. Her face was hot, and she had been, very uncomfortable during Mr. Merrill's remarks. Furthermore, Bob had not taken his eyes off her. 

"I remembered you right away, " he said reproachfully; "I saw you in frontof the house this morning, and you ran away. "

"I didn't runaway, " replied Cynthia, indignantly. 

"It looked like it, to me, " said Bob. . "I suppose you were afraid I wasgoing to give you anther whistle. "

Cynthia bit her lip, and then she laughed. Then she looked around to seewhere Jethro was, and discovered that they were alone in front of themeeting-house. Ephraim and her father had passed on while Mr. Merrill wastalking. 

"What's the matter?" asked Bob. 

"I'm afraid they've gone, " said Cynthia. "I ought to be going after them. They'll miss me. "

"Oh, no, they won't, " said Bob, easily, "let's sit down under the tree. They'll come back. "

Whereupon he sat down under the maple. But Cynthia remained standing, ready to fly. She had an idea that it was wrong to stay--which made itall the more delightful. 

"Sit down--Cynthia, " said he. 

She glanced down at him, startled. He was sitting, with his legs crossed, looking up at her intently. 

"I like that name, " he observed. "I like it better than any girl's name Iknow. Do be good-natured and sit down. " And he patted the ground closebeside him. 

Shy laughed again. The laugh had in it an exquisite note of shyness, which he liked. 

"Why do you want me to sit down?" she asked suddenly. 

"Because I want to talk to you. "

"Can't you talk to me standing up?"

"I suppose I could, " said Bob, "but--I shouldn't be able to say such nicethings to you. "

The corners of her mouth trembled a little. 

"And whose loss would that be?" she asked. 

Bob Worthington was surprised at this retort, and correspondinglydelighted. He had not expected it in a country storekeeper's daughter, and he stared at Cynthia so frankly that she blushed again, and turnedaway. He was a young man who, it may be surmised, had had some experiencewith the other sex at Andover and elsewhere. He had not spent all of hislife in Brampton. 

"I've often thought of you since that day when you wouldn't take thewhistle, " he declared. "What are you laughing at?"

"I'm laughing at you, " said Cynthia, leaning against the tree, with herhands behind her. 

"You've been laughing at me ever since you've stood there, " he said, aggrieved that his declarations should not betaken more seriously. 

"What have you thought about me?" she demanded. She was really beginningto enjoy this episode. 

"Well--" he began, and hesitated--and broke down and laughed--Cynthialaughed with him. 

"I can tell you what I didn't think, " said Bob. 

"What?" asked Cynthia, falling into the trap. 

"I didn't think you'd be so--so good-looking, " said he, quite boldly. 

"And I didn't think you'd be so rude, " responded Cynthia. But though sheblushed again, she was not exactly displeased. 

"What are you going to do this afternoon?" he asked. "Let's go for awalk. "

"I'm going back to Coniston. "

"Let's go for a walk now, " said he, springing to his feet. "Come on. "

Cynthia looked at him and shook her head smilingly. 

"Here's Uncle Jethro--"

"Uncle Jethro!" exclaimed Bob, "is he your uncle?"

"Oh, no, not really. But he's just the same. He's very good to me. "

"I wonder whether he'd mind if I called him Uncle Jethro, too, " said Bob, and Cynthia laughed at the notion. This young man was certainly verycomical, and very frank. "Good-by, " he said; "I'll come to see you someday in Coniston. "

CHAPTER XII

That evening, after Cynthia had gone to bed, William Wetherell sat downat Jonah Winch's desk in the rear of the store to gaze at a blank sheetof paper until the Muses chose to send him subject matter for his weeklyletter to the Guardian. The window was open, and the cool airs from themountain spruces mingled with the odors of corn meal and kerosene andcalico print. Jethro Bass, who had supped with the storekeeper, sat inthe wooden armchair silent, with his head bent. Sometimes he would sitthere by the hour while Wetherell wrote or read, and take his departurewhen he was so moved without saying good night. Presently Jethro liftedhis chin, and dropped it again; there was a sound of wheels without, and, after an interval, a knock at the door. 

William Wetherell dropped his pen with a start of surprise, as it waslate for a visitor in Coniston. He glanced at Jethro, who did not move, and then he went to the door and shot back the great forged bolt of it, and stared out. On the edge of the porch stood a tallish man in adouble-breasted frock coat. 

"Mr. Worthington!" exclaimed the storekeeper. 

Mr. Worthington coughed and pulled at one of his mutton-chop whiskers, and seemed about to step off the porch again. It was, indeed, the firstcitizen and reformer of Brampton. No wonder William Wetherell wasmystified. 

"Can I do anything for you?" he asked. "Have you missed your way?"

Wetherell thought he heard him muttering, "No, no, " and then he wasstartled by another voice in his ear. It was Jethro who was standingbeside him. 

"G-guess he hain't missed his way a great deal. Er--come in--come in. "

Mr. Worthington took a couple of steps forward. 

"I understood that you were to be alone, " he remarked, addressing Jethrowith an attempted severity of manner. 

"Didn't say so--d-didn't say so, did I?" answered Jethro. 

"Very well, " said Mr. Worthington, "any other time will do for thislittle matter. "

"Er--good night, " said Jethro, shortly, and there was the suspicion of agleam in his eye as Mr. Worthington turned away. The mill-owner, in fact, did not get any farther than the edge of the porch before he wheeledagain. 

"The affair which I have to discuss with you is of a private nature, Mr. Bass, " he said. 

"So I callated, " said Jethro. 

"You may have the place to yourselves, gentlemen, " Wetherell put inuneasily, and then Mr. Worthington came as far as the door, where hestood looking at the storekeeper with scant friendliness. Jethro turnedto Wetherell. 

"You a politician, Will?" he demanded. 

"No, " said Wetherell. 

"You a business man?"

"No, " he said again. 

"You ever tell folks what you hear other people say?"

"Certainly not, " the storekeeper answered; "I'm not interested in otherpeople's business. "

"Exactly, " said Jethro. "Guess you'd better stay. "

"But I don't care to stay, " Wetherell objected. 

"Stay to oblige me--stay to oblige me?" he asked. 

"Well, yes, if you put it that way, " Wetherell said, beginning to getsome amusement out of the situation. 

He did not know what Jethro's object was in this matter; perhaps othersmay guess. 

Mr. Worthington, who had stood by with ill-disguised impatience duringthis colloquy, note broke in. 

"It is most unusual, Mr. Bass, to have a third person present at aconference in which he has no manner of concern. I think on the whole, since you have insisted upon my coming to you--"

"H-hain't insisted that I know of, " said Jethro. 

"Well, " said Mr. Worthington, "never mind that. 

"Perhaps it would be better for me to come to you some other time, whenyou are alone. "

In the meantime Wetherell had shut the door, and they had graduallywalked to the rear of the store. Jethro parted his coat tails, and satdown again in the armchair. Wetherell, not wishing to be intrusive, wentto his desk again, leaving the first citizen standing among the barrels. 

"W-what other time?" Jethro asked. 

"Any other time, " said Mr. Worthington. 

"What other time?"

"To-morrow night?" suggested Mr. Worthington, striving to hide hisannoyance. 

"B-busy to-morrow night, " said Jethro. 

"You know that what I have to talk to you about is of the utmostimportance, " said Worthington. "Let us say Saturday night. "

"B-busy Saturday night, " said Jethro. "Meet you to-morrow. "

"What time?"

"Noon, " said Jethro, "noon. "

"Where?" asked Mr. Worthington, dubiously. 

"Band stand in Brampton Street, " said Jethro, and the storekeeper wasfain to bend over his desk to conceal his laughter, busying himself withhis books. Mr. Worthington sat down with as much dignity as he couldmuster on one of Jonah's old chairs, and Jonah Winch's clock ticked andticked, and Wetherell's pen scratched and scratched on his weekly letterto Mr. Willard, although he knew that he was writing the sheerestnonsense. As a matter of fact, he tore up the sheets the next morningwithout reading them. Mr. Worthington unbuttoned his coat, fumbled in hispocket, and pulled out two cigars, one of which he pushed toward Jethro, who shook his head. Mr. Worthington lighted his cigar and cleared histhroat. 

"Perhaps you have observed, Mr. Bass, " he said, "that this is a rapidlygrowing section of the state--that the people hereabouts are every daydemanding modern and efficient means of communication with the outsideworld. "

"Struck you as a mill owner, has it?" said Jethro. 

"I do not care to emphasize my private interests, " answered Mr. Worthington, at last appearing to get into his stride again. "I wish toput the matter on broader grounds. Men like you and me ought not to be somuch concerned with our own affairs as with those of the populationamongst whom we live. And I think I am justified in putting it to you onthese grounds. "

"H-have to be justified, do you--have to be justified?" Jethro inquired. "Er--why?"

This was a poser, and for a moment he stared at Jethro, blankly, until hedecided how to take it. Then he crossed his legs and blew smoke towardthe ceiling. 

"It is certainly fairer to everybody to take the broadest view of asituation, " he remarked; "I am trying to regard this from the aspect of acitizen, and I am quite sure that it will appeal to you in the samelight. If the spirit which imbued the founders of this nation meansanything, Mr. Bass, it means that the able men who are given a chance torise by their own efforts must still retain the duties andresponsibilities of the humblest citizens. That, I take it, is ourposition, Mr. Bass, --yours and mine. "

Mr. Worthington had uncrossed his legs, and was now by the inspiration ofhis words impelled to an upright position. Suddenly he glanced at Jethro, and started for Jethro had sunk down on the small of his back, his chinon his chest, in an attitude of lassitude if not of oblivion. There was asilence perhaps a little disconcerting for Mr. Worthington, who chose theopportunity to relight his cigar. 

"G-got through?" said Jethro, without moving, "g-got through?"

"Through?" echoed Mr. Worthington, "through what?"

"T-through Sunday-school, " said Jethro. 

Worthington dropped his match and stamped on it, and Wetherell began towonder how much the man would stand. It suddenly came over thestorekeeper that the predicament in which Mr. Worthington found himselfwhatever it was--must be a very desperate one. He half rose in his chair, sat down again, and lighted another match. 

"Er--director in the Truro Road, hain't you, Mr. Worthington?" askedJethro, without looking at him. 

"Yes. "

"Er--principal stockholder--ain't you?"

"Yes--but that is neither here nor there, sir. "

"Road don't pay--r-road don't pay, does it?"

"It certainly does not. "

"W-would pay if it went to Brampton and Harwich?"

"Mr. Bass, the company consider that they are pledged to the people ofthis section to get the road through. I am not prepared to say whetherthe road would pay, but it is quite likely that it would not. "

"Ch-charitable organization?" said Jethro, from the depths of his chair. 

"The pioneers in such matters take enormous risks for the benefit of thecommunity, sir. We believe that we are entitled to a franchise, and in myopinion the General Court are behaving disgracefully in refusing us one. I will not say all I think about that affair, Mr. Bass. I am convincedthat influences are at work--" He broke off with a catch in his throat. 

"T-tried to get a franchise, did you?"

"I am not here to quibble with you, Mr. Bass. We tried to get it by everylegitimate means, and failed, and you know it as well as I do. "

"Er--Heth Sutton didn't sign his receipt--er--did he?"

The storekeeper, not being a politician, was not aware that the somewhatobscure reference of Jethro's to the Speaker of the House concerned anapplication which Mr. Worthington was supposed to have made to thatgentleman, who had at length acknowledged his inability to oblige, andhad advised Mr. Worthington to go to headquarters. And Mr. StephenMerrill, who had come to Brampton out of the kindness of his heart, hadonly arranged this meeting in a conversation with Jethro that day, afterthe reform speech. 

Mr. Worthington sprang to his feet, and flung out a hand toward Jethro. 

"Prove your insinuations, air, " he cried; "I defy you to prove yourinsinuations. "

But Jethro still sat unmoved. 

"H-Heth in the charitable organization, too?" he asked. 

"People told me I was a fool to believe in honesty, but I thought betterof the lawmakers of my state. I'll tell you plainly what they said to me, sir. They said, 'Go to Jethro Bass. '"

"Well, so you have, hain't you? So you have. "

"Yes, I have. I've come to appeal to you in behalf of the people of yoursection to allow that franchise to go through the present Legislature. "

"Er--come to appeal, have you--come to appeal?"

"Yes, " said Mr. Worthington, sitting down again; "I have come to-night toappeal to you in the name of the farmers and merchants of thisregion--your neighbors, --to use your influence to get that franchise. Ihave come to you with the conviction that I shall not have appealed invain. "

"Er--appealed to Heth in the name of the farmers and merchants?"

"Mr. Sutton is Speaker of the House. "

"F-farmers and merchants elected him, " remarked Jethro, as though statinga fact. 

Worthington coughed. 

"It is probable that I made a mistake in going to Sutton, " he admitted. 

"If I w-wanted to catch a pike, w-wouldn't use a pin-hook. "

"I might have known, " remarked Worthington, after a pause, "that Suttoncould not have been elected Speaker without your influence. "

Jethro did not answer that, but still remained sunk in his chair. To allappearances he might have been asleep. 

"W-worth somethin' to the farmers and merchants to get that roadthrough--w-worth somethin', ain't it?"

Wetherell held his breath. For a moment Mr. Worthington sat very still, his face drawn, and then he wet his lips and rose slowly. 

"We may as well end this conversation, Mr. Bass, " he said, and though hetried to speak firmly his voice shook, "it seems to be useless. Goodnight. "

He picked up his hat and walked slowly toward the door, but Jethro didnot move or speak. Mr. Worthington reached the door opened it, and thenight breeze started the lamp to smoking. Wetherell got up and turned itdown, and the first citizen was still standing in the doorway. His backwas toward them, but the fingers of his left hand--working convulsivelycaught Wetherell's eye and held it; save for the ticking of the clock andthe chirping of the crickets in the grass, there was silence. Then Mr. Worthington closed the door softly, hesitated, turned, and came back andstood before Jethro. 

"Mr. Bass, " he said, "we've got to have that franchise. "

William Wetherell glanced at the countryman who, without moving in hischair, without raising his voice, had brought the first citizen ofBrampton to his knees. The thing frightened the storekeeper, revoltedhim, and yet its drama held him fascinated. By some subtle process whichhe had actually beheld, but could not fathom, this cold Mr. Worthington, this bank president who had given him sage advice, this preacher ofpolitical purity, had been reduced to a frenzied supplicant. He stoodbending over Jethro. 

"What's your price? Name it, for God's sake. "

"B-better wait till you get the bill--hadn't you? b-better wait till youget the bill. "

"Will you put the franchise through?"

"Goin' down to the capital soon?" Jethro inquired. 

"I'm going down on Thursday. "

"B-better come in and see me, " said Jethro. 

"Very well, " answered Mr. Worthington; "I'll be in at two o'clock onThursday. " And then, without another word to either of them, he swung onhis heel and strode quickly out of the store. Jethro did not move. 

