CONISTON

By Winston Churchill

BOOK III

CHAPTER I

One day, in the November following William Wetherell's death, Jethro Bassastonished Coniston by moving to the little cottage in the village whichstood beside the disused tannery, and which had been his father's. It wasknown as the tannery house. His reasons for this step, when at lengthdiscovered, were generally commended: they were, in fact, adisinclination to leave a girl of Cynthia's tender age alone on ThousandAcre Hill while he journeyed on his affairs about the country. The Rev. Mr. Satterlee, gaunt, red-faced, but the six feet of him a man and aChristian, from his square-toed boots to the bleaching yellow hair aroundhis temples, offered to become her teacher. For by this time Cynthia hadexhausted the resources of the little school among the birches. 

The four years of her life in the tannery house which are now briefly tobe chronicled were, for her, full of happiness and peace. Though theyoung may sorrow, they do not often mourn. Cynthia missed her father; attimes, when the winds kept her wakeful at night, she wept for him. Butshe loved Jethro Bass and served him with a devotion that filled hisheart with strange ecstasies--yes, and forebodings. In all his existencehe had never known a love like this. He may have imagined it once, backin the bright days of his youth; but the dreams of its fulfilment hadfallen far short of the exquisite touch of the reality in which he nowspent his days at home. In summer, when she sat, in the face of all theconventions of the village, reading under the butternut tree before thehouse, she would feel his eyes upon her, and the mysterious yearning inthem would startle her. Often during her lessons with Mr. Satterlee inthe parlor of the parsonage she would hear a noise outside and perceiveJethro leaning against the pillar. Both Cynthia and Mr. Satterlee knewthat he was there, and both, by a kind of tacit agreement, ignored thecircumstance. 

Cynthia, in this period, undertook Jethro's education, too. She couldhave induced him to study the making of Latin verse by the mere asking. During those days which he spent at home, and which he had grown to valuebeyond price, he might have been seen seated on the ground with his backto the butternut tree while Cynthia read aloud from the well-worn bookswhich had been her father's treasures, books that took on marvels ofmeaning from her lips. Cynthia's powers of selection were not remarkableat this period, and perhaps it was as well that she never knew the effectof the various works upon the hitherto untamed soul of her listener. Milton and Tennyson and Longfellow awoke in him by their very musictroubled and half-formed regrets; Carlyle's "Frederick the Great" set uptumultuous imaginings; but the "Life of Jackson" (as did the story ofNapoleon long ago) stirred all that was masterful in his blood. Unlettered as he was, Jethro had a power which often marks the Americanof action--a singular grasp of the application of any sentence orparagraph to his own life; and often, about this time, he took away thebreath of a judge or a senator by flinging at them a chunk of Carlyle orParton. 

It was perhaps as well that Cynthia was not a woman at this time, andthat she had grown up with him, as it were. His love, indeed, was that ofa father for a daughter; but it held within it as a core the revived loveof his youth for Cynthia, her mother. Tender as were the manifestationsof this love, Cynthia never guessed the fires within, for there was intruth something primeval in the fierceness of his passion. She was hisnow--his alone, to cherish and sweeten the declining years of his life, and when by a chance Jethro looked upon her and thought of the suitor whowas to come in the fulness of her years, he burned with a hatred which itis given few men to feel. It was well for Jethro that these thoughts camenot often. 

Sometimes, in the summer afternoons, they took long drives through thetown behind Jethro's white horse on business. "Jethro's gal, " as Cynthiacame to be affectionately called, held the reins while Jethro went in totalk to the men folk. One August evening found Cynthia thus beside apoplar in front of Amos Cuthbert's farmhouse, a poplar that shimmeredgreen-gold in the late afternoon, and from the buggy-seat Cynthia lookeddown upon a thousand purple hilltops and mountain peaks of another state. The view aroused in the girl visions of the many wonders which life wasto hold, and she did not hear the sharp voice beside her until the womanhad spoken twice. Jethro came out in the middle of the conversation, nodded to Mrs. Cuthbert, and drove off. 

"Uncle Jethro, " asked Cynthia, presently, "what is a mortgage?"

Jethro struck the horse with the whip, an uncommon action with him, andthe buggy was jerked forward sharply over the boulders. 

"Er--who's b'en talkin' about mortgages, Cynthy?" he demanded. 

"Mrs. Cuthbert said that when folks had mortgage held over them they hadto take orders whether they liked them or not. She said that Amos had todo what you told him because there was a mortgage. That isn't so is it?"

Jethro did not speak. Presently Cynthia laid her hand over his. 

"Mrs. Cuthbert is a spiteful woman, " she said. "I know the reason whypeople obey you--it's because you're so great. And Daddy used to tell meso. "

A tremor shook Jethro's frame and the hand on which hers rested, and allthe way down the mountain valleys to Coniston village he did not speakagain. But Cynthia was used to his silences, and respected them. 

To Ephraim Prescott, who, as the days went on, found it more and moredifficult to sew harness on account of his rheumatism, Jethro was notonly a great man but a hero. For Cynthia was vaguely troubled at havingfound one discontent. She was wont to entertain Ephraim on the days whenhis hands failed him, when he sat sunning himself before his door; andshe knew that he was honest. 

"Who's b'en talkin' to you, Cynthia?" he cried. "Why, Jethro's thebiggest man I know, and the best. I don't like to think where some of uswould have b'en if he hadn't given us a lift. "

"But he has enemies, Cousin Eph, " said Cynthia, still troubled. "Whatgreat man hain't?" exclaimed the soldier. "Jethro's enemies hain't worththinkin' about. "

The thought that Jethro had enemies was very painful to Cynthia, and shewanted to know who they were that she might show them a proper contemptif she met them. Lem Hallowell brushed aside the subject with his usualbluff humor, and pinched her cheek and told her not to trouble her head;Amanda Hatch dwelt upon the inherent weakness in the human race, and theRev. Mr. Satterlee faced the question once, during a history lesson. Thenation's heroes came into inevitable comparison with Jethro Bass. WasWashington so good a man? and would not Jethro have been as great as theFather of his Country if he had had the opportunities?

The answers sorely tried Mr. Satterlee's conscience, albeit he was not aman of the world. It set him thinking. He liked Jethro, this man ofrugged power whose word had become law in the state. He knew best thatside of him which Cynthia saw; and--if the truth be told--as a native ofConiston Mr. Satterlee felt in the bottom of his heart a certain pride inJethro. The minister's opinions well represented the attitude of histime. He had not given thought to the subject--for such matters had cameto be taken for granted. A politician now was a politician, his ways andstandards set apart from those of other citizens, and not to be judged bymen without the pale of public life. Mr. Satterlee in his limited visiondid not then trace the matter to its source, did not reflect that JethroBass himself was almost wholly responsible in that state for thecondition of politics and politicians. Coniston was proud of Jethro, prouder of him than ever since his last great victory in the Legislature, which brought the Truro Railroad through to Harwich and settled theirtownsman more firmly than ever before in the seat of power. Everystatesman who drove into their little mountain village and stopped at thetannery house made their blood beat faster. Senators came, andrepresentatives, and judges, and governors, "to git their orders, " asRias Richardson briefly put it, and Jethro could make or unmake them at aword. Each was scanned from the store where Rias now reigned supreme, andfrom the harness shop across the road. Some drove away striving to bitefrom their lips the tell-tale smile which arose in spite of them; otherstried to look happy, despite the sentence of doom to which they hadlistened. 

Jethro Bass was indeed a great man to make such as these tremble orrejoice. When he went abroad with Cynthia awheel or afoot, some took offtheir hats--an unheard-of thing in Coniston. If he stopped at the store, they scanned his face for the mood he was in before venturing theirremarks; if he lingered for a moment in front of the house of AmandaHatch, the whole village was advised of the circumstance beforenightfall. 

Two personages worthy of mention here visited the tannery house duringthe years that Cynthia lived with Jethro. The Honorable Heth Sutton droveover from Clovelly attended by his prime minister, Mr. Bijah Bixby. TheHonorable Heth did not attempt to conceal the smile with which he wentaway, and he stopped at the store long enough to enable Rias to producecertain refreshments from depths unknown to the United States InternalRevenue authorities. Mr. Sutton shook hands with everybody, includingJake Wheeler. Well he might. He came to Coniston a private citizen, anddrove away to all intents and purposes a congressman: the darling wish ofhis life realized after heaven knows how many caucuses and conventions ofdisappointment, when Jethro had judged it expedient for one reason oranother that a north countryman should go. By the time the pair reachedBrampton, Chamberlain Bixby was introducing his chief as CongressmanSutton, and by this title he was known for many years to come. 

Another day, when the snow lay in great billows on the ground and filledthe mountain valleys, when the pines were rusty from the long winter, twoother visitors drove to Coniston in a two-horse sleigh. The sun wasshining brightly, the wind held its breath, and the noon-day warmth wasalmost like that of spring. Those who know the mountain country willremember the joy of many such days. Cynthia, standing in the sun on theporch, breathing deep of the pure air, recognized, as the sleigh drewnear, the somewhat portly gentleman driving, and the young woman besidehim regally clad in furs who looked patronizingly at the tannery house asshe took the reins. The young woman was Miss Cassandra Hopkins, and theportly gentleman, the Honorable Alva himself, patron of the drama, whohad entered upon his governorship and now wished to be senator. 

"Jethro Bass home?" he called out. 

"Mr. Bass is home, " answered Cynthia. The girl in the sleigh murmuredsomething, laughing a little, and Cynthia flushed. Mr. Hopkins gave asomewhat peremptory knock at the door and was admitted by MillicentSkinner, but Cynthia stood staring at Cassandra in the sleigh, someinstinct warning her of a coming skirmish. 

"Do you live here all the year round?"

"Of course, " said Cynthia. 

Miss Cassandra shrugged as though that were beyond her comprehension. 

"I'd die in a place like this, " she said. "No balls, or theatres. Doesn'tyour father take you around the state?"

"My father's dead, " said Cynthia. 

"Oh! Your name's Cynthia Wetherell, isn't it? You know Bob Worthington, don't you? He's gone to Harvard now, but he was a great friend of mine atAndover. "

Cynthia didn't answer. It would not be fair to say that she felt a pang, though it might add to the romance of this narrative. But her dislike forthe girl in the sleigh decidedly increased. How was she, in herinexperience, to know that the radiant beauty in furs was what the boysat Phillips Andover called an "old stager. "

"So you live with Jethro Bass, " was Miss Cassandra's next remark. "He'srich enough to take you round the state and give you everything youwant. "

"I have everything I want, " replied Cynthia. 

"I shouldn't call living here having everything I wanted, " declared MissHopkins, with a contemptuous glance at the tannery house. 

"I suppose you wouldn't, " said Cynthia. 

Miss Hopkins was nettled. She was out of humor that day, besides sheshared some of her father's political ambition. If he went to Washington, she went too. 

"Didn't you know Jethro Bass was rich?" she demanded, imprudently. "Why, my father gave twenty thousand dollars to be governor, and Jethro Bassmust have got half of it. "

Cynthia's eyes were of that peculiar gray which, lighted by love oranger, once seen, are never forgotten. One hand was on the dashboard ofthe cutter, the other had seized the seat. Her voice was steady, and thethree words she spoke struck Miss Hopkins with startling effect. 

Miss Hopkins's breath was literally taken away, and for once she found noretort. Let it be said for her that this was a new experience with a newcreature. A demure country girl turn into a wildcat before her very eyes!Perhaps it was as well for both that the door of the house opened and theHonorable Alva interrupted their talk, and without so much as a glance atCynthia he got hurriedly into the sleigh and drove off. When Cynthiaturned, the points of color still high in her cheeks and the light stillablaze in her eyes, she surprised Jethro gazing at her from the porch, and some sorrow she felt rather than beheld stopped the confession on herlips. It would be unworthy of her even to repeat such slander, and thecolor surged again into her face for very shame of her anger. CassandraHopkins had not been worthy of it. 

Jethro did not speak, but slipped his hand into hers, and thus they stoodfor a long time gazing at the snow fields between the pines on theheights of Coniston. 

The next summer, was the first which the painter--pioneer of summervisitors there--spent at Coniston. He was an unsuccessful painter, whobecame, by a process which he himself does not to-day completelyunderstand, a successful writer of novels. As a character, however, hehimself confesses his inadequacy, and the chief interest in him for thereaders of this narrative is that he fell deeply in love with CynthiaWetherell at nineteen. It is fair to mention in passing that other youngmen were in love with Cynthia at this time, notably Eben Hatch--historyrepeating itself. Once, in a moment of madness, Eben confessed his love, the painter never did: and he has to this day a delicious memory whichhas made Cynthia the heroine of many of his stories. He boarded withChester Perkins, and he was humored by the village as a harmless butamiable lunatic. 

The painter had never conceived that a New England conscience and atemper of no mean proportions could dwell together in the body of a woodnymph. When he had first seen Cynthia among the willows by ConistonWater, he had thought her a wood nymph. But she scolded him for hisimpropriety with so unerring a choice of words that he fell in love withher intellect, too. He spent much of his time to the neglect of hiscanvases under the butternut tree in front of Jethro's house trying topersuade Cynthia to sit for her portrait; and if Jethro himself had notoverheard one of these arguments, the portrait never would have beenpainted. Jethro focussed a look upon the painter. 

"Er--painter-man, be you? Paint Cynthy's picture?"

"But I don't want to be painted, Uncle Jethro. I won't be painted!"

"H-how much for a good picture? Er--only want the best--only want thebest. "

The painter said a few things, with pardonable heat, to the effect--well, never mind the effect. His remarks made no impression whatever uponJethro. 