William Wetherell's hand was trembling so that he could not write, and hecould not trust his voice to speak. Although Jethro had never mentionedIsaac Worthington's name to him, Wetherell knew that Jethro hated thefirst citizen of Brampton. 

At length, when the sound of the wheels had died away, Jethro broke thesilence. 

"Er--didn't laugh--did he, Will? Didn't laugh once--did he?"

"Laugh!" echoed the storekeeper, who himself had never been further fromlaughter in his life. 

"M-might have let him off easier if he'd laughed, " said Jethro, "if he'dlaughed just once, m-might have let him off easier. "

And with this remark he went out of the store and left Wetherell alone. 

CHAPTER XIII

The weekly letter to the Newcastle Guardian was not finished that night, but Coniston slept, peacefully, unaware of Mr. Worthington's visit; andnever, indeed, discovered it, since the historian for various reasons ofhis own did not see fit to insert the event in his plan of the TownHistory. Before another sun had set Jethro Bass had departed for thestate capital, not choosing to remain to superintend the haying of themany farms which had fallen into his hand, --a most unusual omission forhim. 

Presently rumors of a mighty issue about the Truro Railroad began to bediscussed by the politicians at the Coniston store, and Jake Wheeler heldhimself in instant readiness to answer a summons to the capital--whichnever came. 

Delegations from Brampton and Harwich went to petition the Legislaturefor the franchise, and the Brampton Clarion and Harwich Sentinel declaredthat the people of Truro County recognized in Isaac Worthington a greatand public-spirited man, who ought by all means to be the nextgovernor--if the franchise went through. 

One evening Lem Hallowell, after depositing a box of trimmings at EphraimPrescott's harness shop, drove up to the platform of the store with theremark that "things were gittin' pretty hot down to the capital in thatfranchise fight. "

"Hain't you b'en sent for yet, Jake?" he cried, throwing his reins overthe backs of his sweating Morgans; "well, that's strange. Guess the fighthain't as hot as we hear about. Jethro hain't had to call out his bestmen. "

"I'm a-goin' down if there's trouble, " declared Jake, who consistentlyignored banter. 

"Better git up and git, " said Lem; "there's three out of the fiverailroads against Truro, and Steve Merrill layin' low. Bije Bixby's downthere, and Heth Sutton, and Abner Parkinson, and all the big bugs. Betterget aboard, Jake. "

At this moment the discussion was interrupted by the sight of CynthiaWetherell coming across the green with an open letter in her hand. 

"It's a message from Uncle Jethro, " she said. 

The announcement was sufficient to warrant the sensation it produced onall sides. 

"'Tain't a letter from Jethro, is it?" exclaimed Sam Price, overcome by apardonable curiosity. For it was well known that one of Jethro's fixedprinciples in life was embodied in his own motto, "Don't write--send. "

"It's very funny, " answered Cynthia, looking down at the paper with apuzzled expression. "'Dear Cynthia: Judge Bass wished me to say to youthat he would be pleased if you and Will would come to the capital andspend a week with him at the Pelican House, and see the sights. The judgesays Rias Richardson will tend store. Yours truly, P. Hartington. ' That'sall, " said Cynthia, looking up. 

For a moment you could have heard a pine needle drop on the stoop. ThenRias thrust his hands in his pockets and voiced the general sentiment. 

"Well, I'll be--goldurned!" said he. 

"Didn't say nothin' about Jake?" queried Lem. 

"No, " answered Cynthia, "that's all--except two pieces of cardboard withsomething about the Truro Railroad and our names. I don't know what theyare. " And she took them from the envelope. 

"Guess I could tell you if I was pressed, " said Lem, amid a shout ofmerriment from the group. 

"Air you goin', Will?" said Sam Price, pausing with his foot on the stepof his buggy, that he might have the complete news before he left. 

"Godfrey, Will, " exclaimed Rigs, breathlessly, "you hain't a-goin' tothrow up a chance to stay a hull week at the Pelican, be you?" The merepossibility of refusal overpowered Rias. 

Those who are familiar with that delightful French song which treats ofthe leave-taking of one Monsieur Dumollet will appreciate, perhaps, theattentions which were showered upon William Wetherell and Cynthia upontheir departure for the capital next morning. Although Mr. Wetherell hadat one time been actually a resident of Boston, he received quite as manycautions from his neighbors as Monsieur Dumollet. Billets doux andpistols were, of course, not mentioned, but it certainly behooved him, when he should have arrived at that place of intrigues, to be on thelookout for cabals. 

They took the stage-coach from Brampton over the pass: picturesquestage-coach with its apple-green body and leather springs, soon to belaid away forever if the coveted Truro Franchise Bill becomes a law;stage-coach which pulls up defiantly beside its own rival at Trurostation, where our passengers take the train down the pleasant waterwaysand past the little white villages among the fruit trees to the capital. The thrill of anticipation was in Cynthia's blood, and the flush ofpleasure on her cheeks, when they stopped at last under the sheds. Theconductor snapped his fingers and cried, "This way, Judge, " and there wasJethro in his swallow-tailed coat and stove-pipe hat awaiting them. Heseized Wetherell's carpet-bag with one hand and Cynthia's arm with theother, and shouldered his way through the people, who parted when theysaw who it was. 

"Uncle Jethro, " cried Cynthia, breathlessly, "I didn't know you were ajudge. What are you judge of?"

"J-judge of clothes, Cynthy. D-don't you wish you had the red cloth towear here?"

"No, I don't, " said Cynthia. "I'm glad enough to be here without it. "

"G-glad to hev you in any fixin's, Cynthy, " he said, giving her arm alittle squeeze, and by that time they were up the hill and WilliamWetherell quite winded. For Jethro was strong as an ox, and Cynthia'smuscles were like an Indian's. 

They were among the glories of Main Street now. The capital was then, andstill remains, a typically beautiful New England city, with wide streetsshaded by shapely maples and elms, with substantial homes set back amidstlawns and gardens. Here on Main Street were neat brick business buildingsand banks and shops, with the park-like grounds of the Capitol fartheron, and everywhere, from curb to doorway, were knots of men talkingpolitics; broad-faced, sunburned farmers in store clothes, with beardsthat hid their shirt fronts; keen-featured, sallow, country lawyers inlong black coats crumpled from much sitting on the small of the back;country storekeepers with shrewd eyes, and local proprietors andmanufacturers. 

"Uncle Jethro, I didn't know you were such a great man, " she said. 

"H-how did ye find out, Cynthy?"

"The way people treat you here. I knew you were great, of course, " shehastened to add. 

"H-how do they treat me?" he asked, looking down at her. 

"You know, " she answered. "They all stop talking when you come along andstare at you. But why don't you speak to them?"

Jethro smiled and squeezed her arm again, and then they were in thecorridor of the famous Pelican Hotel, hazy with cigar smoke and filledwith politicians. Some were standing, hanging on to pillars, gesticulating, some were ranged in benches along the wall, and a chosenfew were in chairs grouped around the spittoons. Upon the appearance ofJethro's party, the talk was hushed, the groups gave way, and theyaccomplished a kind of triumphal march to the desk. The clerk, descryingthem, desisted abruptly from a conversation across the cigar counter, andwith all the form of a ceremony dipped the pen with a flourish into theink and handed it to Jethro. 

"Your rooms are ready, Judge, " he said. 

As they started for the stairs, Jethro and Cynthia leading the way, Wetherell felt a touch on his elbow and turned to confront Mr. BijahBixby--at very close range, as usual. 

"C-come down at last, Will?" he said. "Thought ye would. Need everybodythis time--you understand. "

"I came on pleasure, " retorted Mr. Wetherell, somewhat angrily. 

Mr. Bixby appeared hugely to enjoy the joke. 

"So I callated, " he cried, still holding Wetherell's hand in a mild, butpersuasive grip. "So I callated. Guess I done you an injustice, Will. "

"How's that?"

"You're a leetle mite smarter than I thought you was. So long. Got aleetle business now--you understand a leetle business. "

Was it possible, indeed, for the simple-minded to come to the capital andnot become involved in cabals? With some misgivings William Wetherellwatched Mr. Bixby disappear among the throng, kicking up his heelsbehind, and then went upstairs. On the first floor Cynthia was standingby an open door. 

"Dad, " she cried, "come and see the rooms Uncle Jethro's got for us!" Shetook Wetherell's hand and led him in. "See the lace curtains, and thechandelier, and the big bureau with the marble top. "

Jethro had parted his coat tails and seated himself enjoyably on the bed. 

"D-don't come often, " he said, "m-might as well have the best. "

"Jethro, " said Wetherell, coughing nervously and fumbling in the pocketof his coat, "you've been very kind to us, and we hardly know how tothank you. I--I didn't have any use for these. "

He held out the pieces of cardboard which had come in Cynthia's letter. He dared not look at Jethro, and his eye was fixed instead upon thesomewhat grandiose signature of Isaac D. Worthington, which they bore. Jethro took them and tore them up, and slowly tossed the pieces into acuspidor conveniently situated near the foot of the bed. He rose andthrust his hands into his pockets. 

"Er--when you get freshened up, come into Number 7, " he said. 

Number 7! But we shall come to that later. Supper first, in a greatpillared dining room filled with notables, if we only had the key. Jethrosits silent at the head of the table eating his crackers and milk, withCynthia on his left and William Wetherell on his right. Poor William, greatly embarrassed by his sudden projection into the limelight, ishelpless in the clutches of a lady-waitress who is demanding somewhatfiercely that he make an immediate choice from a list of dishes which sheis shooting at him with astonishing rapidity. But who is this, sittingbeside him, who comes to William's rescue, and demands that the ladyrepeat the bill of fare? Surely a notable, for he has a generouspresence, and jet-black whiskers which catch the light, which give thegentleman, as Mr. Bixby remarked, "quite a settin'. " Yes, we have met himat last. It is none other than the Honorable Heth Sutton, Rajah ofClovelly, Speaker of the House, who has condescended to help Mr. Wetherell. 

His chamberlain, Mr. Bijah Bixby, sits on the other side of the HonorableHeth, and performs the presentation of Mr. Wetherell. But Mr. Sutton, asbecomes a man of high position, says little after he has rebuked thewaitress, and presently departs with a carefully chosen toothpick;whereupon Mr. Bixby moves into the vacant seat--not to Mr. Wetherell'sunqualified delight. 

"I've knowed him ever sense we was boys, " said Mr. Bixby; "you saw howintimate we was. When he wants a thing done, he says, 'Bije, you go outand get 'em. ' Never counts the cost. He was nice to you--wahn't he, Will?" And then Mr. Bixby leaned over and whispered in Mr. Wetherell'sear; "He knows--you understand--he knows. "

"Knows what?" demanded Mr. Wetherell. 

Mr. Bixby gave him another admiring look. 

"Knows you didn't come down here with Jethro jest to see the sights. "

At this instant the talk in the dining room fell flat, and looking upWilliam Wetherell perceived a portly, rubicund man of middle age beingshown to his seat by the headwaiter. The gentleman wore a great, glittering diamond in his shirt, and a watch chain that contained muchfine gold. But the real cause of the silence was plainly in the youngwoman who walked beside him, and whose effective entrance argued nolittle practice and experience. She was of a type that catches the eyeinvoluntarily and holds it, --tall, well-rounded, fresh-complexioned, withheavy coils of shimmering gold hair. Her pawn, which was far fromunbecoming, was in keeping with those gifts with which nature had endowedher. She carried her head high, and bestowed swift and evidently fatalglances to right and left during her progress through the room. Mr. Bixby's voice roused the storekeeper from this contemplation of thebeauty. 

"That's Alvy Hopkins of Gosport and his daughter. Fine gal, hain't she?Ever sense she come down here t'other day she's stirred up more turmoilthan any railroad bill I ever seed. She was most suffocated at thegovernor's ball with fellers tryin' to get dances--some of 'em oldfellers, too. And you understand about Alvy?"

"What about him?"

"Alvy says he's a-goin' to be the next governor, or fail up. " Mr. Bixby'svoice sank to a whisper, and he spoke into Mr. Wetherell's ear. "Alvysays he has twenty-five thousand dollars to put in if necessary. I'llintroduce you to him, Will, " he added meaningly. "Guess you can help himsome--you understand?"

"Mr. Bixby!" cried Mr. Wetherell, putting down his knife and fork. 

"There!" said Mr. Bixby, reassuringly; "'twon't be no bother. I know himas well as I do you--call each other by our given names. Guess I was thefirst man he sent for last spring. He knows I go through all them rivertowns. He says, 'Bije, you get 'em. ' I understood. "

William Wetherell began to realize the futility of trying to convince Mr. Bixby of his innocence in political matters, and glanced at Jethro. 

"You wouldn't think he was listenin', would you, Will?" Mr. Bixbyremarked. 

"Listening?"

"Ears are sharp as a dog's. Callate he kin hear as far as the governor'stable, and he don't look as if he knows anything. One way he built up hispower--listenin' when they're talkin' sly out there in the rotunda. They're almighty surprised when they l'arn he knows what they're up to. Guess you understand how to go along by quiet and listen when they'retalkin' sly. "

"I never did such a thing in my life, " cried William Wetherell, indignantly aghast. 

But Mr. Bixby winked. 

"So long, Will, " he said, "see you in Number 7. "

Never, since the days of Pompadour and Du Barry, until modern Americanpolitics were invented, has a state been ruled from such a place asNumber 7 in the Pelican House--familiarly known as the Throne Room. Inthis historic cabinet there were five chairs, a marble-topped table, apitcher of iced water, a bureau, a box of cigars and a Bible, achandelier with all the gas jets burning, and a bed, whereon sat suchdignitaries as obtained an audience, --railroad presidents, governors andex-governors and prospective governors, the Speaker, the President of theSenate, Bijah Bixby, Peleg Hartington, mighty chiefs from the NorthCountry, and lieutenants from other parts of the state. These sat on thebed by preference. Jethro sat in a chair by the window, and never tookany part in the discussions that raged, but listened. Generally there wassome one seated beside him who talked persistently in his ear; as atpresent, for instance, Mr. Chauncey Weed, Chairman of the Committee onCorporations of the House, who took the additional precaution of puttinghis hand to his mouth when he spoke. 

Mr. Stephen Merrill was in the Throne Room that evening, andconfidentially explained to the bewildered William Wetherell the exactsituation in the Truro Franchise fight. Inasmuch as it has become ourduty to describe this celebrated conflict, --in a popular and engagingmanner, if possible, --we shall have to do so through Mr. Wetherell'seyes, and on his responsibility. The biographies of some of the gentlemenconcerned have since been published, and for some unaccountable reasoncontain no mention of the Truro franchise. 

"All Gaul, " said Mr. Merrill--he was speaking to a literary man--"allGaul is divided into five railroads. I am one, the Grand Gulf andNorthern, the impecunious one. That is the reason I'm so nice toeverybody, Mr. Wetherell. The other day a conductor on my road had ashock of paralysis when a man paid his fare. Then there's Batch, president of the 'Down East' road, as we call it. Batch and I are out ofthis fight, --we don't care whether Isaac D. Worthington gets hisfranchise or not, or I wouldn't be telling you this. The two railroadswhich don't want him to get it, because the Truro would eventually becomea competitor with them, are the Central and the Northwestern. AlexanderDuncan is president of the Central. "

"Alexander Duncan!" exclaimed Wetherell. "He's the richest man in thestate, isn't he?"