"Er---paint the picture--paint the picture, and then we'll talk about theprice. Er--wait a minute. "

He went into the house, and they heard him lumbering up the stairs. Cynthia sat with her back to the artist, pretending to read, butpresently she turned to him. 

"I'll never forgive you--never, as long as I live, " she cried, "and Iwon't be painted!"

"N-not to please me, Cynthy?" It was Jethro's voice. 

Her look softened. She laid down the book and went up to him on the porchand put her hand on his shoulder. 

"Do you really want it so much as all that, Uncle Jethro?" she said. 

"Callate I do, Cynthy, " he answered. He held a bundle covered withnewspaper in his hand, he looked down at Cynthia. 

He seated himself on the edge of the porch and for the moment seemed lostin revery. Then he began slowly to unwrap the newspaper from the bundle:there were five layers of it, but at length he disclosed a bolt ofcardinal cloth. 

"Call this to mind, Cynthy?"

"Yes, " she answered with a smile. 

"H-how's this for the dress, Mr. Painter-man?" said Jethro, with a pridethat was ill-concealed. 

The painter started up from his seat and took the material in his handsand looked at Cynthia. He belonged to a city club where he was popularfor his knack of devising costumes, and a vision of Cynthia as thedaughter of a Doge of Venice arose before his eyes. Wonder of wonders, the daughter of a Doge discovered in a New England hill village! Thepainter seized his pad and pencil and with a few strokes, guided byinspiration, sketched the costume then and there and held it up toJethro, who blinked at it in astonishment. But Jethro was suspicious ofhis own sensations. 

"Er--well--Godfrey--g-guess that'll do. " Then came the involuntary:"W-wouldn't a-thought you had it in you. How about it, Cynthy?" and heheld it up for her inspection. 

"If you are pleased, it's all I care about, Uncle Jethro, " she answered, and then, her face suddenly flushing, "You must promise me on your honorthat nobody in Coniston shall know about it, 'Mr. Painter-man'. "

After this she always called him "Mr. Painter-man, "--when she was pleasedwith him. 

So the cardinal cloth was come to its usefulness at last. It wasinevitable that Sukey Kittredge, the village seamstress, should be takeninto confidence. It was no small thing to take Sukey into confidence, forshe was the legitimate successor in more ways than one of Speedy Bates, and much of Cynthia and the artist's ingenuity was spent upon devising aform of oath which would hold Sukey silent. Sukey, however, got no smallconsolation from the sense of the greatness of the trust confided in her, and of the uproar she could make in Coniston if she chose. The painter, to do him justice, was the real dressmaker, and did everything except cutthe cloth and sew it together. He sent to friends of his in the city forcertain paste jewels and ornaments, and one day Cynthia stood in the oldtannery shed--hastily transformed into a studio--before a variously movedaudience. Sukey, having adjusted the last pin, became hysterical over herhandiwork, Millicent Skinner stared openmouthed, words having failed herfor once, and Jethro thrust his hands in his pockets in a quiet ecstasyof approbation. 

"A-always had a notion that cloth'd set you off, Cynthy, " said he, "er--next time I go to the state capital you come along--g-guess it'llsurprise 'em some. "

"I guess it would, Uncle Jethro, " said Cynthia, laughing. 

Jethro postponed two political trips of no small importance to be presentat the painting of that picture, and he would sit silently by the hour ina corner of the shed watching every stroke of the brush. Never stoodDoge's daughter in her jewels and seed pearls amidst strangersurroundings, --the beam, and the centre post around which the old whitehorse had toiled in times gone by, and all the piled-up, disusedmachinery of forgotten days. And never was Venetian lady more unconsciousof her environment than Cynthia. 

The portrait was of the head and shoulders alone, and when he had givenit the last touch, the painter knew that, for once in his life, he haddone a good thing. Never before; perhaps, had the fire of suchinspiration been given him. Jethro, who expressed himself in terms (forhim) of great enthusiasm, was for going to Boston immediately to purchasea frame commensurate with the importance of such a work of art, but theartist had his own views on that subject and sent to New York for thisalso. 

The day after the completion of the picture a rugged figure in rawhideboots and coonskin cap approached Chester Perkins's house, knocked at thedoor, and inquired for the "Painter-man. " It was Jethro. The"Painter-man" forthwith went out into the rain behind the shed, where asomewhat curious colloquy took place. 

"G-guess I'm willin' to pay you full as much as it's worth, " said Jethro, producing a cowhide wallet. "Er--what figure do you allow it comes towith the frame?"

The artist was past taking offence, since Jethro had long ago become forhim an engrossing study. 

"I will send you the bill for the frame, Mr. Bass, " he said, "the picturebelongs to Cynthia. "

"Earn your livin' by paintin', don't you--earn your livin'?"

The painter smiled a little bitterly. 

"No, " he said, "if I did, I shouldn't be--alive. Mr. Bass, have you everdone anything the pleasure of doing which was pay enough, and to spare?"

Jethro looked at him, and something very like admiration came into theface that was normally expressionless. 

He put up his wallet a little awkwardly, and held out his hand moreawkwardly. 

"You be more of a feller than I thought for, " he said, and strode offthrough the drizzle toward Coniston. The painter walked slowly to thekitchen, where Chester Perkins and his wife were sitting down to supper. 

"Jethro got a mortgage on you, too?" asked Chester. 

The artist had his reward, for when the picture was hung at length in thelittle parlor of the tannery house it became a source of pride toConiston second only to Jethro himself. 

CHAPTER II

Time passes, and the engines of the Truro Railroad are now puffing in andout of the yards of Worthington's mills in Brampton, and a fine layer ofdust covers the old green stage which has worn the road for so many yearsover Truro Gap. If you are ever in Brampton, you can still see the stage, if you care to go into the back of what was once Jim Sanborn's liverystable, now owned by Mr. Sherman of the Brampton House. 

Conventions and elections had come and gone, and the Honorable HethSutton had departed triumphantly to Washington, cheered by his neighborsin Clovelly. Chamberlain Bixby was left in charge there, supreme. Whocould be more desirable as a member of Congress than Mr. Sutton, who hadso ably served his party (and Jethro) by holding the House against theinsurgents in the matter of the Truro Bill? Mr. Sutton was, moreover, agentleman, an owner of cattle and land, a man of substance whom lessermen were proud to mention as a friend--a very hill-Rajah with stock inrailroads and other enterprises, who owed allegiance and paid tributealone to the Great Man of Coniston. 

Mr. Sutton was one who would make himself felt even in the capital of theUnited States--felt and heard. And he had not been long in the Halls ofCongress before he made a speech which rang under the very dome of theCapitol. So said the Brampton and Harwich papers, at least, though rivalsand detractors of Mr. Sutton declared that they could find no matter init which related to the subject of a bill, but that is neither here northere. The oration began with a lengthy tribute to the resources andhistory of his state, and ended by a declaration that the speaker was inCongress at no man's bidding, but as the servant of the common people ofhis district. 

Under the lamp of the little parlor in the tannery house, Cynthia (whohas now arrived at the very serious age of nineteen) was reading thepapers to Jethro and came upon Mr. Sutton's speech. There were fourcolumns of it, but Jethro seemed to take delight in every word; andportions of the noblest parts of it, indeed, he had Cynthia read overagain. Sometimes, in the privacy of his home, Jethro was known tochuckle, and to Cynthia's surprise he chuckled more than usual thatevening. 

"Uncle Jethro, " she said at length, when she had laid the paper down, "Ithought that you sent Mr. Sutton to Congress. "

Jethro leaned forward. 

"What put that into your head, Cynthy?" he asked. 

"Oh, " answered the girl, "everybody says so, --Moses Hatch, Rias, andCousin Eph. Didn't you?"

Jethro looked at her, as she thought, strangely. 

"You're too young to know anything about such things, Cynthy, " he said, "too young. "

"But you make all the judges and senators and congressmen in the state, Iknow you do. Why, " exclaimed Cynthia, indignantly, "why does Mr. Suttonsay the people elected him when he owes everything to you?"

Jethro, arose abruptly and flung a piece of wood into the stove, and thenhe stood with his back to her. Her instinct told her that he wassuffering, though she could not fathom the cause, and she rose swiftlyand drew him down into the chair beside her. 

"What is it?" she said anxiously. "Have you got rheumatism, too, likeCousin Eph? All old men seem to have rheumatism. "

"No, Cynthy, it hain't rheumatism, " he managed to answer; "wimmen folkshadn't ought to mix up in politics. They--they don't understand 'em, Cynthy. "

"But I shall understand them some day, because I am your daughter--nowthat--now that I have only you, I am your daughter, am I not?"

"Yes, yes, " he answered huskily, with his hand on her hair. 

"And I know more than most women now, " continued Cynthia, triumphantly. "I'm going to be such a help to you soon--very soon. I've read a lot ofhistory, and I know some of the Constitution by heart. I know why oldTimothy Prescott fought in the Revolution--it was to get rid of kings, wasn't it, and to let the people have a chance? The people can always betrusted to do what is right, can't they, Uncle Jethro?"

Jethro was silent, but Cynthia did not seem to notice that. After a spaceshe spoke again:--"I've been thinking it all out about you, UncleJethro. "

"A-about me?"

"Yes, I know why you are able to send men to Congress and make judges ofthem. It's because the people have chosen you to do all that forthem--you are so great and good. "

Jethro did not answer. 

Although the month was March, it was one of those wonderful still nightsthat sometimes come in the mountain-country when the wind is silent inthe notches and the stars seem to burn nearer to the earth. Cynthia awokeand lay staring for an instant at the red planet which hung over theblack and ragged ridge, and then she arose quickly and knocked at thedoor across the passage. 

"Are you ill, Uncle Jethro?"

"No, " he answered, "no, Cynthy. Go to bed. Er--I was justthinkin'--thinkin', that's all, Cynthy. "

Though all his life he had eaten sparingly, Cynthia noticed that hescarcely touched his breakfast the next morning, and two hours later hewent unexpectedly to the state capital. That day, too, Coniston wasclothed in clouds, and by afternoon a wild March snowstorm was sweepingdown the face of the mountain, piling against doorways and blocking theroads. Through the storm Cynthia fought her way to the harness shop, forEphraim Prescott had taken to his bed, bound hand and foot by rheumatism. 

Much of that spring Ephraim was all but helpless, and Cynthia spent manydays nursing him and reading to him. Meanwhile the harness industrylanguished. Cynthia and Ephraim knew, and Coniston guessed, that Jethrowas taking care of Ephraim, and strong as was his affection for Jethrothe old soldier found dependence hard to bear. He never spoke of it toCynthia, but he used to lie and dream through the spring days of what hemight have done if the war had not crippled him. For Ephraim Prescott, like his grandfather, was a man of action--a keen, intelligent Americanwhose energy, under other circumstances, might have gone toward themaking of the West. Ephraim, furthermore, had certain principles whichsome in Coniston called cranks; for instance, he would never apply for apension, though he could easily have obtained one. Through all histroubles, he held grimly to the ideal which meant more to him than easeand comfort, --that he had served his country for the love of it. 

With the warm weather he was able to be about again, and occasionally tomend a harness, but Doctor Rowell shook his head when Jethro stopped hisbuggy in the road one day to inquire about Ephraim. Whereupon Jethro wenton to the harness shop. The inspiration, by the way, had come fromCynthia. 

"Er--Ephraim, how'd you like to, be postmaster? H-haven't any objectionsto that kind of a job, hev you?"

"Why no, " said Ephraim. "We hain't agoin' to hev a post-office atConiston--air we?"

"H-how'd you like to be postmaster at Brampton?" demanded Jethro, abruptly. 

Ephraim dropped the trace he was shaving. 

"Postmaster at Brampton!" he exclaimed. 

"H-how'd you like it?" said Jethro again. 

"Well, " said Ephraim, "I hain't got any objections. "

Jethro started out of the shop, but paused again at the door. 

"W-won't say nothin' about it, will you, Eph?" he inquired. 

"Not till I git it, " answered Ephraim. The sorrows of three years weresuddenly lifted from his shoulders, and for an instant Ephraim wanted todance until he remembered the rheumatism and the Wilderness leg. Suddenlya thought struck him, and he hobbled to the door and called out afterJethro's retreating figure. Jethro returned. 

"Well?" he said, "well?"

"What's the pay?" said Ephraim, in a whisper. 

Jethro named the sum instantly, also in a whisper. 

"You don't tell me!" said Ephraim, and sank stupefied into the chair infront of the shop, where lately he had spent so much of his time. 

Jethro chuckled twice on his way home: he chuckled twice again toCynthia's delight at supper, and after supper he sent Millicent Skinnerto find Jake Wheeler. Jake as usual, was kicking his heels in front ofthe store, talking to Rias and others about the coming Fourth of Julycelebration at Brampton. Brampton, as we know, was famous for its Fourthof July celebrations. Not neglecting to let it be known that Jethro hadsent for him, Jake hurried off through the summer twilight to the tanneryhouse, bowed ceremoniously to Cynthia under the butternut tree, anddiscovered Jethro behind the shed. It was usually Jethro's custom toallow the other man to begin the conversation, no matter how trivial thesubject--a method which had commended itself to Mr. Bixby and other minorpoliticians who copied him. And usually the other man played directlyinto Jethro's hands. Jake Wheeler always did, and now, to cover theawkwardness of the silence, he began on the Brampton celebration. 

"They tell me Heth Sutton's a-goin' to make the address--seems prouderthan ever sence he went to Congress. I guess you'll tell him what to saywhen the time comes, Jethro. "

"Er--goin' to Clovelly after wool this week, Jake?"