"Yes, " said Mr. Merrill, "and he lives in a big square house right herein the capital. He ain't a bad fellow, Duncan. You'd like him. He lovesbooks. I wish you could see his library. "

"I'm afraid there's not much chance of that, " answered Wetherell. 

"Well, as I say, there's Duncan, of the Central, and the other isLovejoy, of the Northwestern. Lovejoy's a bachelor and a skinflint. Thosetwo, Duncan and Lovejoy, are using every means in their power to preventWorthington from getting that franchise. Have I made myself clear?"

"Do you think Mr. Worthington will get it?" asked Wetherell, who had inmind a certain nocturnal visit at his store. 

Mr. Merrill almost leaped out of his chair at the question. Then hemopped his face, and winked very deliberately at the storekeeper. ThenMr. Merrill laughed. 

"Well, well, " he said, "for a man who comes down here to stay with JethroBass to ask me that!" Whereupon Mr. Wetherell flushed, and began toperspire himself. "Didn't you hear Isaac D. Worthington's virtuous appealto the people at Brampton?" said Mr. Merrill. 

"Yes, " replied Wetherell, getting redder. 

"I like you, Will, " said Mr. Merrill, unexpectedly, "darned if I don't. I'll tell you what I know about it, and you can have a little fun whileyou're here, lookin' on, only it won't do to write about it to theNewcastle Guardian. Guess Willard wouldn't publish it, anyhow. I supposeyou know that Jethro pulls the strings, end we little railroad presidentsdance. We're the puppets now, but after a while, when I'm crowded out, all these little railroads will get together and there'll be a row worthlooking at, or I'm mistaken. But to go back to Worthington, " continuedMr. Merrill, "he made a little mistake with his bill in the beginning. Instead of going to Jethro, he went to Heth Sutton, and Heth got the billas far as the Committee on Corporations, and there she's been ever since, with our friend Chauncey Weed, who's whispering over there. "

"Mr. Sutton couldn't even get it out of the Committee!" exclaimedWetherell. 

"Not an inch. Jethro saw this thing coming about a year ago, and he tookthe precaution to have Chauncey Weed and the rest of the Committee in hispocket--and of course Heth Sutton's always been there. "

William Wetherell thought of that imposing and manly personage, theHonorable Heth Sutton, being in Jethro's pocket, and marvelled. Mr. Chauncey Weed seemed of a species better able to thrive in the atmosphereof pockets. 

"Well, as I say, there was the Truro Franchise Bill sound asleep in theCommittee, and when Isaac D. Worthington saw that his little arrangementwith Heth Sutton wasn't any good, and that the people of the state didn'thave anything more to say about it than the Crow Indians, and that theend of the session was getting nearer and nearer, he got desperate andwent to Jethro, I suppose. You know as well as I do that Jethro hasagreed to put the bill through. "

"Then why doesn't he get the Committee to report it and put it through?"asked Wetherell. 

"Bless your simple literary nature, " exclaimed Mr Merrill, "Jethro's gotmore power than any man in the state, but that isn't saying that hedoesn't have to fight occasionally. He has to fight now. He has seven ofthe twelve senators hitched, and the governor. But Duncan and Lovejoyhave bought up all the loose blocks of representatives, and it issupposed that the franchise forces only control a quorum. The end of thesession is a week off, and never in all my experience have I seen a morepraiseworthy attendance on the part of members. "

"Do you mean that they are being paid to remain in their seats?" criedthe amazed Mr. Wetherell. 

"Well, " answered Mr. Merrill, with a twinkle in his eye, "that is alittle bald and--and unparliamentary, perhaps, but fairly accurate. Ourfriend Jethro is confronted with a problem to tax even his faculties, andto look at him, a man wouldn't suspect he had a care in the world. "

Jethro was apparently quite as free from anxiety the next morning when heoffered, after breakfast, to show Wetherell and Cynthia the sights of thetown, though Wetherell could not but think that the Throne Room and theTruro Franchise Bill were left at a very crucial moment to take care ofthemselves. Jethro talked to Cynthia--or rather, Cynthia talked to Jethroupon innumerable subject's; they looked upon the statue of a greatstatesman in the park, and Cynthia read aloud the quotation graven on therock of the pedestal, "The People's Government, made for the People, madeby the People, and answerable to the People. " After that they went intothe state library, where Wetherell was introduced to the librarian, Mr. Storrow. They did not go into the State House because, as everybodyknows, Jethro Bass never went there. Mr. Bijah Bixby and otherlieutenants might be seen in the lobbies, and the governor might signbills in his own apartment there, but the real seat of government wasthat Throne Room into which we have been permitted to enter. 

They walked out beyond the outskirts of the town, where there was a groveor picnic ground which was also used as a park by some of theinhabitants. Jethro liked the spot, and was in the habit sometimes oftaking refuge there when the atmosphere of the Pelican House became toothick. The three of them had sat down on one of the board benches torest, when presently two people were seen at a little distance walkingamong the trees, and the sight of them, for some reason, seemed to giveJethro infinite pleasure. 

"Why, " exclaimed Cynthia, "one of them is that horrid girl everybody waslooking at in the dining room last night. "

"D-don't like her, Cynthy?" said Jethro. 

"No, " said Cynthia, "I don't. "

"Pretty--hain't she--pretty?"

"She's brazen, " declared Cynthia. 

It was, indeed, Miss Cassandra Hopkins, daughter of that Honorable Alvawho--according to Mr. Bixby was all ready with a certain sum of money tobe the next governor. Miss Cassandra was arrayed fluffily in cool, pinklawn, and she carried a fringed parasol, and she was gazing upward withtelling effect into the face of the gentleman by her side. This wouldhave all been very romantic if the gentleman had been young and handsome, but he was certainly not a man to sweep a young girl off her feet. He wastall, angular, though broad-shouldered, with a long, scrawny neck thatrose out of a very low collar, and a large head, scantily covered withhair--a head that gave a physical as well as a mental effect of hardness. His smooth-shaven face seemed to bear witness that its owner was one whohad pushed frugality to the borders of a vice. It was not a pleasantface, but now it wore an almost benign expression under the influence ofMiss Cassandra's eyes. So intent, apparently, were both of them upon eachother that they did not notice the group on the bench at the other sideof the grove. William Wetherell ventured to ask Jethro who the man was. 

"N-name's Lovejoy, " said Jethro. 

"Lovejoy!" ejaculated the storekeeper, thinking of what Mr. Merrill hadtold him of the opponents of the Truro Franchise Bill. "President of the'Northwestern' Railroad?"

Jethro gave his friend a shrewd look. 

"G-gettin' posted--hain't you, Will?" he said. 

"Is she going to marry that old man?" asked Cynthia. 

Jethro smiled a little. "G-guess not, " said he, "g-guess not, if the oldman can help it. Nobody's married him yet, and hain't likely to. "

Jethro was unusually silent on the way back to the hotel, but he did notseem to be worried or displeased. He only broke his silence once, infact, when Cynthia called his attention to a large poster of somebloodhounds on a fence, announcing the fact in red letters that "UncleTom's Cabin" would be given by a certain travelling company at the OperaHouse the next evening. 

"L-like to go, Cynthy?"

"Oh, Uncle Jethro, do you think we can go?"

"Never b'en to a show--hev you--never b'en to a show?"

"Never in my life, " said Cynthia. 

"We'll all go, " said Jethro, and he repeated it once or twice as theycame to Main Street, seemingly greatly tickled at the prospect. And therewas the Truro Franchise Bill hanging over him, with only a week left ofthe session, and Lovejoy's and Duncan's men sitting so tight in theirseats! William Wetherell could not understand it. 

CHAPTER XIV

Half an hour later, when Mr. Wetherell knocked timidly at Number7, --drawn thither by an irresistible curiosity, --the door was opened by aportly person who wore a shining silk hat and ample gold watch chain. Thegentleman had, in fact, just arrived; but he seemed perfectly at home ashe laid down his hat on the marble-topped bureau, mopped his face, took aglass of iced water at a gulp, chose a cigar, and sank down gradually onthe bed. Mr. Wetherell recognized him instantly as the father of thecelebrated Cassandra. 

"Well, Jethro, " said the gentleman, "I've got to come into the ThroneRoom once a day anyhow, just to make sure you don't forget me--eh?"

"A-Alvy, " said Jethro, "I want you to shake hands with a particularfriend of mine, Mr. Will Wetherell of Coniston. Er--Will, the HonorableAlvy Hopkins of Gosport. "

Mr. Hopkins rose from the bed as gradually as he had sunk down upon it, and seized Mr. Wetherell's hand impressively. His own was very moist. 

"Heard you was in town, Mr. Wetherell, " he said heartily. "If Jethrocalls you a particular friend, it means something, I guess. It meanssomething to me, anyhow. "

"Will hain't a politician, " said Jethro. "Er--Alvy?"

"Hello!" said Mr. Hopkins. 

"Er--Will don't talk. "

"If Jethro had been real tactful, " said the Honorable Alvy, sinking downagain, "he'd have introduced me as the next governor of the state. Everybody knows I want to be governor, everybody knows I've got twentythousand dollars in the bank to pay for that privilege. Everybody knowsI'm going to be governor if Jethro says so. "

William Wetherell was a little taken aback at this ingenuous statement ofthe gentleman from Gosport. He looked out of the window through thefoliage of the park, and his eye was caught by the monument there infront of the State House, and he thought of the inscription on the baseof it, "The People's Government. " The Honorable Alva had not mentionedthe people--undoubtedly. 

"Yes, Mr. Wetherell, twenty thousand dollars. " He sighed. "Time was whena man could be governor for ten. Those were the good old days--eh, Jethro?"

"A-Alvy, 'Uncle Tom's Cabin's' comin' to town tomorrow--to-morrow. "

"You don't tell me, " said the Honorable Alva, acquiescing cheerfully inthe change of subject. "We'll go. Pleased to have you, too, Mr. Wetherell. "

"Alvy, " said Jethro, again, "'Uncle Tom's Cabin' comes to townto-morrow. "

Mr. Hopkins stopped fanning himself, and glanced at Jethro questioningly. 

"A-Alvy, that give you an idea?" said Jethro, mildly. 

Mr. Wetherell looked blank: it gave him no idea whatsoever, except oflittle Eva and the bloodhounds. For a few moments the Honorable Alvaappeared to be groping, too, and then his face began to crease into asmile of comprehension. 

"By Godfrey, Jethro, but you are smart. " he exclaimed, with involuntarytribute; "you mean buy up the theatre?"

"C-callate you'll find it's bought up. "

"You mean pay for it?" said Mr. Hopkins. 

"You've guessed it, Alvy, you've guessed it. "

Mr. Hopkins gazed at him in admiration, leaned out of the perpendicular, and promptly drew from his trousers' pocket a roll of stupendousproportions. Wetting his thumb, he began to push aside the top bills. 

"How much is it?" he demanded. 

But Jethro put up his hand. 

"No hurry, Alvy--n-no hurry. H-Honorable Alvy Hopkins ofGosport--p-patron of the theatre. Hain't the first time you've b'en apatron, Alvy. "

"Jethro, " said Mr. Hopkins, solemnly, putting up his money, "I'm muchobliged to you. I'm free to say I'd never have thought of it. If youain't the all-firedest smartest man in America to-day, --I don't exceptany, even General Grant, --then I ain't the next governor of this state. "

Whereupon he lapsed into an even more expressive silence, his face stillglowing. 

"Er--Alvy, " said Jethro presently, "what's the name of your gal?"

"Well, " said Mr. Hopkins, "I guess you've got me. We did christen herLily, but she didn't turn out exactly Lily. She ain't the type, " said Mr. Hopkins, slowly, not without a note of regret, and lapsed into silence. 

"W-what did you say her name was, Alvy?"

"I guess her name's Cassandra, " said the Honorable Alva. 

"C-Cassandry?"

"Well, you see, " he explained a trifle apologetically, "she's kind oftaken some matters in her own hands, my gal. Didn't like Lily, and itdidn't seem to fit her anyway, so she called herself Cassandra. Read itin a book. It means, 'inspirer of love, ' or some such poetry, but I don'tdeny that it goes with her better than Lily would. "

"Sh-she's a good deal of a gal, Alvy--fine-appearin' gal, Alvy. "

"Upon my word, Jethro, I didn't know you ever looked at a woman. But Isuppose you couldn't help lookin' at my gal--she does seem to draw men'seyes as if she was magnetized some way. " Mr. Hopkins did not speak asthough this quality of his daughter gave him unmixed delight. "But she'sa good-hearted gal, Cassy is, high-spirited, and I won't deny she'shandsome and smart. "

"She'll kind of grace my position when I'm governor. But to tell you thetruth, Jethro, one old friend to another, durned if I don't wish she wasmarried. It's a terrible thing for a father to say, I know, but I'd feeleasier about her if she was married to some good man who could hold her. There's young Joe Turner in Gosport, he'd give his soul to have her, andhe'd do. Cassy says she's after bigger game than Joe. She's young--that'sher only excuse. Funny thing happened night before last, " continued Mr. Hopkins, laughing. "Lovejoy saw her, and he's b'en out of his head eversince. Al must be pretty near my age, ain't he? Well, there's no foollike an old fool. "

"A-Alvy introduce me to Cassandry sometime will you?"

"Why, certainly, " answered Mr. Hopkins, heartily, "I'll bring her inhere. And now how about gettin' an adjournment to-morrow night for 'UncleTom's Cabin'? These night sessions kind of interfere. "

Half an hour later, when the representatives were pouring into therotunda for dinner, a crowd was pressing thickly around the desk to reada placard pinned on the wall above it. The placard announced the comingof Mr. Glover's Company for the following night, and that the HonorableAlva Hopkins of Gosport, ex-Speaker of the House, had bought threehundred and twelve seats for the benefit of the members. And theHonorable Alva himself, very red in the face and almost smothered, couldbe dimly discerned at the foot of the stairs trying to fight his way outof a group of overenthusiastic friends and admirers. Alva--so it was saidon all sides--was doing the right thing. 

So it was that one sensation followed another at the capital, and thepoliticians for the moment stopped buzzing over the Truro Franchise Billto discuss Mr. Hopkins and his master-stroke. The afternoon Chroniclewaxed enthusiastic on the subject of Mr. Hopkins's generosity, andpredicted that, when Senator Hartington made the motion in the upperhouse and Mr. Jameson in the lower, the General Court would unanimouslyagree that there would be no evening session on the following day. TheHonorable Alva was the hero of the hour. 

That afternoon Cynthia and her father walked through the green park tomake their first visit to the State House. They stood hand in hand on thecool, marble-paved floor of the corridor, gazing silently at the stainedand battered battle-flags behind the glass, and Wetherell seemed to belistening again to the appeal of a great President to a great Country inthe time of her dire need--the soul calling on the body to fight foritself. Wetherell seemed to feel again the thrill he felt when he saw theblue-clad men of this state crowded in the train at Boston: and to hearagain the cheers, and the sobs, and the prayers as he looked upon theblood that stained stars and stripes alike with a holy stain. With thatblood the country had been consecrated, and the state--yes, and thebuilding where they stood. So they went on up the stairs, reverently, norheeded the noise of those in groups about them, and through a door intothe great hall of the representatives of the state. 

Life is a mixture of emotions, a jumble of joy and sorrow and reverenceand mirth and flippancy, of right feeling and heresy. In the morningWilliam Wetherell had laughed at Mr. Hopkins and the twenty thousanddollars he had put in the bank to defraud the people; but now he couldhave wept over it, and as he looked down upon the three hundred membersof that House, he wondered how many of them represented their neighborswho supposedly had sent them here--and how many Mr. Lovejoy's railroad, Mr. Worthington's railroad, or another man's railroad. 

But gradually he forgot the battle-flags, and his mood changed. Perhapsthe sight of Mr. Speaker Sutton towering above the House, the veryessence and bulk of authority, brought this about. He aroused inWetherell unwilling admiration and envy when he arose to put a questionin his deep voice, or rapped sternly with his gavel to silence the tumultof voices that arose from time to time; or while some member wasspeaking, or the clerk was reading a bill at breathless speed, he turnedwith wonderful nonchalance to listen to the conversation of the gentlemenon the bench beside him, smiled, nodded, pulled his whiskers, at onceconscious and unconscious of his high position. And, most remarkable ofall to the storekeeper, not a man of the three hundred, however obscure, could rise that the Speaker did not instantly call him by name. 

William Wetherell was occupied by such reflections as these when suddenlythere fell a hush through the House. The clerk had stopped reading, theSpeaker had stopped conversing, and, seizing his gavel, lookedexpectantly over the heads of the members and nodded. A sleek, comfortably dressed mail arose smilingly in the middle of the House, andsubdued laughter rippled from seat to seat as he addressed the chair. 

"Mr. Jameson of Wantage. "

Mr. Jameson cleared his throat impressively and looked smilingly abouthim. 

"Mr. Speaker and gentlemen of the House, " he said, "if I desired toarouse the enthusiasm--the just enthusiasm--of any gathering in thisHouse, or in this city, or in this state, I should mention the name ofthe Honorable Alva Hopkins of Gosport. I think I am right. "

Mr. Jameson was interrupted, as he no doubt expected, by applause fromfloor and gallery. He stood rubbing his hands together, and it seemed toWilliam Wetherell that the Speaker did not rap as sharply with his gavelas he had upon other occasions. 

"Gentlemen of the House, " continued Mr. Jameson, presently, "theHonorable Alva Hopkins, whom we all know and love, has with unparalleledgenerosity--unparalleled, I say--bought up three hundred and twelve seatsin Fosters Opera House for to-morrow night" (renewed applause), "in orderthat every member of this august body may have the opportunity to witnessthat most classic of histrionic productions, 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'. " (Loudapplause, causing the Speaker to rap sharply. ) "That we may show a properappreciation of this compliment--I move you, Mr. Speaker, that the Houseadjourn not later than six o'clock to-morrow, Wednesday evening, not tomeet again until Thursday morning. "

Mr. Jameson of Wantage handed the resolution to a page and sat downamidst renewed applause. Mr. Wetherell noticed that many members turnedin their seats as they clapped, and glancing along the gallery he caughta flash of red and perceived the radiant Miss Cassandra herself leaningover the rail, her hands clasped in ecstasy. Mr. Lovejoy was not withher--he evidently preferred to pay his attentions in private. 

"There she is again, " whispered Cynthia, who had taken an instinctive andextraordinary dislike to Miss Cassandra. Then Mr. Sutton rosemajestically to put the question. 

"Gentlemen, are you ready for the question?" he cried. "All those infavor of the resolution of the gentleman from Wantage, Mr. Jameson--" theSpeaker stopped abruptly. The legislators in the front seats swungaround, and people in the gallery craned forward to see a member standingat his seat in the extreme rear of the hall. He was a little man in anill-fitting coat, his wizened face clean-shaven save for the broom-shapedbeard under his chin, which he now held in his hand. His thin, nasalvoice was somehow absurdly penetrating as he addressed the chair. Mr. Sutton was apparently, for once, taken by surprise, and stared a moment, as though racking his brain for the name. 

"The gentleman from Suffolk, Mr. Heath, " he said, and smiling a little, sat down. 

The gentleman from Suffolk, still holding on to his beard, pitched inwithout preamble. 

"We farmers on the back seats don't often get a chance to be heard, Mr. Speaker, " said he, amidst a general tittering from the front seats. "Wecome down here without any l'arnin' of parli'ment'ry law, and before weknow what's happened the session's over, and we hain't said nothin'. "(More laughter. ) "There's b'en a good many times when I wanted to saysomethin', and this time I made up my mind I was a-goin' to--law or nolaw. "

(Applause, and a general show of interest in the gentleman from Suffolk. )"Naow, Mr. Speaker, I hain't ag'in' 'Uncle Tom's Cabin. ' It's a goodplay, and it's done an almighty lot of good. And I hain't sayin' nothin'ag'in' Alvy Hopkins nor his munificence. But I do know there's a sight oflittle bills on that desk that won't be passed if we don't set to-morrownight--little bills that are big bills for us farmers. That tharwoodchuck bill, for one. " (Laughter. ) "My constituents want I should havethat bill passed. We don't need a quorum for them bills, but we needtime. Naow, Mr. Speaker, I say let all them that wants to go and see'Uncle Tom's Cabin' go and see it, but let a few of us fellers that haswoodchuck bills and other things that we've got to get through come downhere and pass 'em. You kin put 'em on the docket, and I guess if anythingcomes along that hain't jest right for everybody, somebody can challengea quorum and bust up the session. That's all. "

The gentleman from Suffolk sat down amidst thunderous applause, andbefore it died away Mr. Jameson was on his feet, smiling and rubbing hishands together, and was recognized. 

"Mr. Speaker, " he said, as soon as he could be heard, "if the gentlemanfrom Suffolk desires to pass woodchuck bills" (renewed laughter), "he cando so as far as I'm concerned. I guess I know where most of the membersof this House will be to-morrow night-" (Cries of 'You're right', andsharp rapping of the gavel. ) "Mr. Speaker, I withdraw my resolution. "

"The gentleman from Wantage, " said the Speaker, smiling broadly now, "withdraws his resolution. "

As William Wetherell was returning to the Pelican House, pondering overthis incident, he almost ran into a distinguished-looking man walkingbriskly across Main Street. 

"It was Mr. Worthington!" said Cynthia, looking after him. 

But Mr. Worthington had a worried look on his face, and was probably toomuch engrossed in his own thoughts to notice his acquaintances. He had, in fact, just come from the Throne Room, where he had been to remindJethro that the session was almost over, and to ask him what he meant todo about the Truro Bill. Jethro had given him no satisfaction. 

"Duncan and Lovejoy have their people paid to sit there night and day, "Mr. Worthington had said. "We've got a bare majority on a full House; butyou don't seem to dare to risk it. What are you going to do about it, Mr. Bass?"

"W-want the bill to pass--don't you?"

"Certainly, " Mr. Worthington had cried, on the edge of losing his temper. 

"L-left it to me--didn't you?

"Yes, but I'm entitled to know what's being done. I'm paying for it. "

"H-hain't paid for it yet--hev you?"

"No, I most assuredly haven't. "

"B-better wait till you do. "

There was very little satisfaction in this, and Mr. Worthington had atlength been compelled to depart, fuming, to the house of his friend theenemy, Mr. Duncan, there to attempt for the twentieth time to persuadeMr. Duncan to call off his dogs who were sitting with such praiseworthypertinacity in their seats. As the two friends walked on the lawn, Mr. Worthington tried to explain, likewise for the twentieth time, that theextension of the Truro Railroad could in no way lessen the Canadiantraffic of the Central, Mr. Duncan's road. But Mr. Duncan could not seeit that way, and stuck to his present ally, Mr. Lovejoy, and refusedpoint-blank to call off his dogs. Business was business. 

It is an apparently inexplicable fact, however, that Mr. Worthington andhis son Bob were guests at the Duncan mansion at the capital. Twocountries may not be allies, but their sovereigns may be friends. In thepresent instance, Mr. Duncan and Mr. Worthington's railroads wereopposed, diplomatically, but another year might see the Truro Railroadand the Central acting as one. And Mr. Worthington had no intentionwhatever of sacrificing Mr. Duncan's friendship. The first citizen ofBrampton possessed one quality so essential to greatness--that of lookinginto the future, and he believed that the time would come when an eventof some importance might create a perpetual alliance between himself andMr. Duncan. In short, Mr. Duncan had a daughter, Janet, and Mr. Worthington, as we know, had a son. And Mr. Duncan, in addition to hisown fortune, had married one of the richest heiresses in New England. Prudens futuri, that was Mr. Worthington's motto. 

The next morning Cynthia, who was walking about the town alone, foundherself gazing over a picket fence at a great square house with a verywide cornice that stood by itself in the centre of a shade-flecked lawn. There were masses of shrubbery here and there, and a greenhouse, and alatticed summer-house: and Cynthia was wondering what it would be like tolive in a great place like that, when a barouche with two shining horsesin silver harness drove past her and stopped before the gate. Four orfive girls and boys came laughing out on the porch, and one of them, whoheld a fishing-rod in his hand, Cynthia recognized. Startled and ashamed, she began to walk on as fast as she could in the opposite direction, whenshe heard the sound of footsteps on the lawn behind her, and her own namecalled in a familiar voice. At that she hurried the faster; but she couldnot run, and the picket fence was half a block long, and Bob Worthingtonhad an advantage over her. Of course it was Bob, and he did not scrupleto run, and in a few seconds he was leaning over the fence in front ofher. Now Cynthia was as red as a peony by this time, and she almost hatedhim. 

"Well, of all people, Cynthia Wetherell!" he cried; "didn't you hear mecalling after you?"

"Yes, " said Cynthia. 

"Why didn't you stop?"

"I didn't want to, " said Cynthia, glancing at the distant group on theporch, who were watching them. Suddenly she turned to him defiantly. "Ididn't know you were in that house, or in the capital, " she said. 

"And I didn't know you were, " said Bob, upon whose masculine intelligencethe meaning of her words was entirely lost. "If I had known it, you canbet I would have looked you up. Where are you staying?"

"At the Pelican House. "

"What!" said Bob, "with all the politicians? How did you happen to gothere?"

"Mr. Bass asked my father and me to come down for a few days, " answeredCynthia, her color heightening again. Life is full of contrasts, andCynthia was becoming aware of some of them. 

"Uncle Jethro?" said Bob. 

"Yes, Uncle Jethro, " said Cynthia, smiling in spite of herself. He alwaysmade her smile. 

"Uncle Jethro owns the Pelican House, " said Bob. 

"Does he? I knew he was a great man, but I didn't know how great he wasuntil I came down here. "

Cynthia said this so innocently that Bob repented his flippancy on thespot. He had heard occasional remarks of his elders about Jethro. 

"I didn't mean quite that, " he said, growing red in his turn. "UncleJethro--Mr. Bass--is a great man of course. That's what I meant. "

"And he's a very good man, " said Cynthia, who understood now that he hadspoken a little lightly of Jethro, and resented it. 

"I'm sure of it, " said Bob, eagerly. Then Cynthia began to walk on, slowly, and he followed her on the other side of the fence. "Hold on, " hecried, "I haven't said half the things I want to say--yet. "

"What do you want to say?" asked Cynthia, still walking. "I have to go. "

"Oh, no, you don't! Wait just a minute--won't you?"

Cynthia halted, with apparent unwillingness, and put out her toe betweenthe pickets. Then she saw that there was a little patch on that toe, anddrew it in again. 

"What do you want to say?" she repeated. "I don't believe you haveanything to say at all. " And suddenly she flashed a look at him that madehis heart thump. 

"I do--I swear I do!" he protested. "I'm coming down to the Pelicanto-morrow morning to get you to go for a walk. "

Cynthia could not but think that the remoteness of the time he set wasscarce in keeping with his ardent tone. 

"I have something else to do to-morrow morning, " she answered. 

"Then I'll come to-morrow afternoon, " said Bob, instantly. 

"Who lives here?" she asked irrelevantly. 

"Mr. Duncan. I'm visiting the Duncans. "

At this moment a carryall joined the carriage at the gate. Cynthiaglanced at the porch again. The group there had gown larger, and theywere still staring. She began to feel uncomfortable again, and moved onslowly. 

"Mayn't I come?" asked Bob, going after her; and scraping the butt of therod along the palings. 

"Aren't there enough girls here to satisfy you?" asked Cynthia. 

"They're enough--yes, " he said, "but none of 'em could hold a candle toyou. "

Cynthia laughed outright. 

"I believe you tell them all something like that, " she said. 

"I don't do any such thing, " he retorted, and then he laughed himself, and Cynthia laughed again. 

"I like you because you don't swallow everything whole, " said Bob, "and--well, for a good many other reams. " And he looked into her facewith such frank admiration that Cynthia blushed and turned away. 

"I don't believe a word you say, " she answered, and started to walk off, this time in earnest. 

"Hold on, " cried Bob. They were almost at the end of the fence by this, and the pickets were sharp and rather high, or he would have climbedthem. 

Cynthia paused hesitatingly. 

"I'll come at two o'clock to-morrow, " said he; "We're going on a picnicto-day, to Dalton's Bend, on the river. I wish I could get out of it. "

Just then there came a voice from the gateway. 

"Bob! Bob Worthington!"

They both turned involuntarily. A slender girl with light brown hair wasstanding there, waving at him. 

"Who's that?" asked Cynthia. 

"That?" said Bob, in some confusion, "oh, that's Janet Duncan. "

"Good-by, " said Cynthia. 

"I'm coming to-morrow, " he called after her, but she did not turn. In alittle while she heard the carryall behind her clattering down thestreet, its passengers laughing and joking merrily. Her face burned, forshe thought that they were laughing at her; she wished with all her heartthat she had not stopped to talk with him at the palings. The girls, indeed, were giggling as the carryall passed, and she heard somebody callout his name, but nevertheless he leaned out of the seat and waved hishat at her, amid a shout of laughter. Poor Cynthia! She did not look athim. Tears of vexation were in her eyes, and the light of her joy at thisvisit to the capital flickered, and she wished she were back in Coniston. She thought it would be very nice to be rich, and to live in a greathouse in a city, and to go on picnics. 

The light flickered, but it did not wholly go out. If it has not beenshown that Cynthia was endowed with a fair amount of sense, many of thesepages have been written in vain. She sat down for a while in the park andthought of the many things she had to be thankful for--not the least ofwhich was Jethro's kindness. And she remembered that she was to see"Uncle Tom's Cabin" that evening. 