"I kin go to-morrow, " said Jake, scenting an affair. 

"Er--goin' to Clovelly after wool this week, Jake?"

Jake reflected. He saw it was expedient that this errand should not smellof haste. 

"I was goin' to see Cutter on Friday, " he answered. 

"Er--if you should happen to meet Heth--"

"Yes, " interrupted Jake. 

"If by chance you should happen to meet Heth, or Bije" (Jethro knew thatJake never went to Clovelly without a conference with one or the other ofthese personages, if only to be able to talk about it afterward at thestore), "er--what would you say to 'em?"

"Why, " said Jake, scratching his head for the answer, "I'd tell him youwas at Coniston. "

"Think we'll have rain, Jake?" inquired Jethro, blandly. 

Jake wended his way back to the store, filled with renewed admiration forthe great man. Jethro had given him no instructions whatever, could denybefore a jury if need be that he had sent him (Jake) to Clovelly to tellHeth Sutton to come to Coniston for instructions on the occasion of hisBrampton speech. And Jake was filled with a mysterious importance when hetook his seat once more in the conclave. 

Jake Wheeler, although in many respects a fool, was one of the mostefficient pack of political hounds that the state has ever known. By sixo'clock on Friday morning he was descending a brook valley on theClovelly side of the mountain, and by seven was driving between theforest and river meadows of the Rajah's domain, and had come in sight ofthe big white house with its somewhat pretentious bay-windows and Gothicdoorway; it might be dubbed the palace of these parts. The wide riverflowed below it, and the pastures so wondrously green in the morning sunwere dotted with fat cattle and sheep. Jake was content to borrow a cutof tobacco from the superintendent and wonder aimlessly around the farmuntil Mr. Sutton's family prayers and breakfast were accomplished. Weshall not concern ourselves with the message or the somewhat lengthymanner in which it was delivered. Jake had merely dropped in by accident, but the Rajah listened coldly while he picked his teeth, said he didn'tknow whether he was going to Brampton or not--hadn't decided; didn't knowwhether he could get to Coniston or not--his affairs were multitudinousnow. In short, he set Jake to thinking deeply as his horse walked up thewestern heights of Coniston on the return journey. He had, let it berepeated, a sure instinct once his nose was fairly on the scent, and hewas convinced that a war of great magnitude was in the air, and he; JakeWheeler, was probably the first in all the elate to discover it! Hisblood leaped at the thought. 

The hill-Rajah's defiance, boiled down, could only mean one thing, --thatsomebody with sufficient power and money was about to lock horns withJethro Bass. Not for a moment did Jake believe that, for all his pomp andcircumstance, the Honorable Heth Sutton was a big enough man to do this. Jake paid to the Honorable Heth all the outward respect that his highposition demanded, but he knew the man through and through. He thought ofthe Honorable Heth's reform speech in Congress, and laughed loudly in theechoing woods. No, Mr. Sutton was not the man to lead a fight. But towhom had he promised his allegiance? This question puzzled Mr. Wheelerall the way home, and may it be said finally for many days thereafter. Heslid into Coniston in the dusk, big with impending events, which he couldnot fathom. As to giving Jethro the careless answer of the hill-Rajah, that was another matter. 

The Fourth of July came at last, nor was any contradiction made in theBrampton papers that the speech of the Honorable Heth Sutton had beencancelled. Instead, advertisements appeared in the 'Brampton Clarion'announcing the fact in large letters. When Cynthia read thisadvertisement to Jethro, he chuckled again. They were under the butternuttree, for the evenings were long now. 

"Will you take me to Brampton, Uncle Jethro?" said she, letting fall thepaper on her lap. 

"W-who's to get in the hay?" said Jethro. 

"Hay on the Fourth of July!" exclaimed Cynthia, "why, that's--sacrilege!You'd much better come and hear Mr. Sutton's speech--it will do yougood. "

Cynthia could see that Jethro was intensely amused, for his eyes had away of snapping on such occasions when he was alone with her. She waspuzzled and slightly offended, because, to tell the truth, Jethro hadspoiled her. 

"Very well, then, " she said, "I'll go with the Painter-man. "

Jethro came and stood over her, his expression the least bit wistful. 

"Er--Cynthy, " he said presently, "hain't fond of that Painter-man, beyou?"

"Why, yes, " said Cynthia, "aren't you?"

"He's fond of you, " said Jethro, "sh-shouldn't be surprised if he was inlove with you. "

Cynthia looked up at him, the corners of her mouth twitching, and thenshe laughed. The Rev. Mr. Satterlee, writing his Sunday sermon in hisstudy, heard her and laid down his pen to listen. 

"Uncle Jethro, " said Cynthia, "sometimes I forget that you're a great, wise man, and I think that you are just a silly old goose. "

Jethro wiped his face with his blue cotton handkerchief. 

"Then you hain't a-goin' to marry the Painter-man?" he said. 

"I'm not going to marry anybody, " cried Cynthia, contritely; "I'm goingto live with you and take care of you all my life. "

On the morning of the Fourth, Cynthia drove to Brampton with thePainter-man, and when he perceived that she was dreaming, he ceased toworry her with his talk. He liked her dreaming, and stole many glances ather face of which she knew nothing at all. Through the cool and fragrantwoods, past the mill-pond stained blue and white by the sky, and scentedclover fields and wayside flowers nodding in the morning air--Cynthia sawthese things in the memory of another journey to Brampton. On that Fourthher father had been with her, and Jethro and Ephraim and Moses and AmandaHatch and the children. And how well she recalled, too, standing amidstthe curious crowd before the great house which Mr. Worthington had justbuilt. 

There are weeks and months, perhaps, when we do not think of people, whenour lives are full and vigorous, and then perchance a memory will bringthem vividly before us--so vividly that we yearn for them. There rosebefore Cynthia now the vision of a boy as he stood on the Gothic porch ofthe house, and how he had come down to the wondering country people withhis smile and his merry greeting, and how he had cajoled her intolingering in front of the meeting-house. Had he forgotten her? With justa suspicion of a twinge, Cynthia remembered that Janet Duncan she hadseen at the capital, whom she had been told was the heiress of the state. When he had graduated from Harvard, Bob would, of course, marry her. Thatwas in the nature of things. 

To some the great event of that day in Brampton was to be the speech ofthe Honorable Heth Sutton in the meeting-house at eleven; others (andthis party was quite as numerous) had looked forward to the base-ballgame between Brampton and Harwich in the afternoon. The painter wouldhave preferred to walk up meeting-house hill with Cynthia, and from thecool heights look down upon the amphitheatre in which the town was built. But Cynthia was interested in history, and they went to the meeting-houseaccordingly, where she listened for an hour and a half to the patrioticeloquence of the representative. The painter was glad to see and hear sogreat a man in the hour of his glory, though so much as a fragment of theoration does not now remain in his memory. In size, in figure, inexpression, in the sonorous tones of his voice, Mr. Sutton was everythingthat a congressman should be. "The people, " said Isaac D. Worthington inpresenting him, "should indeed be proud of such an able and high-mindedrepresentative. " We shall have cause to recall that word high-minded. 

Many persons greeted Cynthia outside the meetinghouse, for the girlseemed genuinely loved by all who knew her--too much loved, her companionthought, by certain spick-and-span young men of Brampton. But they atethe lunch Cynthia had brought, far from the crowd, under the trees byConiston Water. It was she who proposed going to the base-ball game, andthe painter stifled a sigh and acquiesced. Their way brought them downBrampton Street, past a house with great iron dogs on the lawn, soimposing and cityfied that he hung back and asked who lived there. 

"Mr. Worthington, " answered Cynthia, making to move on impatiently. 

Her escort did not think much of the house, but it interested him as thetype which Mr. Worthington had built. On that same Gothic porch, sublimely unconscious of the covert stares and subdued comments of thepassers-by, the first citizen himself and the Honorable Heth Sutton mightbe seen. Mr. Worthington, whose hawklike look had become more pronounced, sat upright, while the Honorable Heth, his legs crossed, filled everynook and cranny of an arm-chair, and an occasional fragrant whiff fromhis cigar floated out to those on the tar sidewalk. Although thepedestrians were but twenty feet away, what Mr. Worthington said neverreached them; but the Honorable Heth on public days carried his voice ofthe Forum around with him. 

"Come on, " said Cynthia, in one of those startling little tempers she wassubject to; "don't stand there like an idiot. "

Then the voice of Mr. Sutton boomed toward them. 

"As I understand, Worthington, " they heard him say, "you want me toappoint young Wheelock for the Brampton post-office. " He stuck his thumbinto his vest pocket and recrossed his legs "I guess it can be arranged. "

When the painter at last overtook Cynthia the jewel paints he had sooften longed to catch upon a canvas were in her eyes. He fell back, wondering how he could so greatly have offended, when she put her hand onhis sleeve. 

"Did you hear what he said about the Brampton postoffice?" she cried. 

"The Brampton post-office?" he repeated; dazed. 

"Yes, " said Cynthia; "Uncle Jethro has promised it to Cousin Ephraim, whowill starve without it. Did you hear this man say he would give it to Mr. Wheelock?"

Here was a new Cynthia, aflame with emotions on a question of politics ofwhich he knew nothing. He did, understand, however, her concern forEphraim Prescott, for he knew that she loved the soldier. She turned fromthe painter now with a gesture which he took to mean that his professiondebarred him from such vital subjects, and she led the way to thefair-grounds. There he meekly bought tickets, and they found themselveshurried along in the eager crowd toward the stand. 

The girl was still unaccountably angry over that mysterious affair of thepost-office, and sat with flushed cheeks staring out on the green field, past the line of buggies and carryalls on the farther side to thesouthern shoulder of Coniston towering, above them all. The painter, already, beginning to love his New England folk, listened to the homelychatter about him, until suddenly a cheer starting in one corner ran likea flash of gunpowder around the field, and eighteen young men trottedacross the turf. Although he was not a devotee of sport, he noticed thatnine of these, as they took their places on the bench, wore blue, --theHarwich Champions. Seven only of those scattering over the field worewhite; two young gentlemen, one at second base and the other behind thebatter, wore gray uniforms with crimson stockings, and crimson piping onthe caps, and a crimson H embroidered on the breast--a sight that madethe painter's heart beat a little faster, the honored livery of his owncollege. 

"What are those two Harvard men doing here?" he asked. 

Cynthia, who was leaning forward, started, and turned to him a face whichshowed him that his question had been meaningless. He repeated it. 

"Oh, " said she, "the tall one, burned brick-red like an Indian, is BobWorthington. "

"He's a good type, " the artist remarked. 

"You're right, Mister, there hain't a finer young feller anywhere, "chimed in Mr. Dodd, a portly person with a tuft of yellow beard on hischin. Mr. Dodd kept the hardware store in Brampton. 

"And who, " asked the painter, "is the bullet-headed little fellow, withfreckles and short red hair, behind the bat?"

"I don't know, " said Cynthia, indifferently. 

"Why, " exclaimed Mr. Dodd, with just a trace of awe in his voice, "that'sSomers Duncan, son of Millionaire Duncan down to the capital. I guess, "he added, "I guess them two will be the richest men in the state someday. Duncan come up from Harvard with Bob. "

In a few minutes the game was in full swing, Brampton against Harwich, the old rivalry in another form. Every advantage on either side awokethundering cheers from the partisans; beribboned young women sprang totheir feet and waved the Harwich blue at a home run, and were on theverge of tears when the Brampton pitcher struck out their best batsman. But beyond the facts that the tide was turning in Brampton's favor; thatyoung Mr. Worthington stopped a ball flying at a phenomenal speed andbatted another at a still more phenomenal speed which was not stopped;that his name and Duncan's were mingled generously in the cheering, thepainter remembered little of the game. The exhibition of human passionswhich the sight of it drew from an undemonstrative race: the shouting, the comments wrung from hardy spirits off their guard, the joy and thesorrow, --such things interested him more. High above the turmoilConiston, as through the ages, looked down upon the scene impassive. 

He was aroused from these reflections by an incident. Some one had leapedover the railing which separated the stand from the field and stoodbefore Cynthia, --a tanned and smiling young man in gray and crimson. Hishonest eyes were alight with an admiration that was unmistakable to thepainter--perhaps to Cynthia also, for a glow that might have been ofannoyance or anger, and yet was like the color of the mountain sunrise, answered in her cheek. Mr. Worthington reached out a large brown hand andseized the girl's as it lay on her lap. 

"Hello, Cynthia, " he cried, "I've been looking for you all day. I thoughtyou might be here. Where were you?"

"Where did you look?" answered Cynthia, composedly, withdrawing her hand. 

"Everywhere, " said Bob, "up and down the street, all through the hotel. Iasked Lem Hallowell, and he didn't know where you were. I only got herelast night myself. "

"I was in the meeting-house, " said Cynthia. 

"The meeting-house!" he echoed. "You don't mean to tell me that youlistened to that silly speech of Sutton's?"

This remark, delivered in all earnestness, was the signal for uproariouslaughter from Mr. Dodd and others sitting near by, attending earnestly tothe conversation. 

Cynthia bit her lip. 

"Yes, I did, " she said; "but I'm sorry now. "

"I should think you would be, " said Bob; "Sutton's a silly, pompous oldfool. I had to sit through dinner with him. I believe I could representthe district better myself. "

"By gosh!" exploded Mr. Dodd, "I believe you could!"

But Bob paid no attention to him. He was looking at Cynthia. 

"Cynthia, you've grown up since I saw you, " he said. "How's Uncle Jethro. 

"He's well--thanks, " said Cynthia, and now she was striving to put down asmile. 