Such are the joys and sorrows of fifteen!

CHAPTER XV

Mr. Amos Cuthbert named it so--our old friend Amos who lives high up inthe ether of Town's End ridge, and who now represents Coniston in theLegislature. He is the same silent, sallow person as when Jethro firsttook a mortgage on his farm, only his skin is beginning to resemble driedparchment, and he is a trifle more cantankerous. On the morning of thatmemorable day when, "Uncle Tom's Cabin" came to the capital, Amos hadentered the Throne Room and given vent to his feelings in regard to thegentleman in the back seat who had demanded an evening sitting on behalfof the farmers. 

"Don't that beat all?" cried Amos. "Let them have their darned woodchucksession; there won't nobody go to it. For cussed, crisscrosscontrariness, give me a moss-back Democrat from a one-boss, one-man townlike Suffolk. I'm a-goin' to see the show. "

"G-goin' to the show, be you, Amos?" said Jethro. 

"Yes, I be, " answered Amos, bitterly. "I hain't agoin' nigh the houseto-night. " And with this declaration he departed. 

"I wonder if he really is going?" queried Mr. Merrill looking at theceiling. And then he laughed. 

"Why shouldn't he go?" asked William Wetherell. 

Mr. Merrill's answer to this question was a wink, whereupon he, too, departed. And while Wetherell was pondering over the possible meaning ofthese words the Honorable Alva Hopkins entered, wreathed in smiles, andclosed the door behind him. 

"It's all fixed, " he said, taking a seat near Jethro in the window. 

"S-seen your gal--Alvy--seen your gal?"

Mr. Hopkins gave a glance at Wetherell. 

"Will don't talk, " said Jethro, and resumed his inspection through thelace curtains of what was going on in the street. 

"Cassandry's, got him to go, " said Mr. Hopkins. "It's all fixed, as sureas Sunday. If it misses fire, then I'll never mention the governorshipagain. But if it don't miss fire, " and the Honorable Alva leaned over andput his hand on Jethro's knee, "if it don't miss fire, I get thenomination. Is that right?"

"Y-you've guessed it, Alvy. "

"That's all I want to know, " declared the Honorable Alva; "when you saythat much, you never go back on it. And, you can go ahead and give theorders, Jethro. I have to see that the boys get the tickets. Cassandry'sgot a head on her shoulders, and she kind of wants to be governor, too. "He got as far as the door, when he turned and bestowed upon Jethro aglance of undoubted tribute. "You've done a good many smart things, " saidhe, "but I guess you never beat this, and never will. "

"H-hain't done it yet, Alvy, " answered Jethro, still looking out throughthe window curtains at the ever ganging groups of gentlemen in thestreet. These groups had a never ceasing interest for Jethro Bass. 

Mr. Wetherell didn't talk, but had he been the most incurable of gossipshe felt that he could have done no damage to this mysterious affair, whatever it was. In a certain event, Mr. Hopkins was promised thegovernorship: so much was plain. And it was also evident that MissCassandra Hopkins was in some way to be instrumental. William Wetherelldid not like to ask Jethro, but he thought a little of sounding Mr. Merrill, and then he came to the conclusion that it would be wiser forhim not to know. 

"Er--Will, " said Jethro, presently, "you know Heth Sutton--Speaker HethSutton?"

"Yes. "

"Er--wouldn't mind askin' him to step in and see me before thesession--if he was comin' by--would you?"

"Certainly not. "

"Er--if he was comin' by, " said Jethro. 

Mr. Wetherell found Mr. Speaker Sutton glued to a pillar in the rotundabelow. He had some difficulty in breaking through the throng that pressedaround him, and still more in attracting his attention, as Mr. Suttontook no manner of notice of the customary form of placing one's handunder his elbow and pressing gently up. Summoning up his courage, Mr. Wetherell tried the second method of seizing him by the buttonhole. Hepaused in his harangue, one hand uplifted, and turned and glanced at thestorekeeper abstractedly. 

"Mr. Bass asked me to tell you to drop into Number 7, " said Wetherell, and added, remembering express instructions, "if you were going by. "

Wetherell had not anticipated the magical effect this usual message wouldhave on Mr. Sutton, nor had he thought that so large and dignified a bodywould move so rapidly. Before the astonished gentlemen who had penned himcould draw a breath, Mr. Sutton had reached the stairway and, wasmounting it with an agility that did him credit. Five minutes laterWetherell saw the Speaker descending again, the usually impressivequality of his face slightly modified by the twitching of a smile. 

Thus the day passed, and the gentlemen of the Lovejoy and Duncan factionssat, as tight as ever in their seats, and the Truro Franchise bill stillslumbered undisturbed in Mr. Chauncey Weed's committee. 

At supper there was a decided festal air about the dining room of thePelican House, the little band of agricultural gentlemen who wished tohave a session not being patrons of that exclusive hotel. Many of theSolons had sent home for their wives; that they might do the utmostjustice to the Honorable Alva's hospitality. Even Jethro, as he ate hiscrackers and milk, had a new coat with bright brass buttons, and Cynthia, who wore a fresh gingham which Miss Sukey Kittredge of Coniston hadhelped to design, so far relented in deference to Jethro's taste as totie a red bow at her throat. 

The middle table under the chandelier was the immediate firmament of MissCassandra Hopkins. And there, beside the future governor, sat thepresident of the "Northwestern" Railroad, Mr. Lovejoy, as the chief ofthe revolving satellites. People began to say that Mr. Lovejoy was hookedat last, now that he had lost his head in such an unaccountable fashionas to pay his court in public; and it was very generally known that hewas to make one of the Honorable Alva's immediate party at theperformance of "Uncle Tam's Cabin. "

Mr. Speaker Sutton, of course, would have to forego the pleasure of thetheatre as a penalty of his high position. Mr. Merrill, who sat atJethro's table next to Cynthia that evening, did a great deal of jokingwith the Honorable Heth about having to preside aver a woodchuck session, which the Speaker, so Mr. Wetherell thought, took in astonishingly goodpart, and seemed very willing to make the great sacrifice which his dutyrequired of him. 

After supper Mr. Wetherell took a seat in the rotunda. As an observer ofhuman nature, he had begun to find a fascination in watching the group ofpoliticians there. First of all he encountered Mr. Amos Cuthbert, hislittle coal-black eyes burning brightly, and he was looking veryirritable indeed. 

"So you're going to the show, Amos?" remarked the storekeeper, with anattempt at cordiality. 

To his bewilderment, Amos turned upon him fiercely. 

"Who said I was going to the show?" he snapped. 

"You yourself told me. "

"You'd ought to know whether I'm a-goin' or not, " said Amos, and walkedaway. 

While Mr. Wetherell sat meditating, upon this inexplicable retort, aretired, scholarly looking gentleman with a white beard, who worespectacles, came out of the door leading from the barber shop and quietlytook a seat beside him. The storekeeper's attention was next distractedby the sight of one who wandered slowly but ceaselessly from group togroup, kicking up his heels behind, and halting always in the rear of thespeakers. Needless to say that this was our friend Mr. Bijah Bixby, whowas following out his celebrated tactics of "going along by when theywere talkin' sly. " Suddenly Mr. Bixby's eye alighted on Mr. Wetherell, who by a stretch of imagination conceived that it expressed bothastonishment and approval, although he was wholly at a loss to understandthese sentiments. Mr. Bixby winked--Mr. Wetherell was sure of that. Butto his surprise, Bijah did not pause in his rounds to greet him. 

Mr. Wetherell was beginning to be decidedly uneasy, and was about to goupstairs, when Mr. Merrill came down the rotunda whistling, with hishands in his pockets. He stopped whistling when he spied the storekeeper, and approached him in his usual hearty manner. 

"Well, well, this is fortunate, " said Mr. Merrill; "how are you, Duncan?I want you to know Mr. Wetherell. Wetherell writes that weekly letter forthe Guardian you were speaking to me about last year. Will, this is Mr. Alexander Duncan, president of the 'Central. '"

"How do you do, Mr. Wetherell?" said the scholarly gentleman with thespectacles, putting out his hand. "I'm glad to meet you, very glad, indeed. I read your letters with the greatest pleasure. "

Mr. Wetherell, as he took Mr. Duncan's hand, had a variety of emotionswhich may be imagined, and need not be set down in particular. 

"Funny thing, " Mr. Merrill continued, "I was looking for you, Duncan. Itoccurred to me that you would like to meet Mr. Wetherell. I was afraidyou were in Boston. "

"I have just got back, " said Mr. Duncan. 

"I wanted Wetherell to see your library. I was telling him about it. "

"I should be delighted to show it to him, " answered Mr. Duncan. Thatlibrary, as is well known, was a special weakness of Mr. Duncan's. 

Poor William Wetherell, who was quite overwhelmed by the fact that thegreat Mr. Duncan had actually read his letters and liked them, couldscarcely utter a sensible word. Almost before he realized what hadhappened he was following Mr. Duncan out of the Pelican House, when thestorekeeper was mystified once more by a nudge and another wink from Mr. Bixby, conveying unbounded admiration. 

"Why don't you write a book, Mr. Wetherell?" inquired the railroadpresident, when they were crossing the park. 

"I don't think I could do it, " said Mr. Wetherell, modestly. Such incensewas overpowering, and he immediately forgot Mr. Bixby. 

"Yes, you can, " said Mr. Duncan, "only you don't know it. Take yourletters for a beginning. You can draw people well enough, when you try. There was your description of the lonely hill-farm on the spur--I shallalways remember that: the gaunt farmer, toiling every minute between sunand sun; the thin, patient woman bending to a task that never charged orlightened; the children growing up and leaving one by one, some to thecities, some to the West, until the old people are left alone in theevening of life--to the sunsets and the storms. Of course you must writea book. "

Mr. Duncan quoted other letters, and William Wetherell thrilled. Poorman! he had had little enough incense in his time, and none at all fromthe great. They came to the big square house with the cornice whichCynthia had seen the day before, and walked across the lawn through theopen door. William Wetherell had a glimpse of a great drawing-room withhigh windows, out of which was wafted the sound of a piano and ofyouthful voice and laughter, and then he was in the library. The thoughtof one man owning all those books overpowered him. There they were, instately rows, from the floor to the high ceiling, and a portable ladderwith which to reach them. 

Mr. Duncan, understanding perhaps something of the storekeeper'sembarrassment, proceeded to take down his treasures: first editions fromthe shelves, and folios and mistrals from drawers in a great iron safe inone corner and laid them on the mahogany desk. It was the railroadpresident's hobby, and could he find an appreciative guest, he was happy. It need scarcely be said that he found William Wetherell appreciative, and possessed of knowledge of Shaksperiana and other matters thatastonished his host as well as pleased him. For Wetherell had found histongue at last. 

After a while Mr. Duncan drew out his watch and gave a start. 

"By George!" he exclaimed, "it's after eight o'clock. I'll have to askyou to excuse me to-night, Mr. Wetherell. I'd like to show you the restof them--can't you come around to-morrow afternoon?"

Mr. Wetherell, who had forgotten his own engagement and "Uncle Tom'sCabin, " said he would be happy to come. And they went out together andbegan to walk toward the State House. 

"It isn't often I find a man who knows anything at all about thesethings, " continued Mr. Duncan, whose heart was quite won. "Why do youbury yourself in Coniston?"

"I went there from Briton for my health, " said the storekeeper. 

"Jethro Bass lives there, doesn't he" said Mr. Duncan, with a laugh. ButI suppose you don't know anything about politics. "

"I know nothing at all, " said Mr. Wetherell, which was quite true. He hadbeen in dreamland, but now the fact struck him again, with something of ashock, that this mild-mannered gentleman was one of those who had beenpaying certain legislators to remain in their seats. Wetherell thought ofspeaking to Mr. Duncan of his friendship with Jethro Bass, but theoccasion passed. 

"I wish to heaven I didn't have to know anything about politics, " Mr. Duncan was saying; "they disgust me. There's a little matter on now, about an extension of the Truro Railroad to Harwich, which wouldn'tinterest you, but you can't conceive what a nuisance it has been to watchthat House day and night, as I've had to. It's no joke to have thattownsman of yours; Jethro Bass, opposed to you. I won't say anythingagainst him, for he many be a friend of yours, and I have to use himsometimes myself. " Mr. Duncan sighed. "It's all very sordid and annoying. Now this evening, for instance, when we might have enjoyed ourselves withthose books, I've' got to go to the House, just because some backwoodsfarmers want to talk about woodchucks. I suppose it's foolish, " said Mr. Duncan; "but Bass has tricked us so often that I've got into the habit ofbeing watchful. I should have been here twenty minutes ago. "

By this time they had come to the entrance of the State House, andWetherell followed Mr. Duncan in, to have a look at the woodchuck sessionhimself. Several members hurried by and up the stairs, some of them intheir Sunday black; and the lobby above seemed, even to the storekeeper'sunpractised eye, a trifle active for a woodchuck session. Mr. Duncanmuttered something, and quickened his gait a little on the steps that ledto the gallery. This place was almost empty. They went down to the rail, and the railroad president cast his eye over the House. 

"Good God!" he said sharply, "there's almost a quorum here. " He ran hiseye over the members. "There is a quorum here. "

Mr. Duncan stood drumming nervously with his fingers on the rail, scanning the heads below. The members were scattered far and wide throughthe seats, like an army in open order, listening in silence to thedroning voice of the clerk. Moths burned in the gas flames, and June bugshummed in at the high windows and tilted against the walls. Then Mr. Duncan's finger nails whitened as his thin hands clutched the rail, and asense of a pending event was upon Wetherell. Slowly he realized that hewas listening to the Speaker's deep voice. 

"'The Committee on Corporations, to whom was referred House Bill Number109, entitled, 'An Act to extend the Truro Railroad to Harwich, havingconsidered the same, report the same with the following resolution:Resolved, that the bill ought to pass. Chauncey Weed, for theCommittee. '"

The Truro Franchise! The lights danced, and even a sudden weakness cameupon the storekeeper. Jethro's trick! The Duncan and Lovejoyrepresentatives in the theatre, the adherents of the bill here! Wetherellsaw Mr. Duncan beside him, a tense figure leaning on the rail, calling tosome one below. A man darted up the centre, another up the side aisle. Then Mr. Duncan flashed at William Wetherell from his blue eye such alook of anger as the storekeeper never forgot, and he, too, was gone. Tingling and perspiring, Wetherell leaned out over the railing as theSpeaker rapped calmly for order. Hysteric laughter, mingled with hoarsecries, ran over the House, but the Honorable Heth Sutton did not evensmile. 

A dozen members were on their feet shouting to the chair. One wasrecognized, and that man Wetherell perceived with amazement to be Mr. Jameson of Wantage, adherent of Jethro's--he who had moved to adjourn for"Uncle Tom's Cabin"! A score of members crowded into the aisles, but theSpeaker's voice again rose above the tumult. 