"Still running the state?" said Bob. "You tell him I think he ought tomuzzle Sutton. What did he send him down to Washington for?"

"I don't know, " said Cynthia. 

"What are you going to do after the game?" Bob demanded. 

"I'm going home of course, " said Cynthia. 

His face fell. 

"Can't you come to the house for supper and stay for the fireworks?" hebegged pleadingly. "We'd be mighty glad to have your friend, too. "

Cynthia introduced her escort. 

"It's very good of you, Bob, " she said, with that New England demurenesswhich at times became her so well, "but we couldn't possibly do it. Andthen I don't like Mr. Sutton. "

"Oh, hang him!" exclaimed Bob. He took a step nearer to her. "Won't youstay this once? I have to go West in the morning. "

"I think you are very lucky, " said Cynthia. 

Bob scanned her face searchingly, and his own fell. 

"Lucky!" he cried, "I think it's the worst thing that ever happened tome. My father's so hard-headed when he gets his mind set--he's making medo it. He wants me to see the railroads and the country, so I've got togo with the Duncans. I wanted to stay--" He checked himself, "I thinkit's a blamed nuisance. "

"So do I, " said a voice behind him. 

It was not the first time that Mr. Somers Duncan had spoken, but Bobeither had not heard him or pretended not to. Mr. Duncan's freckled facesmiled at them from the top of the railing, his eyes were on Cynthia'sface, and he had been listening eagerly. Mr. Duncan's chiefcharacteristic, beyond his freckles, was his eagerness--a qualityprobably amounting to keenness. 

"Hello, " said Bob, turning impatiently, "I might have known you couldn'tkeep away. You're the cause of all my troubles--you and your father'sprivate car. "

Somers became apologetic. 

"It isn't my fault, " he said; "I'm sure I hate going as much as you do. It's spoiled my summer, too. "

Then he coughed and looked at Cynthia. 

"Well, " said Bob, "I suppose I'll have to introduce you. This, " he added, dragging his friend over the railing, "is Mr. Somers Duncan. "

"I'm awfully glad to meet you, Miss. Wetherell, " said Somers, fervently;"to tell you the truth, I thought he was just making up yarns. "

"Yarns?" repeated Cynthia, with a look that set Mr. Duncan floundering. 

"Why, yes, " he stammered. "Worthy said that you were up here, but Ithought he was crazy the way he talked--I didn't think--"

"Think what?" inquired Cynthia, but she flushed a little. 

"Oh, rot, Somers!" said Bob, blushing furiously under his tan; "you oughtnever to go near a woman--you're the darndest fool with 'em I ever saw. "

This time even the painter laughed outright, and yet he was a littlesorrowful, too, because he could not be even as these youths. But Cynthiasat serene, the eternal feminine of all the ages, and it is no wonderthat Bob Worthington was baffled as he looked at her. He lapsed into anawkwardness quite as bad as that of his friend. 

"I hope you enjoyed the game, " he said at last, with a formality that wasnot at all characteristic. 

Cynthia did not seem to think it worth while to answer this, so thepainter tried to help him out. 

"That was a fine stop you made, Mr. Worthington, " he said; "wasn't it, Cynthia?"

"Everybody seemed to think so, " answered Cynthia, cruelly; "but if I werea man and had hands like that" (Bob thrust them in his pockets), "Ibelieve I could stop a ball, too. "

Somers laughed uproariously. 

"Good-by, " said Bob, with uneasy abruptness, "I've got to go into thefield now. When can I see you?"

"When you get back from the West--perhaps, " said Cynthia. 

"Oh, " cried Bob (they were calling him), "I must see you to-night!" Hevaulted over the railing and turned. "I'll come back here right after thegame, " he said; "there's only one more inning. "

"We'll come back right after the game, " repeated Mr. Duncan. 

Bob shot one look at him, --of which Mr. Duncan seemed blissfullyunconscious, --and stalked off abruptly to second base. 

The artist sat pensive for a few moments, wondering at the ways of women, his sympathies unaccountably enlisted in behalf of Mr. Worthington. 

"Weren't you a little hard on him?" he said. 

For answer Cynthia got to her feet. 

"I think we ought to be going home, " she said. 

"Going home!" he ejaculated in amazement. 

"I promised Uncle Jethro I'd be there for supper, " and she led the wayout of the grand stand. 

So they drove back to Coniston through the level evening light, and whenthey came to Ephraim Prescott's harness shop the old soldier waved atthem cheerily from under the big flag which he had hung out in honor ofthe day. The flag was silk, and incidentally Ephraim's most valuedpossession. Then they drew up before the tannery house, and Cynthialeaped out of the buggy and held out her hand to the painter with asmile. 

"It was very good of you to take me, " she said. 

Jethro Bass, rugged, uncouth, in rawhide boots and swallowtail andcoonskin cap, came down from the porch to welcome her, and she ran towardhim with an eagerness that started the painter to wondering afresh overthe contrasts of life. What, he asked himself, had Fate in store forCynthia Wetherell?

CHAPTER III

"H-have a good time, Cynthy?" said Jethro, looking down into her face. Love had wrought changes in Jethro; mightier changes than he suspected, and the girl did not know how zealous were the sentries of that love, howwatchful they were, and how they told him often and again whether herheart, too, was smiling. 

"It was very gay, " said Cynthia. 

"P-painter-man gay?" inquired Jethro. 

Cynthia's eyes were on the orange line of the sunset over Coniston, butshe laughed a little, indulgently. 

"Cynthy?"

"Yes. "

"Er--that Painter-man hain't such a bad fellow--w-why didn't you ask himin to supper?"

"I'll give you three guesses, " said Cynthia, but she did not wait forthem. "It was because I wanted to be alone with you. Milly's gone out, hasn't she?"

"G-gone a-courtin', " said Jethro. 

She smiled, and went into the house to see whether Milly had done herduty before she left. It was characteristic of Cynthia not to havementioned the subject which was agitating her mind until they were seatedon opposite sides of the basswood table. 

"Uncle Jethro, " she said, "I thought you told Mr. Sutton to give CousinEph the Brampton post-office? Do you trust Mr. Sutton?" she demandedabruptly. 

"Er--why?" said Jethro. "Why?"

"Because I don't, " she answered with conviction; "I think he's a bigfraud. He must have deceived you, Uncle Jethro. I can't see why you eversent him to Congress. "

Although Jethro was in no mood for mirth, he laughed in spite of himself, for he was an American. His lifelong habit would have made him defendHeth to any one but Cynthia. 

"'D you see Heth, Cynthy?" he asked. "Yes, " replied the girl, disgustedly, "I should say I did, but not tospeak to him. He was sitting on Mr. Worthington's porch, and I heard himtell Mr. Worthington he would give the Brampton post-office to DaveWheelock. I don't want you to think that I was eavesdropping, " she addedquickly; "I couldn't help hearing it. "

Jethro did not answer. 

"You'll make him give the post-office to Cousin Eph, won't you, UncleJethro?"

"Yes;" said Jethro, very simply, "I will. " He meditated awhile, and thensaid suddenly, "W-won't speak about it--will you, Cynthy?"

"You know I won't, " she answered. 

Let it not be thought by any chance that Coniston was given over torevelry and late hours, even on the Fourth of July. By ten o'clock thelights were out in the tannery house, but Cynthia was not asleep. She satat her window watching the shy moon peeping over Coniston ridge, and shewas thinking, to be exact, of how much could happen in one short day andhow little in a long month. She was aroused by the sound of wheels andthe soft beat of a horse's hoofs on the dirt road: then came stifledlaughter, and suddenly she sprang up alert and tingling. Her own namecame floating to her through the darkness. 

The next thing that happened will be long remembered in Coniston. Atentative chord or two from a guitar, and then the startled village waslistening with all its might to the voices of two young men singing "WhenI first went up to Harvard"--probably meant to disclose the identity ofthe serenaders, as if that were necessary! Coniston, never havinglistened to grand opera, was entertained and thrilled, and thought therendering of the song better on the whole than the church choir couldhave done it, or even the quartette that sung at the Bramptoncelebrations behind the flowers. Cynthia had her own views on thesubject. 

There were five other songs--Cynthia remembers all of them, although shewould not confess such a thing. "Naughty, naughty Clara, " was anotherone; the other three were almost wholly about love, some treating itflippantly, others seriously--this applied to the last one, which hadmany farewells in it. Then they went away, and the crickets and frogs onConiston Water took up the refrain. 

Although the occurrence was unusual, --it might almost be saidepoch-making, --Jethro did not speak of it until they had reached thesparkling heights of Thousand Acre Hill the next morning. Even then hedid not look at Cynthia. 

"Know who that was last night, Cynthy?" he inquired, as though the matterwere a casual one. 

"I believe, " said Cynthia heroically, "I believe it was a boy namedSomers Duncan-and Bob Worthington. "

"Er--Bob Worthington, " repeated Jethro, but said nothing more. 

Of course Coniston, and presently Brampton, knew that Bob Worthington hadserenaded Cynthia--and Coniston and Brampton talked. It is noteworthythat (with the jocular exceptions of Ephraim and Lem Hallowell) they didnot talk to the girl herself. The painter had long ago discovered thatCynthia was an individual. She had good blood in her: as a mere child shehad shouldered the responsibility of her father; she had a naturalaptitude for books--a quality reverenced in the community; she visited, as a matter of habit; the sick and the unfortunate; and lastly (perhapsthe crowning achievement) she had bound Jethro Bass, of all men, with thefetters of love. Of course I have ended up by making her a paragon, although I am merely stating what people thought of her. Coniston decidedat once that she was to marry the heir to the Brampton Mills. 

But the heir had gone West, and as the summer wore on, the gossip dieddown. Other and more absorbing gossip took its place: never distinctlyformulated, but whispered; always wishing for more definite news thatnever came. The statesmen drove out from Brampton to the door of thetannery house, as usual, only it was remarked by astute observers andJake Wheeler that certain statesmen did not come who had been in thehabit of coming formerly. In short, those who made it a custom to observesuch matters felt vaguely a disturbance of some kind. The organs of thepeople felt it, and became more guarded in their statements. What no oneknew, except Jake and a few in high places, was that a war of no meanmagnitude was impending. 

There were three men in the State--and perhaps only three--who realizedfrom the first that all former political combats would pale in comparisonto this one to come. Similar wars had already started in other states, and when at length they were fought out another twist had been given tothe tail of a long-suffering Constitution; political history in theUnited States had to be written from an entirely new and unforeseenstandpoint, and the unsuspecting people had changed masters. 

This was to be a war of extermination of one side or the other. Noquarter would be given or asked, and every weapon hitherto known topolitics would be used. Of the three men who realized this, and all thatwould happen if one side or the other were victorious, one was AlexanderDuncan, another Isaac D. Worthington, and the third was Jethro Bass. 

Jethro would never have been capable of being master of the state had henot foreseen the time when the railroads, tired of paying tribute, wouldturn and try to exterminate the boss. The really astonishing thing aboutJethro's foresight (known to few only) was that he perceived clearly thatthe time would come when the railroads and other aggregations of capitalwould exterminate the boss, or at least subserviate him. This alone, thewriter thinks, gives him some right to greatness. And Jethro Bass made uphis mind that the victory of the railroads, in his state at least, shouldnot come in his day. He would hold and keep what he had fought all hislife to gain. 

Jethro knew, when Jake Wheeler failed to bring him a message back fromClovelly, that the war had begun, and that Isaac D. Worthington, commander of the railroad forces in the field, had captured his pawn, thehill-Rajah. By getting through to Harwich, the Truro had made a sadmuddle in railroad affairs. It was now a connecting link; and itspresident, the first citizen of Brampton, a man of no small importance inthe state. This fact was not lost upon Jethro, who perceived clearlyenough the fight for consolidation that was coming in the nextLegislature. 

Seated on an old haystack on Thousand Acre Hill, that sits in turn on thelap of Coniston, Jethro smiled as he reflected that the first trial ofstrength in this mighty struggle was to be over (what the unsuspectingworld would deem a trivial matter) the postmastership of Brampton. AndWorthington's first move in the game would be to attempt to capture forhis faction the support of the Administration itself. 

Jethro thought the view from Thousand Acre Hill, especially in September, to be one of the sublimest efforts of the Creator. It was September, first of the purple months in Coniston, not the red-purple of the Mainecoast, but the blue-purple of the mountain, the color of the bloom on theConcord grape. His eyes, sweeping the mountain from the notch to thegranite ramp of the northern buttress, fell on the weather-beaten littlefarmhouse in which he had lived for many years, and rested lovingly onthe orchard, where the golden early apples shone among the leaves. ButJethro was not looking at the apples. 

"Cynthy, " he called out abruptly, "h-how'd you like to go to Washington?"

"Washington!" exclaimed Cynthia. "When?"

"N-now--to-morrow. " Then he added uneasily, "C-can't you get ready?"

Cynthia laughed. 

"Why, I'll go to-night, Uncle Jethro, " she answered. 

"Well, " he said admiringly, "you hain't one of them clutterin' females. We can get some finery for you in New York, Cynthy. D-don't want any ofthem town ladies to put you to shame. Er--not that they would, " he addedhastily--"not that they would. "

Cynthia climbed up beside him on the haystack. 

"Uncle Jethro, " she said solemnly, "when you make a senator or a judge, Idon't interfere, do I?"

He looked at her uneasily, for there were moments when he could not forthe life of him make out her drift. 

"N-no, " he assented, "of course not, Cynthy. "

"Why is it that I don't interfere?"

"I callate, " answered Jethro, still more uneasily, "I callate it'sbecause you're a woman. "

"And don't you think, " asked Cynthia, "that a woman ought to know whatbecomes her best?"

Jethro reflected, and then his glance fell on her approvingly. 

"G-guess you're right, Cynthy, " he said. "I always had some success indressin' up Listy, and that kind of set me up. "

On such occasions he spoke of his wife quite simply. He had beengenuinely fond of her, although she was no more than an episode in hislife. Cynthia smiled to herself as they walked through the orchard to theplace where the horse was tied, but she was a little remorseful. Thisfeeling, on the drive homeward, was swept away by sheer elation at theprospect of the trip before her. She had often dreamed of the great worldbeyond Coniston, and no one, not even Jethro, had guessed the longings tosee it which had at times beset her. Often she had dropped her book tosummon up a picture of what a great city was like, to reconstruct theBoston of her early childhood. She remembered the Mall, where she used towalk with her father, and the row of houses where the rich dwelt, whichhad seemed like palaces. Indeed, when she read of palaces, these housesalways came to her mind. And now she was to behold a palace even greaterthan these, --and the house where the President himself dwelt. But why wasJethro going to Washington?

As if in answer to the question, he drove directly to the harness shopinstead of to the tannery house. Ephraim greeted them from within with acheery hail, and hobbled out and stood between the wheels of the buggy. 

"That bridle bust again?" he inquired. 

"Er--Ephraim, " said Jethro, "how long since you b'en away fromConiston--how long?"

Ephraim reflected. 

"I went to Harwich with Moses before that bad spell I had in March, " heanswered. 

Cynthia smiled from pure happiness, for she began to see the drift ofthings now. 

"H-how long since you've b'en in foreign parts?" said Jethro. 

"'Sixty-five, " answered Ephraim, with astonishing promptness. 

"Er--like to go to Washington with us to-morrow like to go toWashington?"

Ephraim gasped, even as Cynthia had. 

"Washin'ton!" he ejaculated. 

"Cynthy and I was thinkin' of takin' a little trip, " said Jethro, almostapologetically, "and we kind of thought we'd like to have you with us. Didn't we, Cynthy? Er--we might see General Grant, " he added meaningly. 

Ephraim was a New Englander, and not an adept in expressing his emotions. Both Cynthia and Jethro felt that he would have liked to have saidsomething appropriate if he had known how. What he actually saidwas:--"What time to-morrow?"

"C-callate to take the nine o'clock from Brampton, " said Jethro. 

"I'll report for duty at seven, " said Ephraim, and it was then hesqueezed the hand that he found in his. He watched them calmly enoughuntil they had disappeared in the barn behind the tannery house, andthen his thoughts became riotous. Rumors had been rife that summer, prophecies of changes to come, and the resignation of the old man who hadso long been postmaster at Brampton was freely discussed--or rather thematter of his successor. As the months passed, Ephraim had heard DavidWheelock mentioned with more and more assurance for the place. He had hadmany nights when sleep failed him, but it was characteristic of the oldsoldier that he had never once broached the subject since Jethro hadspoken to him two months before. Ephraim had even looked up the law tosee if he was eligible, and found that he was, since Coniston had nopost-office, and was within the limits of delivery of the Bramptonoffice. 

The next morning Coniston was treated to a genuine surprise. Afterloading up at the store, Lem Hallowell, instead of heading for Brampton, drove to the tannery house, left his horses standing as he ran in, andpresently emerged with a little cowhide trunk that bore the letter W. Following the trunk came a radiant Cynthia, following Cynthia, JethroBass in a stove-pipe hat, with a carpetbag, and hobbling after Jethro, Ephraim Prescott, with another carpet-bag. It was remarked in the buzz ofquery that followed the stage's departure that Ephraim wore the blue suitand the army hat with a cord around it which he kept for occasions. Coniston longed to follow them, in spirit at least, but even MillySkinner did not know their destination. 

Fortunately we can follow them. At Brampton station they got into thelittle train that had just come over Truro Pass, and steamed, with manystops, down the valley of Coniston Water until it stretched out into awide range of shimmering green meadows guarded by blue hills veiled inthe morning haze. Then, bustling Harwich, and a wait of half an houruntil the express from the north country came thundering through the Gap;then a five-hours' journey down the broad river that runs southwardbetween the hills, dinner in a huge station amidst a pleasant buzz ofexcitement and the ringing of many bells. Then into another train, through valleys and factory towns and cities until they came, atnightfall, to the metropolis itself. 

Cynthia will always remember the awe with which that first view of NewYork inspired her, and Ephraim confessed that he, too, had felt it, whenhe had first seen the myriad lights of the city after the long, dustyride from the hills with his regiment. For all the flags and bunting ithad held in '61, Ephraim thought that city crueller than war itself. AndCynthia thought so too, as she clung to Jethro's arm between thecarriages and the clanging street-cars, and looked upon the riches andpoverty around her. There entered her soul that night a sense of thatwhich is the worst cruelty of all--the cruelty of selfishness. Every mangoing his own pace, seeking to gratify his own aims and desires, unconscious and heedless of the want with which he rubs elbows. Hernatural imagination enhanced by her life among the hills, the girlpeopled the place in the street lights with all kinds of strangeevil-doers of whose sins she knew nothing, adventurers, charlatans, alertcormorants, who preyed upon the unwary. She shrank closer to Ephraim froma perfumed lady who sat next to her in the car, and was thankful when atlast they found themselves in the corridor of the Astor House standingbefore the desk. 

Hotel clerks, especially city ones, are supernatural persons. This oneknew Jethro, greeted him deferentially as Judge Bass, and dipped the penin the ink and handed it to him that he might register. By half-past nineCynthia was dreaming of Lem Hallowell and Coniston, and Lem was driving ayellow street-car full of queer people down the road to Brampton. 

There were few guests in the great dining room when they breakfasted atseven the next morning. New York, in the sunlight, had taken on a morekindly expression, and those who were near by smiled at them and seemedfull of good-will. Persons smiled at them that day as they walked thestreets or stood spellbound before the shop windows, and some who sawthem felt a lump rise in their throats at the memories they aroused offorgotten days: the three seemed to bring the very air of the hills withthem into that teeming place, and many who, had come to the city withhigh hopes, now in the shackles of drudgery; looked after them. They werea curious party, indeed: the straight, dark girl with the light in hereyes and the color in her cheeks; the quaint, rugged figure of theelderly man in his swallow-tail and brass buttons and square-toed, country boots; and the old soldier hobbling along with the aid of hisgreen umbrella, clad in the blue he had loved and suffered for. Had theyremained until Sunday, they might have read an amusing account of theirvisit, --of Jethro's suppers of crackers and milk at the Astor House, oftheir progress along Broadway. The story was not lacking in pathos, either, and in real human feeling, for the young reporter who wrote ithad come, not many years before, from the hills himself. But by that timethey had accomplished another marvellous span in their journey, and werecome to Washington itself. 

CHAPTER IV

Cynthia was deprived, too, of that thrilling first view of the capitalfrom the train which she had pictured, for night had fallen when theyreached Washington likewise. As the train slowed down, she leaned alittle out of the window and looked at the shabby houses and shabbystreets revealed by the flickering lights in the lamp-posts. Finally theycame to a shabby station, were seized upon by a grinning darky hackman, who would not take no for an answer, and were rattled away to the hotel. Although he had been to Washington but once in his life before, as aLincoln elector, Jethro was greeted as an old acquaintance by this clerkalso. 

"Glad to see you, Judge, " said he, genially. "Train late? You've comepurty nigh, missin' supper. "

A familiar of great men, the clerk was not offended when he got noresponse to his welcome. Cynthia and Ephraim, intent on getting ridof some of the dust of their journey, followed the colored hallboyup the stairs. Jethro stood poring over the register, when adistinguished-looking elderly gentleman with a heavy gray beard and eyesfull of shrewdness and humor paused at the desk to ask a question. 

"Er--Senator?"

The senator (for such he was, although he did not represent Jethro'sstate) turned and stared, and then held out his hand with unmistakablewarmth. 

"Jethro Bass, " he exclaimed, "upon my word! What are you doing inWashington?"

Jethro took the hand, but he did not answer the question. 

"Er--Senator--when can I see the President?"

"Why, " answered the senator, somewhat taken aback, "why, to-night, if youlike. I'm going to the White House in a few minutes and I think I canarrange it. "

"T-to-morrow afternoon--t-to-morrow afternoon?"

The senator cast his eye over the swallow-tail coat and stove-pipe hattilted back, and laughed. 

"Thunder!" he exclaimed, "you haven't changed a bit. I'm beginning tolook like an old man; but that milk-and-crackers diet seems to keep youyoung, Jethro. I'll fix it for to-morrow afternoon. "

"W-what time--two?"

"Well, I'll fix it for two to-morrow afternoon. I never could understandyou, Jethro; you don't do things like other men. Do I smell gunpowder?What's up now--what do you want to see Grant about?"

Jethro cast his eye around the corridor, where a few men were takingtheir ease after supper, and looked at the senator mysteriously. 

"Any place where we can talk?" he demanded. 

"We can go into the writing room and shut the door, " answered thesenator, more amused than ever. 

When Cynthia came downstairs, Jethro was standing with the gentleman inthe corridor leading to the dining room, and she heard the gentleman sayas he took his departure:--"I haven't forgotten what you did for us in'70, Jethro. I'll go right along and see to it now. "

Cynthia liked the gentleman's looks, and rightly surmised that he was oneof the big men of the nation. She was about to ask Jethro his name whenEphraim came limping along and put the matter out of her mind, and thethree went into the almost empty dining room. There they were served withelaborate attention by a darky waiter who had, in some mysterious way, learned Jethro's name and title. Cynthia reflected with pride thatJethro, too, was one of the nation's great men, who could get anything hewanted simply by coming to the capital and asking for it. 

Ephraim was very much excited on finding himself in Washington, the sightof the place reviving in his mind a score of forgotten incidents of thewar. After supper they found seats in a corner of the corridor, where anumber of people were scattered about, smoking and talking. It did notoccur to Jethro or Cynthia, or even to Ephraim, that these people wereall of the male sex, and on the other hand the guests of the hotel wereapparently used once in a while to see a lady from the country seatedthere. At any rate, Cynthia was but a young girl, and her two companions, however unusual their appearance, were clearly most respectable. Jethro, his hands in his pockets and his hat tilted, sat on the small of his backrapt in meditation; Cynthia, her head awhirl, looked around her withsparkling eyes; while Ephraim was smoking a cigar he had saved for justsuch a festal occasion. He did not see the stout man with the button andcorded hat until he was almost on top of him. 

"Eph Prescott, I believe!" exclaimed the stout one. "How be you, Comrade?"

Heedless of his rheumatism, Ephraim sprang to his feet and dropped thecigar, which the stout one picked up with much difficulty. 

"Well, " said Ephraim, in a voice that shook with unwonted emotion, "youkin skin me if it ain't Amasy Beard!" His eye travelled around Amasa'sfigure. "Wouldn't a-knowed you, I swan, I wouldn't. Why, when I seen youlast, Amasy, your stomach was havin' all it could do to git hold of yourbackbone. "

Cynthia laughed outright, and even Jethro sat up and smiled. 

"When was it?" said Amasa, still clinging on to Ephraim's hand andincidentally to the cigar, which Ephraim had forgotten; "Beaver Creek, wahn't it?"

"July 10, 1863, " said Ephraim, instantly. 

Gradually they reached a sitting position, the cigar was restored to itsrightful owner, and Mr. Beard was introduced, with some ceremony, toCynthia and Jethro. From Beaver Creek they began to fight the war overagain, backward and forward, much to Cynthia's edification, when herattention was distracted by the entrance of a street band of windinstruments. As the musicians made their way to another corner and begantuning up, she glanced mischievously at Jethro, for she knew hispeculiarities by heart. One of these was a most violent detestation ofany but the best music. He had often given her this excuse, laughingly, for not going to meeting in Coniston. How he had come by his love forgood music, Cynthia never knew--he certainly had not heard much of it. 

Suddenly a great volume of sound filled the corridor, and the band burstforth into what many supposed to be "The Watch on the Rhine. " Some peoplewere plainly delighted; the veterans, once recovered from their surprise, shouted their reminiscences above the music, undismayed; Jethro held onto himself until the refrain, when he began to squirm, and as soon as thetune was done and the scattering applause had died down, he reached overand grabbed Mr. Amasa Beard by the knee. Mr. Beard did not immediatelyrespond, being at that moment behind logworks facing a rebel charge; hefelt vaguely that some one was trying to distract his attention, and insome lobe of his brain was registered the fact that that particular kneehad gout in it. Jethro increased the pressure, and then Mr. Beardabandoned his logworks and swung around with a snort of pain. 

"H-how much do they git for that noise--h-how much do they git?"

Mr. Beard tenderly lifted the hand from his knee and stared at Jethrowith his mouth open, like a man aroused from a bad dream. 

"Who? What noise?" he demanded. 

"The Dutchmen, " said Jethro. "H-how much do they git for that noise?"

"Oh!" Mr. Beard glanced at the band and began to laugh. He thought Jethroa queer customer, no doubt, but he was a friend of Comrade Prescott's. "By gum!" said Mr. Beard, "I thought for a minute a rebel chain-shot hadtook my leg off. Well, sir, I guess that band gets about two dollars. They've come in here every evening since I've been at the hotel. "

"T-two dollars? Is that the price? Er--you say two dollars is theirprice?"

"Thereabouts, " answered Mr. Beard, uneasily. Veteran as he was, Jethro'sappearance and earnestness were a little alarming. 