"The doorkeepers will close the doors! Mr. Jameson of Wantage moves thatthe report of the Committee be accepted, and on this motion a roll-callis ordered. "

The doorkeepers, who must have been inspired, had already slammed thedoors in the faces of those seeking wildly to escape. The clerk alreadyhad the little, short-legged desk before him and was calling the rollwith incredible rapidity. Bewildered and excited as Wetherell was, andknowing as little of parliamentary law as the gentleman who had proposedthe woodchuck session, he began to form some sort of a notion of Jethro'sgeneralship, and he saw that the innocent rural members who belonged toDuncan and Lovejoy's faction had tried to get away before the roll-call, destroy the quorum, and so adjourn the House. These, needless to say, were not parliamentarians, either. They had lacked a leader, they werestunned by the suddenness of the onslaught, and had not moved quicklyenough. Like trapped animals, they wandered blindly about for a fewmoments, and then sank down anywhere. Each answered the roll-callsullenly, out of necessity, for every one of them was a marked man. ThenWetherell remembered the two members who had escaped, and Mr. Duncan, andfell to calculating how long it would take these to reach Fosters OperaHouse, break into the middle of an act, and get out enough partisans tocome back and kill the bill. Mr. Wetherell began to wish he could witnessthe scene there, too, but something held him here, shaking withexcitement, listening to each name that the clerk called. 

Would the people at the theatre get back in time?

Despite William Wetherell's principles, whatever these may have been, hewas so carried away that he found himself with his watch in his hand, counting off the minutes as the roll-call went on. Fosters Opera Housewas some six squares distant, and by a liberal estimate Mr. Duncan andhis advance guard ought to get back within twenty minutes of the time heleft. Wetherell was not aware that people were coming into the gallerybehind him; he was not aware that one sat at his elbow until a familiarvoice spoke, directly into his ear. 

"Er--Will--held Duncan pretty tight--didn't you? He's a hard one to fool, too. Never suspected a mite, did he? Look out for your watch!"

Mr. Bixby seized it or it would have fallen. If his life had depended onit, William Wetherell could not have spoken a word to Mr. Bixby then. 

"You done well, Will, sure enough, " that gentleman continued to whisper. "And Alvy's gal done well, too--you understand. I guess she's the onlyone that ever snarled up Al Lovejoy so that he didn't know where he wasat. But it took a fine, delicate touch for her job and yours, Will. Godfrey, this is the quickest roll-call I ever seed! They've got halfwaythrough Truro County. That fellow can talk faster than a side-show, ticket-seller at a circus. "

The clerk was, indeed, performing prodigies of pronunciation. When hereached Wells County, the last, Mr. Bixby so far lost his habitual sangfroid as to hammer on the rail with his fist. 

"If there hain't a quorum, we're done for, " he said. "How much time hasgone away? Twenty minutes! Godfrey, some of 'em may break loose and githere is five minutes!"

"Break loose?" Wetherell exclaimed involuntarily. 

Mr. Bixby screwed up his face. 

"You understand. Accidents is liable to happen. "

Mr. Wetherell didn't understand in the least, but just then the clerkreached the last name on the roll; an instant of absolute silence, savefor the June-bugs, followed, while the assistant clerk ran over hisfigures deftly and handed them to Mr. Sutton, who leaned forward toreceive them. 

"One hundred and twelve gentlemen have voted in the affirmative andforty-eight in the negative, and the report of the Committee isaccepted. "

"Ten more'n a quorum!" ejaculated Mr. Bixby, in a voice of thanksgiving, as the turmoil below began again. It seemed as though every man in theopposition was on his feet and yelling at the chair: some to adjourn;some to indefinitely postpone; some demanding roll-calls; others swearingat these--for a division vote would have opened the doors. Others triedto get out, and then ran down the aisles and called fiercely on theSpeaker to open the doors, and threatened him. But the Honorable HethSutton did not lose his head, and it may be doubted whether he everappeared to better advantage than at that moment. He had a voice like oneof the Clovelly bulls that fed in his own pastures in the valley, and bysheer bellowing he got silence, or something approaching it, --theprotests dying down to a hum; had recognised another friend of the bill, and was putting another question. 

"Mr. Gibbs of Wareham moves that the rules of the House be so farsuspended that this bill be read a second and third time by its title, and be put upon its final passage at this time. And on this motion, "thundered Mr. Sutton, above the tide of rising voices, "the yeas and naysare called for. The doorkeepers will keep the doors shut. "

"Abbey of Ashburton. "

The nimble clerk had begun on the roll almost before the Speaker wasthrough, and checked off the name. Bijah Bixby mopped his brow with ablue pocket-handkerchief. 

"My God, " he said, "what a risk Jethro's took! they can't git throughanother roll-call. Jest look at Heth! Ain't he carryin' it magnificent?Hain't as ruffled as I be. I've knowed him ever sence he wahn't nohigher'n that desk. Never would have b'en in politics if it hadn't b'enfor me. Funny thing, Will--you and I was so excited we never thought tolook at the clock. Put up your watch. Godfrey, what's this?"

The noise of many feet was heard behind them. Men and women were crowdingbreathlessly into the gallery. 

"Didn't take it long to git noised araound, " said Mr. Bixby. "Say, Will, they're bound to have got at 'em in the thea'tre. Don't see how they held'em off, c-cussed if I do. "

The seconds ticked into minutes, the air became stifling, for now thefront of the gallery was packed. Now, if ever, the fate of the TruroFranchise hung in the balance, and, perhaps, the rule of Jethro Bass. Andnow, as in the distance, came a faint, indefinable stir, not yet to beidentified by Wetherell's ears as a sound, but registered somewhere inhis brain as a warning note. Bijah Bixby, as sensitive as he, straightened up to listen, and then the whispering was hushed. Themembers below raised their heads, and some clutched the seats in front ofthem and looked up at the high windows. Only the Speaker sat like a waxstatue of himself, and glanced neither to the right nor to the left. 

"Harkness of Truro, " said the clerk. 

"He's almost to Wells County again, " whispered Bijah, excitedly. "Ididn't callate he could do it. Will?"

"Yes?"

"Will--you hear somethin'?"

A distant shout floated with the night breeze in at the windows; a man onthe floor got to his feet and stood straining: a commotion was going onat the back of the gallery, and a voice was heard crying out:--

"For the love of God, let me through!"

Then Wetherell turned to see the crowd at the back parting a little, tosee a desperate man in a gorgeous white necktie fighting his way towardthe rail. He wore no hat, his collar was wilted, and his normally ashenface had turned white. And, strangest of all, clutched tightly in hishand was a pink ribbon. 

"It's Al Lovejoy, " said Bijah, laconically. 

Unmindful of the awe-stricken stares he got from those about him when hisidentity became known, Mr. Lovejoy gained the rail and shoved aside a manwho was actually making way for him. Leaning far out, he scanned thehouse with inarticulate rage while the roll-call went monotonously on. Some of the members looked up at him and laughed; others began to makefrantic signs, indicative of helplessness; still others telegraphed himobvious advice about reenforcements which, if anything, increased hisfury. Mr. Bixby was now fanning himself with the blue handkerchief. 

"I hear 'em!" he said, "I hear 'em, Will!"

And he did. The unmistakable hum of the voices of many men and the soundof feet on stone flagging shook the silent night without. The clerk readoff the last name on the roll. 

"Tompkins of Ulster. "

His assistant lost no time now. A mistake would have been fatal, but hewas an old hand. Unmindful of the rumble on the wooden stairs below, Mr. Sutton took the list with an admirable deliberation. 

"One hundred and twelve gentlemen have voted in the affirmative, forty-eight in the negative, the rules of the House are suspended, and"(the clerk having twice mumbled the title of the bill) "the question is:Shall the bill pass? As many as are of opinion that the bill pass willsay Aye, contrary minded No. "

Feet were in the House corridor now, and voices rising there, and noisesthat must have been scuffling--yes, and beating of door panels. Almostevery member was standing, and it seemed as if they were allshouting, --"personal privilege, " "fraud, " "trickery, " "open the doors. "Bijah was slowly squeezing the blood out of William Wetherell's arm. 

"The doorkeepers has the keys in their pockets!" Mr. Bixby had to shout, for once. 

Even then the Speaker did not flinch. By a seeming miracle he got asemblance of order, recognized his man, and his great voice rang throughthe hall and drowned all other sounds. 

"And on this question a roll-call is ordered. The doorkeepers will closethe doors!"

Then, as in reaction, the gallery trembled with a roar of laughter. ButMr. Sutton did not smile. The clerk scratched off the names withlightning rapidity, scarce waiting for the answers. Every man's color wasknown, and it was against the rules to be present and fail to vote. Thenoise in the corridors grew louder, some one dealt a smashing kick on apanel, and Wetherell ventured to ask Mr. Bixby if he thought the doorswould hold. 

"They can break in all they've a mind to now, " he chuckled; "the TruroFranchise is safe. "

"What do you mean?" Wetherell demanded excitedly. 

"If a member hain't present when a question is put, he can't git into aroll-call, " said Bijah. 

The fact that the day was lost was evidently brought home to those below, for the strife subsided gradually, and finally ceased altogether. Thewhispers in the gallery died down, the spectators relayed a little. Lovejoy alone remained tense, though he had seated himself on a bench, and the hot anger in which he had come was now cooled into avindictiveness that set the hard lines of his face even harder. He stillclutched the ribbon. The last part of that famous roll-call was conductedso quietly that a stranger entering the House would have suspectednothing unusual. It was finished in absolute silence. 

"One hundred and twelve gentlemen have voted in the affirmative, forty-eight in the negative, and the bill passes. The House will attendto the title of the bill. "

"An act to extend the Truro Railroad to Harwich, " said the clerk, glibly. 

"Such will be the title of the bill unless otherwise ordered by theHouse, " said Mr. Speaker Sutton. "The doorkeepers will open the doors. "

Somebody moved to adjourn, the motion was carried, and thus ended whathas gone down to history as the Woodchuck Session. Pandemonium reigned. One hundred and forty belated members fought their way in at the fourentrances, and mingled with them were lobbyists of all sorts andconditions, residents and visitors to the capital, men and women to whomthe drama of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" was as nothing to that of the TruroFranchise Bill. It was a sight to look down upon. Fierce wrangles beganin a score of places, isolated personal remarks rose above the din, butyour New Englander rarely comes to blows; in other spots men with broadsmiles seized others by the hands and shook them violently, while Mr. Speaker Sutton seemed in danger of suffocation by his friends. Hisenemies, for the moment, could get nowhere near him. On this scene Mr. Bijah Bixby gazed with pardonable pleasure. 

"Guess there wahn't a mite of trouble about the river towns, " he said, "Ihad 'em in my pocket. Will, let's amble round to the theatre. We ought togit in two acts. "

William Wetherell went. There is no need to go into the psychology of thematter. It may have been numbness; it may have been temporary insanitycaused by the excitement of the battle he had witnessed, for his brainwas in a whirl; or Mr. Bixby may have hypnotized him. As they walkedthrough the silent streets toward the Opera House, he listened perforceto Mr. Bixby's comments upon some of the innumerable details which Jethrohad planned and quietly carried out while sitting, in the window of theThrone Room. A great light dawned on William Wetherell, but too late. 

Jethro's trusted lieutenants (of whom, needless to say, Mr. Bixby wasone) had been commanded to notify such of their supporters whose fidelityand secrecy could be absolutely depended upon to attend the WoodchuckSession; and, further to guard against surprise, this order had not goneout until the last minute (hence Mr. Amos Cuthbert's conduct). The seatsof these members at the theatre had been filled by accommodatingtownspeople and visitors. Forestalling a possible vote on the morrow torecall and reconsider, there remained some sixty members whose loyaltywas unquestioned, but whose reputation for discretion was not of thebest. So much for the parliamentary side of the affair, which was arevelation of generalship and organization to William Wetherell. By thetime he had grasped it they were come in view of the lights of FostersOpera House, and they perceived, among a sprinkling of idlers, aconspicuous and meditative gentleman leaning against a pillar. He wasludicrously tall and ludicrously thin, his hands were in his trouserspockets, and the skirts of his Sunday broadcloth coat hung down behindhim awry. One long foot was crossed over the other and rested on thepoint of the toe, and his head was tilted to one side. He had, on thewhole, the appearance of a rather mournful stork. Mr. Bixby approachedhim gravely, seized him by the lower shoulder, and tilted him down untilit was possible to speak into his ear. The gentleman apparently did notresent this, although he seemed in imminent danger of being upset. 

"How be you, Peleg? Er--you know Will?"

"No, " said the gentleman. 

Mr. Bixby seized Mr. Wetherell under the elbow, and addressed himself tothe storekeeper's ear. 

"Will, I want you to shake hands with Senator Peleg Hartington, ofBrampton. This is Will Wetherell, Peleg, --from Coniston--you understand. "

The senator took one hand from his pocket. 

"How be you?" he said. Mr. Bixby was once more pulling down on hisshoulder. 

"H-haow was it here?" he demanded. 

"Almighty funny, " answered Senator Hartington, sadly, and waved at thelobby. "There wahn't standin' room in the place. "

"Jethro Bass Republican Club come and packed the entrance, " explained Mr. Bixby with a wink. "You understand, Will? Go on, Peleg. "

"Sidewalk and street, too, " continued Mr. Hartington, slowly. "First comealong Ball of Towles, hollerin' like blazes. They crumpled him all up andlost him. Next come old man Duncan himself. "

"Will kep' Duncan, " Mr. Bixby interjected. 

"That was wholly an accident, " exclaimed Mr. Wetherell, angrily. 

"Will wahn't born in the country, " said Mr. Bixby. 

Mr. Hartington bestowed on the storekeeper a mournful look, andcontinued:--

"Never seed Duncan sweatin' before. He didn't seem to grasp why the boyswas there. "

"Didn't seem to understand, " put in Mr. Bixby, sympathetically. 

"'For God's sake, gentlemen, ' says he, 'let me in! The Truro Bill!' 'TheTruro Bill hain't in the theatre, Mr. Duncan, ' says Dan Everett. Cussedif I didn't come near laughin'. 'That's "Uncle Tom's Cabin, " Mr. Duncan, 'says Dan. 'You're a dam fool, ' says Duncan. I didn't know he was profane. 'Make room for Mr. Duncan, ' says Dan, 'he wants to see the show. ' 'I'ma-goin' to see you in jail for this, Everett, ' says Duncan. They let himpush in about half a rod, and they swallowed him. He was makin' such anoise that they had to close the doors of the theatre--so's not todisturb the play-actors. "

"You understand, " said Mr. Bixby to Wetherell. Whereupon he gave anothershake to Mr. Hartington, who had relapsed into a sort of funerealmeditation. 

"Well, " resumed that personage, "there was some more come, hollerin'about the Truro Bill. Not many. Guess they'll all have to git theirwimmen-folks to press their clothes to-morrow. Then Duncan wanted to gitout again, but 'twan't exactly convenient. Callated he wassuffocatin'--seemed to need air. Little mite limp when he broke loose, Duncan was. "

The Honorable Peleg stopped again, as if he were overcome by therecollection of Mr. Duncan's plight. 