"You say two dollars is their price?"

"Thereabouts, " shouted Mr. Beard, seating himself on the edge of hischair. 

But Jethro paid no attention to him. He rose, unfolding by degrees hissix feet two, and strode diagonally across the corridor toward the bandleader. Conversation was hushed at the sight of his figure, a titter ranaround the walls, but Jethro was oblivious to these things. He drew agreat calfskin wallet from an inside pocket of his coat, and the bandleader, a florid German, laid down his instrument and made an elaboratebow. Jethro waited until the man had become upright and then held out atwo-dollar bill. 

"Is that about right for the performance?" he said "is that about right?"

"Ja, mein Herr, " said the man, nodding vociferously. 

"I want to pay what's right--I want to pay what's right, " said Jethro. 

"I thank you very much, sir, " said the leader, finding his English, "youhaf pay for all. "

"P-paid for everything--everything to-night?" demanded Jethro. 

The leader spread out his hands. 

"You haf pay for one whole evening, " said he, and bowed again. 

"Then take it, take it, " said Jethro, pushing the bill into the man'spalm; "but don't you come back to-night--don't you come back to-night. "

The amazed leader stared at Jethro--and words failed him. There wassomething about this man that compelled him to obey, and he gathered uphis followers and led the way silently out of the hotel. Roars oflaughter and applause arose on all sides; but Jethro was as one who heardthem not as he made his way back to his seat again. 

"You did a good job, my friend, " said Mr. Beard, approvingly. "I'm goingto take Eph Prescott down the street to see some of the boys. Won't youcome, too?"

Mr. Beard doubtless accepted it as one of the man's eccentricities thatJethro did not respond to him, for without more ado he departed arm inarm with Ephraim. Jethro was looking at Cynthia, who was staring towardthe desk at the other end of the corridor, her face flushed, and herfingers closed over the arms of her chair. It never occurred to Jethrothat she might have been embarrassed. 

"W-what's the matter, Cynthy?" he asked, sinking into the chair besideher. 

Her breath caught sharply, but she tried to smile at him. He did notdiscover what was the matter until long afterward, when he recalled thatevening to mind. Jethro was a man used to hotel corridors, used tositting in an attitude that led the unsuspecting to believe he was halfasleep; but no person of note could come or go whom he did not remember. He had seen the distinguished party arrive at the desk, preceded by ahost of bell-boys with shawls and luggage. On the other hand, some of thedistinguished party had watched the proceeding of paying off the bandwith no little amusement. Miss Janet Duncan had giggled audibly, hermother had smiled, while her father and Mr. Worthington had pretended tobe deeply occupied with the hotel register. Somers was not there. BobWorthington laughed heartily with the rest until his eye, travelling downthe line of Jethro's progress, fell on Cynthia, and now he was stridingacross the floor toward them. And even in the horrible confusion of thatmoment Cynthia had a vagrant thought that his clothes had an enviable cutand became him remarkably. 

"Well, of all things, to find you here!" he cried; "this is the best luckthat ever happened. I am glad to see you. I was going to steal away toBrampton for a couple of days before the term opened, and I meant to lookyou up there. And Mr. Bass, " said Bob, turning to Jethro, "I'm glad tosee you too. "

Jethro looked at the young man and smiled and held out his hand. It wasevident that Bob was blissfully unaware that hostilities between powersof no mean magnitude were about to begin; that the generals themselveswere on the ground, and that he was holding treasonable parley with theenemy. The situation appealed to Jethro, especially as he glanced at thebacks of the two gentlemen facing the desk. These backs seemed to himfull of expression. "Th-thank you, Bob, th-thank you, " he answered. 

"I like the way you fixed that band, " said Bob; "I haven't laughed asmuch for a year. You hate music, don't you? I hope you'll forgive thatawful noise we made outside of your house last July, Mr. Bass. "

"You--you make that noise, Bob, you--you make that?"

"Well, " said Bob, "I'm afraid I did most of it. There was another fellowthat helped some and played the guitar. It was pretty bad, " he added, with a side glance at Cynthia, "but it was meant for a compliment. "

"Oh, " said she, "it was meant for a compliment, was it?"

"Of course, " he answered, glad of the opportunity to turn his attentionentirely to her. "I was for slipping away right after supper, but myfather headed us off. "

"Slipping away?" repeated Cynthia. 

"You see, he had a kind of a reception and fireworks afterward. We didn'tget away till after nine, and then I thought I'd have a lecture when Igot home. "

"Did you?" asked Cynthia. 

"No, " said Bob, "he didn't know where I'd been. "

Cynthia felt the blood rush to her temples, but by habit and instinct sheknew when to restrain herself. 

"Would it have made any difference to him where you had been?" she askedcalmly enough. 

Bob had a presentiment that he was on dangerous ground. This new andself-possessed Cynthia was an enigma to him--certainly a fascinatingenigma. 

"My father world have thought I was a fool to go off serenading, " heanswered, flushing. Bob did not like a lie; he knew that his father wouldhave been angry if he had heard he had gone to Coniston; he felt, in thesmall of his back, that his father was angry mow, and guessed the reason. 

She regarded him gravely as he spoke, and then her eyes left his face andbecame fixed upon an object at the far end of the corridor. Bob turned intime to see Janet Duncan swing on her heel and follow her mother up thestairs. He struggled to find words to tide over what he felt was anawkward moment. 

"We've had a fine trip;" he said, "though I should much rather havestayed at home. The West is a wonderful country, with its canons andmountains and great stretches of plain. My father met us in Chicago, andwe came here. I don't know why, because Washington's dead at this time ofthe year. I suppose it must be on account of politics. " Looking at Jethrowith a sudden inspiration, "I hadn't thought of that. "

Jethro had betrayed no interest in the conversation. He was seated, asusual, on the small of his back. But he saw a young man of short stature, with a freckled face and close-cropped, curly red hair, come into thecorridor by another entrance; he saw Isaac D. Worthington draw him asideand speak to him, and he saw the young man coming towards them. 

"How do you do, Miss Wetherell?" cried the young man joyously, whilestill ten feet away, "I'm awfully glad to see you, upon my word; I am. How long are you going to be in Washington?"

"I don't know, Mr. Duncan, " answered Cynthia. 

"Did Worthy know you were here?" demanded Mr. Duncan, suspiciously. 

"He did when he saw me, " said Cynthia, smiling. 

"Not till then?" asked Mr. Duncan. "Say, Worthy; your father wants to seeyou right away. I'm going to be in Washington a day or two--will you gowalking with me to-morrow morning, Miss Wetherell?"

"She's going walking with me, " said Bob, not in the best of tempers. 

"Then I'll go along, " said Mr. Duncan, promptly. 

By this time Cynthia got up and was holding out her hand to BobWorthington. "I'm not going walking with either of you, " she said "I haveanother engagement. And I think I'll have to say good night, because I'mvery tired. "

"When can I see you?" Both the young men asked the question at once. 

"Oh, you'll have plenty of chances, " she answered, and was gone. 

The young men looked at each other somewhat blankly; and then down atJethro, who did not seem to know that they were there, and then they madetheir way toward the desk. But Isaac D. Worthington and his friends haddisappeared. 

A few minutes later the distinguished-looking senator with whom Jethrohad been in conversation before supper entered the hotel. He seemedpreoccupied, and heedless of the salutations he received; but when hecaught sight of Jethro he crossed the corridor rapidly and sat downbeside him. Jethro did not move. The corridor was deserted now, save forthe two. 

"Bass, " began the senator, "what's the row up in your state?"

"H-haven't heard of any row, " said Jethro. 

"What did you come to Washington for?" demanded the senator, somewhatsharply. 

"Er--vacation, " said Jethro, "vacation--to show my gal, Cynthy, thecapital. "

"Now see here, Bass, " said the senator, "I don't forget what happened in'70. I don't object to wading through a swarm of bees to get a littlehoney for a friend, but I think I'm entitled to know why he wants it. "

"G-got the honey?" asked Jethro. 

The senator took off his hat and wiped his brow, and then he stole a lookat Jethro, with apparently barren results. 

"Jethro, " he said, "people say you run that state of yours right up tothe handle. What's all this trouble about a two-for-a-centpostmastership?"

"H-haven't heard of any trouble, " said Jethro. 

"Well, there is trouble, " said the senator, losing patience at last. "WhenI told Grant you were here and mentioned that little Brampton matter tohim, --it didn't seem much to me, --the bees began to fly pretty thick, Ican tell you. I saw right away that somebody had been stirring 'em up. Itlooks to me, Jethro, " said the senator gravely, "it looks to me as if youhad something of a rebellion on your hands. "

"W-what'd Grant say?" Jethro inquired. 

"Well, he didn't say a great deal--he isn't much of a talker, you know, but what he did say was to the point. It seems that your man, Prescott, doesn't come from Brampton, in the first place, and Grant says that whilehe likes soldiers, he hasn't any use for the kind that want to lie downand make the government support 'em. I'll tell you what I found out. Worthington and Duncan wired the President this morning, and they've goneup to the White House now. They've got a lot of railroad interests backof them, and they've taken your friend Sutton into camp; but I managed toget the President to promise not to do anything until he saw you tomorrowafternoon at two. "

Jethro sat silent so long that the senator began to think he wasn't goingto answer him at all. In his opinion, he had told Jethro some very gravefacts. 

"W-when are you going to see the President again?" said Jethro, at last. 

"To-morrow morning, " answered the senator; "he wants me to walk over withhim to see the postmaster-general, who is sick in bed. "

"What time do you leave the White House?--"

"At eleven, " said the senator, very much puzzled. 

"Er--Grant ever pay any attention to an old soldier on the street?"

The senator glanced at Jethro, and a twinkle came into his eye. 

"Sometimes he has been known to, " he answered. 

"You--you ever pay any attention to an old soldier on the street?"

Then the senator's eyes began to snap. 

"Sometimes I have been known to. "

"Er--suppose an old soldier was in front of the White House at eleveno'clock--an old soldier with a gal suppose?"

The senator saw the point, and took no pains to restrain his admiration. 

"Jethro, " he said, slapping him on the shoulder, "I'm willing to bet afew thousand dollars you'll run your state for a while yet. "

CHAPTER V

"Heard you say you was goin' for a walk this morning, Cynthy, " Jethroremarked, as they sat at breakfast the next morning. 

"Why, of course, " answered Cynthia, "Cousin Eph and I are going out tosee Washington, and he is to show me the places that he remembers. " Shelooked at Jethro appealingly. "Aren't you coming with us?" she asked. 

"M-meet you at eleven, Cynthy, " he said. 

"Eleven!" exclaimed Cynthia in dismay, "that's almost dinner-time. "

"M-meet you in front of the White House at eleven, " said Jethro, "plumbin front of it, under a tree. "

By half-past seven, Cynthia and Ephraim with his green umbrella were inthe street, but it would be useless to burden these pages with adescription of all the sights they saw, and with the things that Ephraimsaid about them, and incidentally about the war. After New York, much ofWashington would then have seemed small and ragged to any one who lackedideals and a national sense, but Washington was to Cynthia as Athens to aGreek. To her the marble Capitol shining on its hill was a sacred temple, and the great shaft that struck upward through the sunlight, though yetunfinished, a fitting memorial to him who had led the barefoot soldiersof the colonies through ridicule to victory. They looked up manyinstitutions and monument, they even had time to go to the Navy Yard, andthey saved the contemplation of the White House till the last. The WhiteHouse, which Cynthia thought the finest and most graceful mansion in allthe world, in its simplicity and dignity, a fitting dwelling for thechosen of the nation. Under the little tree which Jethro had mentioned, Ephraim stood bareheaded before the walls which had sheltered Lincoln, which were now the home of the greatest of his captains, Grant: andwondrous emotions played upon the girl's spirit, too, as she gazed. Theyforgot the present in the past and the future, and they did not see thetwo gentlemen who had left the portico some minutes before and were nowcoming toward them along the sidewalk. 

The two gentlemen, however, slowed their steps involuntarily at a sightwhich was uncommon, even in Washington. The girl's arm was in thesoldier's, and her face, which even in repose had a true nobility, nowwas alight with an inspiration that is seen but seldom in a lifetime. Inmarble, could it have been wrought by a great sculptor, men would havedreamed before it of high things. 

The two, indeed, might have stood for a group, the girl as the spirit, the man as the body which had risked and suffered all for it, and stillheld it fast. For the honest face of the soldier reflected that spirit astruly as a mirror. 

Ephraim was aroused from his thoughts by Cynthia nudging his arm. Hestarted, put on his hat, and stared very hard at a man smoking a cigarwho was standing before him. Then he stiffened and raised his hand in aninvoluntary salute. The man smiled. He was not very tall, he had aclosely trimmed light beard that was growing a little gray, he wore asoft hat something like Ephraim's, a black tie on a white pleated shirt, and his eyeglasses were pinned to his vest. His eyes were all kindness. 

"How do you do, Comrade?" he said, holding out his hand. 

"General, " said Ephraim, "Mr. President, " he added, correcting himself, "how be you?" He shifted the green umbrella, and shook the hand timidlybut warmly. 

"General will do, " said the President, with a smiling glance at the tallsenator beside him, "I like to be called General. "

"You've growed some older, General, " said Ephraim, scanning his face witha simple reverence and affection, "but you hain't changed so much as I'da thought since I saw you whittlin' under a tree beside the Lacy house inthe Wilderness. "

"My duty has changed some, " answered the President, quite as simply. Headded with a touch of sadness, "I liked those days best, Comrade. "

"Well, I guess!" exclaimed Ephraim, "you're general over everything now, but you're not a mite bigger man to me than you was. "

The President took the compliment as it was meant. 

"I found it easier to run an army than I do to run a country, " he said. 

Ephraim's blue eyes flamed with indignation. 

"I don't take no stock in the bull-dogs and the gold harness at LongBranch and--and all them lies the dratted newspapers print aboutyou, "--Ephraim hammered his umbrella on the pavement as an expression ofhis feelings, --"and what's more, the people don't. "

The President glanced at the senator again, and laughed a little, quietly. 

"Thank you; Comrade, " he said. 

"You're a plain, common man, " continued Ephraim, paying the highestcompliment known to rural New England; "the people think a sight of you, or they wouldn't hev chose you twice, General. "

"So you were in the Wilderness?" said the President, adroitly changingthe subject. 

"Yes, General. I was pressed into orderly duty the first day--that's whenI saw you whittlin' under the tree, and you didn't seem to have no moreconsarn than if it had been a company drill. Had a cigar then, too. Butthe second day; May the 6th, I was with the regiment. I'll never forgetthat day, " said Ephraim, warming to the subject, "when we was fightin'Ewell up and down the Orange Plank Road, playin' hide-and-seek with theJohnnies in the woods. You remember them woods, General?"

The President nodded, his cigar between his teeth. He looked as thoughthe scene were coming back to him. 

"Never seen such woods, " said Ephraim, "scrub oak and pine and cedars andyoung stuff springin' up until you couldn't see the length of a company, and the Rebs jumpin' and hollerin' around and shoutin' every which way. After a while a lot of them saplings was mowed off clean by the bullets, and then the woods caught afire, and that was hell. "

"Were you wounded?" asked the President, quickly. 

"I was hurt some, in the hip, " answered Ephraim. 

"Some!" exclaimed Cynthia, "why, you have walked lame ever since. " Sheknew the story by heart, but the recital of it never failed to stir herblood! They carried him out just as he was going to be burned up, in ablanket hung from rifles, and he was in the hospital nine months, and hadto come home for a while. "

"Cynthy, " said Ephraim in gentle reproof, "I callate the General don'twant to hear that. "

Cynthia flushed, but the President looked at her with an added interest. 

"My dear young lady, " he said, "that seems to me the vital part of thestory. If I remember rightly, " he added, turning again to Ephraim, theFifth Corps was on the Orange turnpike. What brigade were you in?"

"The third brigade of the First Division, " answered Ephraim. 

"Griffin's, " said the President. "There were several splendid New Englandregiments in that brigade. I sent them with Griffin to help Sheridan atFive Forks. "

"I was thar too, " cried Ephraim. 

"What!" said the President, "with the lame hip?"

"Well, General, I went back, I couldn't help it. I couldn't stay awayfrom the boys--just couldn't. I didn't limp as bad then as I do now. Iwahn't much use anywhere else, and I had l'arned to fight. Five Forks!"exclaimed Ephraim. "I call that day to mind as if it was yesterday. Iremember how the boys yelled when they told us we was goin' to Sheridan. We got started about daylight, and it took us till four o'clock in theafternoon to git into position. The woods was just comin' a little green, and the white dogwoods was bloomin' around. Sheridan, he galloped up tothe line with that black horse of his'n and hollered out, 'Come on, boys, go in at a clean, jump or You won't ketch one of 'em. ' You know how men, even veterans like that Fifth Corps, sometimes hev to be pushed into afight. There was a man from a Maine regiment got shot in the head fustthing. 'I'm killed, ' said he. 'Oh, no, you're not, ' says Sheridan, 'pickup your gun and go for 'em. ' But he was killed. Well, we went for'em through all the swamps and briers and everything, and Sheridan, tharin front, had got the battle-flag and was rushin' round with it swearin'and prayin' and shoutin', and the first thing we knowed he'd jumped hishorse clean over their logworks and landed right on top of theJohnnie's. "

"Yes, " said the President, "that was Sheridan, sure enough. "

"Mr. President, " said the senator, who stood by wonderingly while GeneralGrant had lost himself in this conversation, "do you realize what time itis?"

"Yes, yes, " said the President, "we must go on. What was your rank, Comrade?"

"Sergeant, General. "

"I hope you have got a good pension for that hip, " said the President, kindly. It may be well to add that he was not always so incautious, butthis soldier bore the unmistakable stamp of simplicity and sincerity onhis face. 

Ephraim hesitated. 

"He never would ask for a pension, General, " said Cynthia. 

"What!" exclaimed the President in real astonishment, "are you so rich asall that?" and he glanced at the green umbrella. 

"Well, General, " said Ephraim, uncomfortably, "I never liked the notionof gittin' paid for it. You see, I was what they call a war-Democrat. "

"Good Lord!" said the President, but more to himself. "What do you donow?"

"I callate to make harness, " answered Ephraim. 

"Only he can't make it any more on account of his rheumatism, Mr. President, " Cynthia put in. 

"I think you might call me General, too, " he said, with the grace thatmany simple people found inherent in him. "And may I ask your name, younglady?"

"Cynthia Wetherell--General, " she said smiling. 

"That sounds more natural, " said the President, and then to Ephraim, "Your daughter?"

"I couldn't think more of her if she was, " answered Ephraim; "Cynthy'spulled me through some tight spells. Her mother was my cousin, General. My name's Prescott--Ephraim Prescott. "

"Ephraim Prescott!" ejaculated the President, sharply, taking his cigarfrom his mouth, "Ephraim Prescott!"

"Prescott--that's right--Prescott, General, " repeated Ephraim, sorelypuzzled by these manifestations of amazement. 

"What did you come to Washington for?" asked the President. 

"Well, General, I kind of hate to tell you--I didn't intend to mentionthat. I guess I won't say nothin' about it, " he added, "we've had such asociable time. I've always b'en a little mite ashamed of it, General, ever since 'twas first mentioned. "

"Good Lord!" said the President again, and then he looked at Cynthia. "What is it, Miss Cynthia?" he asked. 

It was now Cynthia's turn to be a little confused. 

"Uncle Jethro--that is, Mr. Bass" (the President nodded), "went to CousinEph when he couldn't make harness any more and said he'd give him theBrampton post-office. "

The President's eyes met the senator's, and both gentlemen laughed. Cynthia bit her lip, not seeing any cause for mirth in her remark, whileEphraim looked uncomfortable and mopped the perspiration from his brow. 

"He said he'd give it to him, did he?" said the President. "Is Mr. Bassyour uncle?"

"Oh, no, General, " replied Cynthia, "he's really no relation. He's doneeverything for me, and I live with him since my father died. He was goingto meet us here, " she continued, looking around hurriedly, "I'm sure Ican't think what's kept him. "

"Mr. President, we are half an hour late already, " said the senator, hurriedly. 

"Well, well, " said the President, "I suppose I must go. Good-by, MissCynthia, " said he, taking the girl's hand warmly. "Good-by, Comrade. Ifever you want to see General Grant, just send in your name. Good-by. "

The President lifted his hat politely to Cynthia and passed. He saidsomething to the senator which they did not hear, and the senator laughedheartily. Ephraim and Cynthia watched them until they were out of sight. 

"Godfrey!" exclaimed Ephraim, "they told me he was hard to talk to. Why, Cynthy, he's as simple as a child. "

"I've always thought that all great men must be simple, " said Cynthia;"Uncle Jethro is. "

"To think that the President of the United States stood talkin' to us onthe sidewalk for half an hour, " said Ephraim, clutching Cynthia's arm. "Cynthy, I'm glad we didn't press that post-office matter it was worthmore to me than all the post-offices in the Union to have that talk withGeneral Grant. "

They waited some time longer under the tree, happy in the afterglow ofthis wonderful experience. Presently a clock struck twelve. 

"Why, it's dinner-time, Cynthy, " said Ephraim. "I guess Jethro haint'a-comin'--must hev b'en delayed by some of them politicians. "

"It's the first time I ever knew him to miss an appointment, " saidCynthia, as they walked back to the hotel. 

Jethro was not in the corridor, so they passed on to the dining room andlooked eagerly from group to group. Jethro was not there, either, butCynthia heard some one laughing above the chatter of the guests, and drewback into the corridor. She had spied the Duncans and the Worthingtonsmaking merry by themselves at a corner table, and it was Somers's laughthat she heard. Bob, too, sitting next to Miss Duncan, was much amusedabout something. Suddenly Cynthia's exaltation over the incident of themorning seemed to leave her, and Bob Worthington's words which she hadpondered over in the night came back to her with renewed force. He didnot find it necessary to steal away to see Miss Duncan. Why should hehave "stolen away" to see her? Was it because she was a country girl, andpoor? That was true; but on the other hand, did she not live in thesunlight, as it were, of Uncle Jethro's greatness, and was it not anhonor to come to his house and see any one? And why had Mr. Worthingtonturned hid back on Jethro, and sent for Bob when he was talking to them?Cynthia could not understand these things, and her pride was sorelywounded by them. 

"Perhaps Jethro's in his room, " suggested Ephraim. 

And indeed they found him there seated on the bed, poring over somenewspapers, and both in a breath demanded where he had been. Ephraim didnot wait for an answer. 

"We seen General Grant, Jethro, " he cried; "while we was waitin' for youunder the tree he come up and stood talkin' to us half an hour. Full halfan hour, wahn't it, Cynthy?"

"Oh, yes, " answered Cynthia, forgetting her own grievance at therecollection; "only it didn't seem nearly that long. "

"W-want to know!" exclaimed Jethro, in astonishment, putting down hispaper. "H-how did it happen?"

"Come right up and spoke to us, " said Ephraim, in a tone he might haveused to describe a miracle, "jest as if he was common folk. Never had amore sociable talk with anybody. Why, there was times when I clean forgothe was President of the United States. The boys won't believe it when wegit back at Coniston. "

And Ephraim, full of his subject, began to recount from the beginning themarvellous affair, occasionally appealing to Cynthia for confirmation. How he had lived over again the Wilderness and Five Forks; how theGeneral had changed since he had seen him whittling under a tree; how theGeneral had asked about his pension. 

"D-didn't mention the post-office, did you, Ephraim?"

"Why, no, " replied Ephraim, "I didn't like to exactly. You see, we washavin' such a good time I didn't want to spoil it, but Cynthy--"

"I told the President about it, Uncle Jethro; I told him how sick CousinEph had been, and that you were going to give him the postmastershipbecause he couldn't work any more with his hands. "

The training of a lifetime had schooled Jethro not to betray surprise. 

"K-kind of mixin' up in politics, hain't you, Cynthy? P-President sayhe'd give you the postmastership, Eph?" he asked. 

"He didn't say nothin' about it, Jethro, " answered Ephraim slowly; "Icallate he has other views for the place, and he was too kind to comeright out with 'em and spoil our mornin'. You see, Jethro, I wahn't onlya sergeant, and Brampton's gittin' to be a big town. "

"But, surely, " cried Cynthia, who could scarcely wait for him to finish, "surely you're going to give Cousin Eph the post-office, aren't you, Uncle Jethro? All you have to do is to tell the President that you wantit for him. Why, I had an idea that we came down for that. "

"Now, Cynthy, " Ephraim put in, deprecatingly. 

"Who else would get the post-office?" asked Cynthia. "Surely you're notgoing to let Mr. Sutton have it for Dave Wheelock!"

"Er--Cynthy, " said Jethro, slyly, "w-what'd you say to me once aboutinterferin' with women's fixin's?"

Cynthia saw the point. She perceived also that the mazes of politics werenot to be understood by a young woman, of even by an old soldier. Shelaughed and seized Jethro's hands and pulled him from the bed. 

"We won't get any dinner unless we hurry, " she said. 

When they reached the dining room she was relieved to discover that theparty in the corner had gone. 

In the afternoon there were many more sights to be viewed, but they wereback in the hotel again by half-past four, because Ephraim's Wildernessleg had its limits of endurance. Jethro (though he had not mentioned thefact to them) had gone to the White House. 

It was during the slack hours that our friend the senator, whose interestin the matter of the Brampton post office out-weighed for the presentcertain grave problems of the Administration in which he was involved, hurried into the Willard Hotel, looking for Jethro Bass. He found himwithout much trouble in his usual attitude, occupying one of the chairsin the corridor. 

"Well, " exclaimed the senator, with a touch of eagerness he did not oftenbetray, "did you see Grant? How about your old soldier? He's one of themost delightful characters I ever met--simple as a child, " and he laughedat the recollection. "That was a masterstroke of yours, Bass, putting himunder that tree with that pretty girl. I doubt if you ever did anythingbetter in your life. Did they tell you about it?"

"Yes, " said Jethro, "they told me about it. "

"And how about Grant? What did he say to you?"

"W-well, I went up there and sent in my card. D-didn't have to wait agreat while, as I was pretty early, and soon he came in, smokin' a blackcigar, head bent forward a little. D-didn't ask me to sit down, and whattalkin' we did we did standin'. D-didn't ask me what he could do for me, what I wanted, or anything else, but just stood there, and I stood there. F-fust time in my life I didn't know how to commerce or what to say;looked--looked at me--didn't take his eye off me. After a while I gotstarted, somehow; told him I was there to ask him to appoint EphraimPrescott to the Brampton postoffice--t-told him all about Ephraim fromthe time he was locked in the cradle--never was so hard put that I couldremember. T-told him how Ephraim shook butternuts off my fatherstree--for all I know. T-told him all about Ephraim's warrecord--leastways all I could call to mind--and, by Godfrey! before I gotthrough, I wished I'd listened to more of it. T-told him about Ephraim'sWilderness bullets--t-told him about Ephraim's rheumatism, --how itbothered him when he went to bed and when he got up again. "

If Jethro had glanced at his companion, he would have seen the senatorwas shaking with silent and convulsive laughter. 