"Er--er--Peleg!"

Mr. Hartington started. 

"What'd they do?--what'd they do?"

"Do?"

"How'd they git notice to 'em?"

"Oh, " said Mr. Hartington, "cussed if that wuhn't funny. Let's see, wherewas I? After awhile they went over t'other side of the street, talkin'sly, waitin' for the act to end. But goldarned if it ever did end. "

For once Mr. Bixby didn't seem to understand. 

"D-didn't end?"

"No, " explained Mr. Hartington; "seems they hitched a kind of niggerminstrel show right on to it--banjos and thingumajigs in front of thecurtain while they was changin' scenes, and they hitched the second actright on to that. Nobody come out of the theatre at all. Funny notion, wahn't it?"

Mr. Bixby's face took on a look of extreme cunning. He smiled broadly andpoked Mr. Wetherell in an extremely sensitive portion of his ribs. Onsuch occasions the nasal quality of Bijah's voice seemed to grow. 

"You see?" he said. 

"Know that little man, Gibbs, don't ye?" inquired Mr. Hartington. 

"Airley Gibbs, hain't it? Runs a livery business daown to Rutgers, onLovejoy's railroad, " replied Mr. Bixby, promptly. "I know him. Knew oldman Gibbs well's I do you. Mean cuss. "

"This Airley's smart--wahn't quite smart enough, though. His bright ideacome a little mite late. Hunted up old Christy, got the key to his lawoffice right here in the Duncan Block, went up through the skylight, clumb down to the roof of Randall's store next door, shinned up thelightnin' rod on t'other side, and stuck his head plump into the OperyHouse window. "

"I want to know!" ejaculated Mr. Bixby. 

"Somethin' terrible pathetic was goin' on on the stage, " resumed Mr. Hartington, "the folks didn't see him at first, --they was all cryin' andeverythin' was still, but Airley wahn't affected. As quick as he got hisbreath he hollered right out loud's he could: 'The Truro Bill's up in theHouse, boys. We're skun if you don't git thar quick. ' Then they tell me'the lightnin' rod give way; anyhow, he came down on Randall's gravel roofconsiderable hard, I take it. "

Mr. Hartington, apparently, had an aggravating way of falling intomournful revery and of forgetting his subject. Mr. Bixby was forced tojog him again. 

"Yes, they did, " he said, "they did. They come out like the theatre wasafire. There was some delay in gettin' to the street, but not much--notmuch. All the Republican Clubs in the state couldn't have held 'em then, and the profanity they used wahn't especially edifyin'. "

"Peleg's a deacon--you understand, " said Mr. Bixby. "Say, Peleg, wherewas Al Lovejoy?"

"Lovejoy come along with the first of 'em. Must have hurried some--theytell me he was settin' way down in front alongside of Alvy Hopkins's gal, and when Airley hollered out she screeched and clutched on to Al, and Alsaid somethin' he hadn't ought to and tore off one of them pink gew-gawsshe was covered with. He was the maddest man I ever see. Some of the clubwas crowded inside, behind the seats, standin' up to see the show. Al wasso anxious to git through he hit Si Dudley in the mouth--injured himsome, I guess. Pity, wahn't it?"

"Si hain't in politics, you understand, " said Mr. Bixby. "Callate Si paidto git in there, didn't he, Peleg?"

"Callate he did, " assented Senator Hartington. 

A long and painful pause followed. There seemed, indeed, nothing more tobe said. The sound of applause floated out of the Opera House doors, around which the remaining loiterers were clustered. 

"Goin' in, be you, Peleg?" inquired Mr. Bixby. 

Mr. Hartington shook his head. 

"Will and me had a notion to see somethin' of the show, " said Mr. Bixby, almost apologetically. "I kep' my ticket. "

"Well, " said Mr. Hartington, reflectively, "I guess you'll find some ofthe show left. That hain't b'en hurt much, so far as I can ascertain. "

The next afternoon, when Mr. Isaac D. Worthington happened to be sittingalone in the office of the Truro Railroad at the capital, there came aknock at the door, and Mr. Bijah Bixby entered. Now, incredible as it mayseem, Mr. Worthington did not know Mr. Bixby--or rather, did not rememberhim. Mr. Worthington had not had at that time much of an experience inpolitics, and he did not possess a very good memory for faces. 

Mr. Bixby, who had, as we know, a confidential and winning manner, seatedhimself in a chair very close to Mr. Worthington--somewhat to thatgentleman's alarm. "How be you?" said Bijah, "I-I've got a little billhere--you understand. "

Mr. Worthington didn't understand, and he drew his chair away from Mr. Bixby's. 

"I don't know anything about it, sir, " answered the president of theTruro Railroad, indignantly; "this is neither the manner nor the place topresent a bill. I don't want to see it. "

Mr. Bixby moved his chair up again. "Callate you will want to see thisbill, Mr. Worthington, " he insisted, not at all abashed. "Jethro Basssent it--you understand--it's engrossed. "

Whereupon Mr. Bixby drew from his capacious pocket a roll, tied withwhite ribbon, and pressed it into Mr. Worthington's hands. It was theTruro Franchise Bill. 

It is safe to say that Mr. Worthington understood. 

CHAPTER XVI

There are certain instruments used by scientists so delicate that theyhave to be wrapped in cotton wool and kept in ductless places, and sosensitive that the slightest shock will derange them. And there arecertain souls which cannot stand the jars of life--souls created toregister thoughts and sentiments too fine for those of coarserconstruction. Such was the soul of the storekeeper of Coniston. Whetheror not he was one of those immortalized in the famous Elegy, it is notfor us to say. A celebrated poet who read the letters to the Guardian--atMiss Lucretia Penniman's request--has declared Mr. Wetherell to have beena genius. He wrote those letters, as we know, after he had piled hisboxes and rolled his barrels into place; after he had added up thecolumns in his ledger and recorded, each week, the small but everincreasing deficit which he owed to Jethro Bass. Could he have beenremoved from the barrels and the ledgers, and the debts and the cares andthe implications, what might we have had from his pen? That will never beknown. 

We left him in the lobby of the Opera House, but he did not go in to seethe final act of "Uncle Tom's Cabin. " He made his way, alone, back to thehotel, slipped in by a side entrance, and went directly to his room, where Cynthia found him, half an hour later, seated by the open window inthe dark. 

"Aren't you well, Dad?" she asked anxiously. "Why didn't you come to seethe play?"

"I--I was detained Cynthia, " he said. "Yes--I am well. "

She sat down beside him and felt his forehead and his hands, and theevents of the evening which were on her lips to tell him remainedunspoken. 

"You ought not to have left Coniston, " she said; "the excitement is toomuch for you. We will go back tomorrow. "

"Yes, Cynthia, we will go back to-morrow. "

"In the morning?"

"On the early train, " said Wetherell, "and now you must go to sleep. "

"I am glad, " said Cynthia, as she kissed him good night. "I have enjoyedit here, and I am grateful to Uncle Jethro for bringing us, but--but Ilike Coniston best. "

William Wetherell could have slept but a few hours. When he awoke thesparrows were twittering outside, the fresh cool smells of the morningwere coming in at his windows, and the sunlight was just striking acrossthe roofs through the green trees of the Capitol Park. The remembrance ofa certain incident of the night before crept into his mind, and he gotup, and drew on his clothes and thrust his few belongings into thecarpet-bag, and knocked on Cynthia's door. She was already dressed, andher eyes rested searchingly on his face. 

"Dad, you aren't well. I know it, " she said. 

But he denied that he was not. 

Her belongings were in a neat little bundle under her arm. But when shewent to put them in the bag she gave an exclamation, knelt down, tookeverything out that he had packed, and folded each article over againwith amazing quickness. Then she made a rapid survey of the room lest shehad forgotten anything, closed the bag, and they went out and along thecorridor. But when Wetherell turned to go down the stairs, she stoppedhim. 

"Aren't you going to say goodby to Uncle Jethro?"

"I--I would rather go on and get in the train, Cynthia, " he said. "Jethrowill understand. "

Cynthia was worried, but she did not care to leave him; and she led him, protesting, into the dining room. He had a sinking fear that they mightmeet Jethro there, but only a few big-boned countrymen were scatteredabout, attended by sleepy waitresses. Lest Cynthia might suspect how hishead was throbbing, Wetherell tried bravely to eat his breakfast. He didnot know that she had gone out, while they were waiting, and written anote to Jethro, explaining that her father was ill, and that they weregoing back to Coniston. After breakfast, when they went to the desk, theclerk stared at them in astonishment. 

"Going, Mr. Wetherell?" he exclaimed. 

"I find that I have to get back, " stammered the storekeeper. "Will youtell me the amount of my bill?"

"Judge Bass gave me instructions that he would settle that. "

"It is very kind of Mr. Bass, " said Wetherell, "but I prefer to pay itmyself. "

The man hesitated. 

"The judge will be very angry, Mr. Wetherell. "

"Kindly give me the bill. "

The clerk made it out and handed it over in silence. Wetherell had in hispocket the money from several contributions to the Guardian, and he paidhim. Then they set out for the station, bought their tickets and hurriedpast the sprinkling of people there. The little train for Truro wasstanding under the sheds, the hissing steam from the locomotive risingperpendicular in the still air of the morning, and soon they were settledin one of the straight-backed seats. The car was almost empty, for fewpeople were going up that day, and at length, after what, seemed aneternity of waiting, they started, and soon were in the country once morein that wonderful Truro valley with its fruit trees and its cloverscents; with its sparkling stream that tumbled through the passes andmirrored between green meadow-banks the blue and white of the sky. Howhungrily they drank in the freshness of it. 

They reached Truro village at eleven. Outside the little tavern there, after dinner, the green stage was drawn up; and Tom the driver crackedhis long whip over the Morgan leaders and they started, swaying in thesand ruts and jolting over the great stones that cropped out of the road. Up they climbed, through narrow ways in the forest--ways hedged withalder and fern and sumach and wild grape, adorned with oxeye daisies andtiger lilies, and the big purple flowers which they knew and loved sowell. They passed, too, wild lakes overhung with primeval trees, wherethe iris and the waterlily grew among the fallen trunks and thewater-fowl called to each other across the blue stretches. And at length, when the sun was beginning visibly to fall, they came out into an opencut on the western side and saw again the long line of Coniston once moreagainst the sky. 

"Dad, " said Cynthia, as she gazed, "don't you love it better than anyother place in the world?"

He did. But he could not answer her. 

An hour later, from the hilltops above Isaac Worthington's mills, theysaw the terraced steeple of Brampton church, and soon the horses werestanding with drooping heads and wet sides in front of Mr. Sherman'stavern in Brampton Street; and Lem Hallowell, his honest face aglow withjoy, was lifting Cynthia out of the coach as if she were a bundle offeathers. 

"Upon my word, " he cried, "this is a little might sudden! What's thematter with the capital, Will? Too wicked and sophisticated down thar tosuit ye?" By this time, Wetherell, too, had reached the ground, and asLem Hallowell gazed into his face the laughter in his own died away andgave place to a look of concern. "Don't wonder ye come back, " he said, "you're as white as Moses's hoss. "

"He isn't feeling very well, Lem;" said Cynthia. 

"Jest tuckered, that's all, " answered Lem; "you git him right into thestage, Cynthy, I won't be long. Hurry them things off, Tom, " he called, and himself seized a huge crate from the back of the coach and flung iton his shoulder. He had his cargo on in a jiffy, clucked to his horses, and they turned into the familiar road to Coniston just as the sun wasdipping behind the south end of the mountain. 

"They'll be surprised some, and disappointed some, " said Lem, cheerily;"they was kind of plannin' a little celebration when you come back, Will--you and Cynthy. Amandy Hatch was a-goin' to bake a cake, and theminister was callatin' to say some word of welcome. Wahn't goin' to beanything grand--jest homelike. But you was right to come if you wastuckered. I guess Cynthy fetched you. Rias he kep' store and done itwell, --brisker'n I ever see him, Rias was. Wait till I put some of themthings back, and make you more comfortable, Will. "

He moved a few parcels and packages from Wetherell's feet and glanced atCynthia as he did so. The mountain cast its vast blue shadow over forestand pasture, and above the pines the white mist was rising from ConistonWater--rising in strange shapes. Lem's voice seemed to William Wetherellto have given way to a world-wide silence, in the midst of which hesought vainly for Cynthia and the stage driver. Most extraordinary ofall, out of the silence and the void came the checker-paned windows ofthe store at Coniston, then the store itself, with the great oaks bendingover it, then the dear familiar faces, --Moses and Amandy, Eph Prescottlimping toward them, and little Rias Richardson in an apron with a scoopshovel in his hand, and many others. They were not smiling at thestorekeeper's return--they looked very grave. Then somebody lifted himtenderly from the stage and said:--

"Don't you worry a mite, Cynthy. Jest tuckered, that's all. "

William Wetherell was "just tuckered. " The great Dr. Coles, authority onpulmonary troubles, who came all the way from Boston, could give nobetter verdict than that. It was Jethro Bass who had induced Dr. Coles tocome to Coniston--much against the great man's inclination, and to thedetriment of his patients: Jethro who, on receiving Cynthia's note, hadleft the capital on the next train and had come to Coniston, and had atonce gone to Boston for the specialist. 

"I do not know why I came, " said the famous physician to Dr. AbrahamRowell of Tarleton, "I never shall know. There is something about thatman Jethro Bass which compels you to do his will. He has a mostextraordinary personality. Is this storekeeper a great friend of his?"

"The only intimate friend he had in the world, " answered Dr. Rowell;"none of us could ever understand it. And as for the girl, Jethro Bassworships her. "

"If nursing could cure him, I'd trust her to do it. She's a natural-bornnurse. "

The two physicians were talking in low tones in the little garden behindthe store when Jethro came out of the doorway. 

"He looks as if he were suffering too, " said the Boston physician, and hewalked toward Jethro and laid a hand upon his shoulders. "I give himuntil winter, my friend, " said Dr. Coles. 

Jethro Bass sat down on the doorstep--on that same millstone where he hadtalked with Cynthia many years before--and was silent for a long while. The doctor was used to scenes of sorrow, but the sight of this man'ssuffering unnerved him, and he turned from it. 

"D-doctor?" said Jethro, at last. 

The doctor turned again: "Yes?" he said. 

"D-doctor--if Wetherell hadn't b'en to the capital would he havelived--if he hadn't been to the capital?"

"My friend, " said Dr. Coles, "if Mr. Wetherell had always lived in a warmhouse, and had always been well fed, and helped over the rough places andshielded from the storms, he might have lived longer. It is a marvel tome that he has lived so long. "

And then the doctor went way, back to Boston. Many times in his longprofessional life had the veil been lifted for him--a little. But as hesat in the train he said to himself that in this visit to the hamlet ofConiston he had had the strangest glimpse of all. William Wetherellrallied, as Dr. Coles had predicted, from that first sharp attack, andone morning they brought up a reclining chair which belonged to Mr. Satterlee, the minister, and set it in the window. There, in the stilldays of the early autumn, Wetherell looked down upon the garden he hadgrown to love, and listened to the song of Coniston Water. There Cynthia, who had scarcely left his side, read to him from Keats and Shelley andTennyson--yet the thought grew on her that he did not seem to hear. Eventhat wonderful passage of Milton's, beginning "So sinks the day-star inthe ocean bed, " which he always used to beg her to repeat, did not seemto move him now. 

The neighbors came and sat with him, but he would not often speak. CheeryLem Hallowell and his wife, and Cousin Ephraim, to talk about the war, hobbling slowly up the stairs--for rheumatism had been added to thattrouble of the Wilderness bullet now, and Ephraim was getting along inyears; and Rias Richardson stole up in his carpet slippers; and Moses, after his chores were done, and Amandy with her cakes and delicacies, which he left untouched--though Amandy never knew it. Yes, and Jethrocame. Day by day he would come silently into the room, and sit silentlyfor a space, and go as silently out of it. The farms were neglected nowon Thousand Acre Hill. William Wetherell would take his hand, and speakto him, but do no more than that. 

There were times when Cynthia leaned over him, listening as he breathedto know whether he slept or were awake. If he were not sleeping, he wouldspeak her name: he repeated it often in those days, as though the soundof it gave him comfort; and he would fall asleep with it on his lips, holding her hand, and thinking, perhaps, of that other Cynthia who hadtended and nursed and shielded him in other days. Then she would stealdown the stairs to Jethro on the doorstep: to Jethro who would sit therefor hours at a time, to the wonder and awe of his neighbors. Althoughthey knew that he loved the storekeeper as he loved no other man, his wasa grief that they could not understand. 

Cynthia used to go to Jethro in the garden. Sorrow had brought them verynear together; and though she had loved him before, now he had become herreliance and her refuge. The first time Cynthia saw him; when the worstof the illness had passed and the strange and terrifying apathy had come, she had hidden her head on his shoulder and wept there. Jethro kept thatcoat, with the tear stains on it, to his dying day, and never wore itagain. 

"Sometimes--sometimes I think if he hadn't gone to the capital, Cynthy, this mightn't hev come, " he said to her once. 

"But the doctor said that didn't matter, Uncle Jethro, " she answered, trying to comfort him. She, too, believed that something had happened atthe capital. 

"N-never spoke to you about anything there--n-never spoke to you, Cynthia?"

"No, never, " she said. "He--he hardly speaks at all, Uncle Jethro. "

One bright morning after the sun had driven away the frost, when thesumacs and maples beside Coniston Water were aflame with red, BiasRichardson came stealing up the stairs and whispered something toCynthia. 

"Dad, " she said, laying down her book, "it's Mr. Merrill. Will you seehim?"

William Wetherell gave her a great fright. He started up from hispillows, and seized her wrist with a strength which she had not thoughtremained in his fingers. 

"Mr. Merrill!" he cried--"Mr. Merrill here!"

"Yes, " answered Cynthia, agitatedly, "he's downstairs--in the store. "

"Ask him to come up, " said Wetherell, sinking back again, "ask him tocome up. "

Cynthia, as she stood in the passage, was of two minds about it. She wasthoroughly frightened, and went first to the garden to ask Jethro'sadvice. But Jethro, so Milly Skinner said, had gone off half an hourbefore, and did not know that Mr. Merrill had arrived. Cynthia went backagain to her father. 

"Where's Mr. Merrill?" asked Wetherell. 

"Dad, do you think you ought to see him? He--he might excite you. "

"I insist upon seeing him, Cynthia. "

William Wetherell had never said anything like that before. But Cynthiaobeyed him, and presently led Mr. Merrill into the room. The kindlylittle railroad president was very serious now. The wasted face of thestorekeeper, enhanced as it was by the beard, gave Mr. Merrill such ashock that he could not speak for a few moments--he who rarely lacked forcheering words on any occasion. A lump rose in his throat as he went overand stood by the chair and took the sick man's hand. 

"I am glad you came, Mr. Merrill, " said Wetherell, simply, "I wanted tospeak to you. Cynthia, will you leave us alone for a few minutes?"

Cynthia went, troubled and perplexed, wondering at the change in him. Hehad had something on his mind--now she was sure of it--something whichMr. Merrill might be able to relieve. 

It was Mr. Merrill who spoke first when she was gone. 

"I was coming up to Brampton, " he said, "and Tom Collins, who drives theTruro coach, told me you were sick. I had not heard of it. "

Mr. Merrill, too, had something on his mind, and did not quite know howto go on. There was in William Wetherell, as he sat in the chair with hiseyes fixed on his visitor's face, a dignity which Mr. Merrill had notseen before--had not thought the man might possess. 

"I was coming to see you, anyway, " Mr. Merrill said. 

"I did you a wrong--though as God judges me, I did not think of it at thetime. It was not until Alexander Duncan spoke to me last week that Ithought of it at all. "

"Yes, " said Wetherell. 

"You see, " continued Mr. Merrill wiping his brow, for he found the mattereven more difficult than he had imagined, "it was not until Duncan toldme how you had acted in his library that I guessed the truth--that Iremembered myself how you had acted. I knew that you were not mixed up inpolitics, but I also knew that you were an intimate friend of Jethro's, and I thought that you had been let into the secret of the woodchucksession. I don't defend the game of politics as it is played, Mr. Wetherell, but all of us who are friends of Jethro's are generallywilling to lend a hand in any little manoeuvre that is going on, and havea practical joke when we can. It was not until I saw you sitting therebeside Duncan that the idea occurred to me. It didn't make a great dealof difference whether Duncan or Lovejoy got to the House or not, providedthey didn't learn of the matter too early, because some of their men hadbeen bought off that day. It suited Jethro's sense of humor to play thegame that way--and it was very effective. When I saw you there besideDuncan I remembered that he had spoken about the Guardian letters, andthe notion occurred to me to get him to show you his library. I haveexplained to him that you were innocent. I--I hope you haven't beenworrying. "

William Wetherell sat very still for a while, gazing out of the window, but a new look had come into his eyes. 

"Jethro Bass did not know that you--that you had used me?" he asked atlength. 

"No, " replied Mr. Merrill thickly, "no. He didn't know a thing aboutit--he doesn't know it now, I believe. "

A smile came upon Wetherell's face, but Mr. Merrill could not look at it. 

"You have made me very happy, " said the storekeeper, tremulously. "I--Ihave no right to be proud--I have taken his money--he has supported mydaughter and myself all these years. But he had never asked me to--to doanything, and I liked to think that he never would. "

Mr. Merrill could not speak. The tears were streaming down his cheeks. 

"I want you to promise me, Mr. Merril!" he went on presently, "I want youto promise me that you will never speak to Jethro, of this, or to mydaughter, Cynthia. "

Mr. Merrill merely nodded his head in assent. Still he could not speak. 

"They might think it was this that caused my death. It was not. I knowvery well that I am worn out, and that I should have gone soon in anycase. And I must leave Cynthia to him. He loves her as his own child. "

William Wetherell, his faith in Jethro restored, was facing death as hehad never faced life. Mr. Merrill was greatly affected. 

"You must not speak of dying, Wetherell, " said he, brokenly. "Will youforgive me?"

"There is nothing to forgive, now that you have explained matters, Mr. Merrill" said the storekeeper, and he smiled again. "If my fibre had beena little tougher, this thing would never have happened. There is only onemore request I have to make. And that is, to assure Mr. Duncan, from me, that I did not detain him purposely. "

"I will see him on my way to Boston, " answered Mr. Merrill. 

Then Cynthia was called. She was waiting anxiously in the passage for theinterview to be ended, and when she came in one glance at her father'sface told her that he was happier. She, too, was happier. 

"I wish you would come every day, Mr. Merrill" she said, when theydescended into the garden after the three had talked awhile. "It is thefirst time since he fell ill that he seems himself. "

Mr. Merrill's answer was to take her hand and pat it. He sat down on themillstone and drew a deep breath of that sparkling air and sighed, forhis memory ran back to his own innocent boyhood in the New Englandcountry. He talked to Cynthia until Jethro came. 

"I have taken a fancy to this girl, Jethro, " said the little railroadpresident, "I believe I'll steal her; a fellow can't have too many of'em, you know. I'll tell you one thing, --you won't keep her always shutup here in Coniston. She's much too good to waste on the desert air. "Perhaps Mr. Merrill, too, had been thinking of the Elegy that morning. "Idon't mean to run down Coniston it's one of the most beautiful places Iever saw. But seriously, Jethro, you and Wetherell ought to send her toschool in Boston after a while. She's about the age of my girls, and shecan live in my house: Ain't I right?"

"D-don't know but what you be, Steve, " Jethro answered slowly. 

"I am right, " declared Mr. Merrill "you'll back me in this, I know it. Why, she's like your own daughter. You remember what I say. I meanit. --What are you thinking about, Cynthia?"

"I couldn't leave Dad and Uncle Jethro, " she said. 

"Why, bless your soul, " said Mr. Merrill "bring Dad along. We'll findroom for him. And I guess Uncle Jethro will get to Boston twice a monthif you're there. "

And Mr. Merrill got into the buggy with Mr. Sherman and drove away toBrampton, thinking of many things. 

"S-Steve's a good man, " said Jethro. "C-come up here from Brampton to seeyour father--did he?"

"Yes, " answered Cynthia, "he is very kind. " She was about to tell Jethrowhat a strange difference this visit had made in her father's spirits, but some instinct kept her silent. She knew that Jethro had never ceasedto reproach himself for inviting Wetherell to the capital, and she wassure that something had happened there which had disturbed her father andbrought on that fearful apathy. But the apathy was dispelled now, and sheshrank from giving Jethro pain by mentioning the fact. 

He never knew, indeed, until many years afterward, what had broughtStephen Merrill to Coniston. When Jethro went up the stairs thatafternoon, he found William Wetherell alone, looking out over the gardenwith a new peace and contentment in his eyes. Jethro drew breath when hesaw that look, as if a great load had been lifted from his heart. 

"F-feelin' some better to-day, Will?" he said. 

"I am well again, Jethro, " replied the storekeeper, pressing Jethro'shand for the first time in months. 

"S-soon be, Will, " said Jethro, "s-soon be. "

Wetherell, who was not speaking of the welfare of the body, did notanswer. 

"Jethro, " he said presently, "there is a little box lying in the top ofmy trunk over there in the corner. Will you get it for me. "

Jethro rose and opened the rawhide trunk and handed the little rosewoodbox to his friend. Wetherell took it and lifted the lid reverently, withthat same smile on his face and far-off look in his eyes, and drew out asmall daguerreotype in a faded velvet frame. He gazed at the picture along time, and then he held it out to Jethro; and Jethro looked at it, and his hand trembled. 

It was a picture of Cynthia Ware. And who can say what emotions it awokein Jethro's heart? She was older than the Cynthia he had known, and yetshe did not seem so. There was the same sweet, virginal look in the grayeyes, and the same exquisite purity in the features. He saw her again--asif it were yesterday--walking in the golden green light under the villagemaples, and himself standing in the tannery door; he saw the face underthe poke bonnet on the road to Brampton, and heard the thrush singing inthe woods. And--if he could only blot out that scene from hislife!--remembered her, a transformed Cynthia, --remembered that face inthe lantern-light when he had flung back the hood that shaded it; andthat hair which he had kissed, wet, then, from the sleet. Ah, God, forthat briefest of moments she had been his!

So he stared at the picture as it lay in the palm of his hand, and forgothim who had been her husband. But at length he started, as from a dream, and gave it back to Wetherell, who was watching him. Her name had neverbeen mentioned between the two men, and yet she had been the one woman inthe world to both. 

"It is strange, " said William Wetherell, "it is strange that I shouldhave had but two friends in my life, and that she should have been oneand you the other. She found me destitute and brought me back to life andmarried me, and cared for me until she died. And after that--you caredfor me. "

"You--you mustn't think of that, Will, 'twahn't much what I did--no morethan any one else would hev done!"

"It was everything, " answered the storekeeper, simply; "each of you camebetween me and destruction. There is something that I have always meantto tell you, Jethro, --something that it may be a comfort for you to know. Cynthia loved you. "

Jethro Bass did not answer. He got up and stood in the window, lookingout. 

"When she married me, " Wetherell continued steadily, "she told me thatthere was one whom she had never been able to drive from her heart. Andone summer evening, how well I recall it!--we were walking under thetrees on the Mall and we met my old employer, Mr. Judson, the jeweller. He put me in mind of the young countryman who had come in to buy alocket, and I asked her if she knew you. Strange that I should haveremembered your name, wasn't it? It was then that she led me to a benchand confessed that you were the man whom she could not forget. I used tohate you then--as much as was in me to hate. I hated and feared you whenI first came to Coniston. But now I can tell you--I can even be happy intelling you. "

Jethro Bass groaned. He put his hand to his throat as though he werestifling. Many, many years ago he had worn the locket there. And now? Nowan impulse seized him, and he yielded to it. He thrust his hand in hiscoat and drew out a cowhide wallet, and from the wallet the oval locketitself. There it was, tarnished with age, but with that memorableinscription still legible, --"Cynthy, from Jethro"; not Cynthia, butCynthy. How the years fell away as he read it! He handed it in silence tothe storekeeper, and in silence went to the window again. Jethro Bass wasa man who could find no outlet for his agony in speech or tears. 

"Yes, " said Wetherell, "I thought you would have kept it. Dear, dear, howwell I remember it! And I remember how I patronized you when you cameinto the shop. I believed I should live to be something in the world, then. Yes, she loved you, Jethro. I can die more easily now that I havetold you--it has been on my mind all these years. "

The locket fell open in William Wetherell's hand, for the clasp hadbecome worn with time, and there was a picture of little Cynthia within:of little Cynthia, --not so little now, --a photograph taken in Bramptonthe year before. Wetherell laid it beside the daguerreotype. 

"She looks like her, " he said aloud; "but the child is more vigorous, more human--less like a spirit. I have always thought of Cynthia Ware asa spirit. "

Jethro turned at the words, and came and stood looking over Wetherell'sshoulder at the pictures of mother and daughter. In the rosewood box wasa brooch and a gold ring--Cynthia Ware's wedding ring--and two smallslips of yellow paper. William Wetherell opened one of these, disclosinga little braid of brown hair. He folded the paper again and laid it inthe locket, and handed that to Jethro. 

"It is all I have to give you, " he said, "but I know that you willcherish it, and cherish her, when I am gone. She--she has been a daughterto both of us. "

"Yes, " said Jethro, "I will. "

William Wetherell lived but a few days longer. They laid him to rest atlast in the little ground which Captain Timothy Prescott had hewn out ofthe forest with his axe, where Captain Timothy himself lies under hisslate headstone with the quaint lettering of bygone days. --That sameautumn Jethro Bass made a pilgrimage to Boston, and now Cynthia Waresleeps there, too, beside her husband, amid the scenes she loved so well.