"All the time I talked to him I didn't see a muscle move in his face, "Jethro continued, "so I started in again, and he looked--looked--lookedright at me. W-wouldn't wink--don't think he winked once while I was inthat room. I watched him as close as I could, and I watched to see if amuscle moved or if I was makin' any impression. All he would do was tostand there and look--look--look. K-kept me there ten minutes and neveropened his mouth at all. Hardest man to talk to I ever met--never see aman before but what I could get him to say somethin', if it was only acuss word. I got tired of it after a while, made up my mind that I hadfound one man I couldn't move. Then what bothered me was to get out ofthat room. If I'd a had a Bible I believe I'd a read it to him. I didn'tknow what to say, but I did say this after a while:--"'W-well, Mr. President, I guess I've kept you long enough--g-guess you're a prettybusy man. H-hope you'll give Mr. Prescott that postmastership. Er--ergood-by. '

"'Wait, sir, ' he said. 

"'Yes, ' I said, 'I-I'll wait. '

"Thought you was goin' to give him that postmastership, Mr. Bass, ' hesaid. "

At this point the senator could not control his mirth, and the emptycorridor echoed his laughter. 

"By thunder! what did you say to that?"

"Er--I said, 'Mr. President, I thought I was until a while ago. '

"'And when did you change your mind?' says he. "

Then he laughed a little--not much--but he laughed a little. 

"'I understand that your old soldier lives within the limits of thedelivery of the Brampton office, ' said he. "

"'That's correct, Mr. President, ' said I. "

"'Well, ' said he, 'I will app'int him postmaster at Brampton, Mr. Bass. '"

"'When?' said I. "

Then he laughed a little more. 

"I'll have the app'intment sent to your hotel this afternoon, ' said he. "

"'Then I said to him, 'This has come out full better than I expected, Mr. President. I'm much obliged to you. ' He didn't say nothin' more, so Icome out. "

"Grant didn't say anything about Worthington or Duncan, did he?" askedthe senator, curiously, as he rose to go. 

"G-guess I've told you all he said, " answered Jethro; "'twahn't a greatdeal. "

The senator held out his hand. 

"Bass, " he said, laughing, "I believe you came pretty near meeting yourmatch. But if Grant's the hardest man in the Union to get anything outof, I've a notion who's the second. " And with this parting shot thesenator took his departure, chuckling to himself as he went. 

As has been said, there were but few visitors in Washington at this time, and the hotel corridor was all but empty. Presently a substantial-lookinggentleman came briskly in from the street, nodding affably to the coloredporters and bell-boys, who greeted him by name. He wore a flowing PrinceAlbert coat, which served to dignify a growing portliness, and hiscoal-black whiskers glistened in the light. A voice, which appeared tocome from nowhere in particular, brought the gentleman up standing. 

"How be you, Heth?"

It may not be that Mr. Sutton's hand trembled, but the ashes of his cigarfell to the floor. He was not used to visitations, and for the instant, if the truth be told, he was not equal to looking around. 

"Like Washington, Heth--like Washington?"

Then Mr. Sutton turned. His presence of mind, and that other presence ofwhich he was so proud, seemed for the moment to have deserted him. 

"S-stick pretty close to business, Heth, comin' down here out of sessiontime. S-stick pretty close to business, don't you, since the people sentyou to Congress?"

Mr. Sutton might have offered another man a cigar or a drink, but (as iswell known) Jethro was proof against tobacco or stimulants. 

"Well, " said the Honorable Heth, catching his breath and making a dive, "I am surprised to see you, Jethro, " which was probably true. 

"Th-thought you might be, " said Jethro. "Er--glad to see me, Heth--gladto see me?"

As has been recorded, it is peculiarly difficult to lie to people who arenot to be deceived. 

"Why, certainly I am, " answered the Honorable Heth, swallowing hard, "certainly I am, Jethro. I meant to have got to Coniston this summer, butI was so busy--"

"Peoples' business, I understand. Er--hear you've gone in for high-mindedpolitics, Heth--r-read a highminded speech of yours--two high-mindedspeeches. Always thought you was a high-minded man, Heth. "

"How did you like those speeches, Jethro?" asked Mr. Sutton, striving asbest he might to make some show of dignity. 

"Th-thought they was high-minded, " said Jethro. 

Then there was a silence, for Mr. Sutton could think of nothing more tosay. And he yearned to depart with a great yearning, but something heldhim there. 

"Heth, " said Jethro after a while, "you was always very friendly andobliging. You've done a great many favors for me in your life. "

"I've always tried to be neighborly, Jethro, " said Mr. Sutton, but hisvoice sounded a little husky even to himself. 

"And I may have done one or two little things for you, Heth, " Jethrocontinued, "but I can't remember exactly. Er--can you remember, Heth. "

Mr. Sutton was trying with becoming nonchalance to light the stump of hiscigar. He did not succeed this time. He pulled himself together with asupreme effort. 

"I think we've both been mutually helpful, Jethro, " he said, "mutuallyhelpful. "

"Well, " said Jethro, reflectively, "I don't know as I could have put itas well as that--there's somethin' in being an orator. "

There was another silence, a much longer one. The Honorable Heth threwhis butt away, and lighted another cigar. Suddenly, as if by magic, hisaplomb returned, and in a flash of understanding he perceived thesituation. He saw himself once more as the successful congressman, thetrusted friend of the railroad interests, and he saw Jethro as adiscredited boss. He did not stop to reflect that Jethro did not act likea discredited boss, as a keener man might have done. But if the HonorableHeth had been a keener man, he would not have been at that time acongressman. Mr. Sutton accused himself of having been stupid in notgrasping at once that the tables were turned, and that now he was the oneto dispense the gifts. 

"K-kind of fortunate you stopped to speak to me, Heth. N-now I come tothink of it, I hev a little favor to ask of you. "

"Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Sutton, blowing out the smoke; "of course anything Ican do, Jethro--anything in reason. "

"W-wouldn't ask a high-minded man to do anything he hadn't ought to, "said Jethro; "the fact is, I'd like to git Eph Prescott appointed at theBrampton post-office. You can fix that, Heth--can't you--you can fixthat?"

Mr. Sutton stuck his thumb into his vest pocket and cleared his throat. 

"I can't tell you how sorry I am not to oblige you, Jethro, but I'vearranged to give that post-office to Dave Wheelock. "

"A-arranged it, hev You--a-arranged it?"

"Why, yes, " said Mr. Sutton, scarcely believing his own ears. Could it bepossible that he was using this patronizingly kind tone to Jethro Bass?

"Well, that's too bad, " said Jethro; "g-got it all fixed, hev you?"

"Practically, " answered Mr. Sutton, grandly; "indeed, I may go as far asto say that it is as certain as if I had the appointment here in mypocket. I'm sorry not to oblige you, Jethro; but these are matters whicha member of Congress must look after pretty closely. " He held out hishand, but Jethro did not appear to see it, --he had his in his pockets. "I've an important engagement, " said the Honorable Heth, consulting alarge gold watch. "Are you going to be in Washington long?"

"G-guess I've about got through, Heth--g-guess I've about got through, "said Jethro. 

"Well, if you have time and there's any other little thing, I'm in Room29, " said Mr. Sutton, as he put his foot on the stairway. 

"T-told Worthington you got that app'intment for Wheelock--t-toldWorthington?" Jethro called out after him. 

Mr. Sutton turned and waved his cigar and smiled in acknowledgment ofthis parting bit of satire. He felt that he could afford to smile. A fewminutes later he was ensconced on the sofa of a private sitting roomreviewing the incident, with much gusto, for the benefit of Mr. Isaac D. Worthington and Mr. Alexander Duncan. Both of these gentlemen laughedheartily, for the Honorable Heth Sutton knew the art of telling a storywell, at least, and was often to be seen with a group around him in thelobbies of Congress. 

CHAPTER VI

About five o'clock that afternoon Ephraim was sitting in hisshirt-sleeves by the window of his room, and Cynthia was reading aloud tohim an article (about the war, of course) from a Washington paper, whichhis friend, Mr. Beard, had sent him. There was a knock at the door, andCynthia opened it to discover a colored hall-boy with a roll in his hand. 

"Mistah Ephum Prescott?" he said. 

"Yes, " answered Ephraim, "that's me. "

Cynthia shut the door and gave him the roll, but Ephraim took it asthough he were afraid of its contents. 

"Guess it's some of them war records from Amasy, " he said. 

"Oh, Cousin Eph, " exclaimed Cynthia, excitedly, "why don't you open it?If you don't I will. "

"Guess you'd better, Cynthy, " and he held it out to her with a tremblinghand. 

Cynthia did open it, and drew out a large document with seals andprinting and signatures. 

"Cousin Eph, " she cried, holding it under his nose, "Cousin Eph, you'repostmaster of Brampton!"

Ephraim looked at the paper, but his eyes swam, and he could only makeout a dancing, bronze seal. 

"I want to know!" he exclaimed. "Fetch Jethro. "

But Cynthia had already flown on that errand. Curiously enough, she raninto Jethro in the hall immediately outside of Ephraim's door. Ephraimgot to his feet; it was very difficult for him to realize that histroubles were ended, that he was to earn his living at last. He looked atJethro, and his eyes filled with tears. "I guess I can't thank you as I'dought to, Jethro, " he said, "leastways, not now. "

"I'll thank him for you, Cousin Eph, " said Cynthia. And she did. 

"D-don't thank me, " said Jethro, "I didn't have much to do with it, Eph. Thank the President. "

Ephraim did thank the President, in one of the most remarkable letters, from a literary point of view, ever received at the White House. For theart of literature largely consists in belief in what one is writing, andEphraim's letter had this quality of sincerity, and no lack of vividnessas well. He spent most of the evening in composing it. 

Cynthia, too, had received a letter that day--a letter which she had readseveral times, now with a smile, and again with a pucker of the foreheadwhich was meant for a frown. "Dear Cynthia, " it said. "Where do you keepyourself? I am sure you would not be so cruel if you knew that I wasaching to see you. " Aching! Cynthia repeated the word, and remembered theglimpse she had had of him in the dining room with Miss Janet Duncan. "Whenever I have been free" (Cynthia repeated this also, somewhatironically, although she conceded it the merit of frankness), "Whenever Ihave been free, I have haunted the corridors for a sight of you. Think ofme as haunting the hotel desk for an answer to this, telling me when Ican see you--and where. P. S. I shall be around all evening. " And it wassigned, "Your friend and playmate, R. Worthington. "

It is a fact--not generally known--that Cynthia did answer theletter--twice. But she sent neither answer. Even at that age she wasgiven to reflection, and much as she may have approved of the spirit ofthe letter, she liked the tone of it less. Cynthia did not know a greatdeal of the world, it is true, but the felt instinctively that somethingwas wrong when Bob resorted to such means of communication. And she waspositively relieved, or thought that she was, when she went down tosupper and discovered that the table in the corner was empty. 

After supper Ephraim had his letter to write, and Jethro wished to sit inthe corridor. But Cynthia had learned that the corridor was not the placefor a girl, so she explained--to Jethro that he would find her in theparlor if he wanted her, and that she was going there to read. Thatparlor Cynthia thought a handsome room, with its high windows and lacecurtains, its long mirrors and marble-topped tables. She establishedherself under a light, on a sofa in one corner, and sat, with the book onher lap watching the people who came and went. She had that delicioussensation which comes to the young when they first travel--the sensationof being a part of the great world; and she wished that she knew thesepeople, and which were the great, and which the little ones. Some of themlooked at her intently, she thought too intently, and at such times shepretended to read. She was aroused by hearing some one saying:--"Isn'tthis Miss Wetherell?"

Cynthia looked up and caught her breath, for the young lady who hadspoken was none other than Miss Janet Duncan herself. Seen thusstartlingly at close range, Miss Duncan was not at all like what Cynthiahad expected--but then most people are not. Janet Duncan was, in fact, one of those strange persons who do not realize the picture which theirnames summon up. She was undoubtedly good-looking; her hair, of a moregolden red than her brother's, was really wonderful; her neck wasslender; and she had a strange, dreamy face that fascinated Cynthia, whohad never seen anything like it. 

She put down her book on the sofa and got up, not without a little tremorat this unexpected encounter. 

"Yes, I'm Cynthia Wetherell, " she replied. 

To add to her embarrassment, Miss Duncan seized both her handsimpulsively and gazed into her face. 

"You're really very beautiful, " she said. "Do you know it?"

Cynthia's only answer to this was a blush. She wondered if all city girlswere like Miss Duncan. 

"I was determined to come up and speak to you the first chance I had, "Janet continued. "I've been making up stories about you. "

"Stories!" exclaimed Cynthia, drawing away her hands. 

"Romances, " said Miss Duncan--"real romances. Sometimes I think I'm goingto be a novelist, because I'm always weaving stories about people that Isee people who interest me, I mean. And you look as if you might be theheroine of a wonderful romance. "

Cynthia's breath was now quite taken away. 

"Oh, " she said, "I--had never thought that I looked like that. "

"But you do, " said Miss Duncan; "you've got all sorts of possibilities inyour face--you look as if you might have lived for ages. "

"As old as that?" exclaimed Cynthia, really startled. 

"Perhaps I don't express myself very well" said the other, hastily; "Iwish you could see what I've written about you already. I can do it somuch better with pen and ink. I've started quite a romance already. "

"What is it?" asked Cynthia, not without interest. 

"Sit down on the sofa and I'll tell you, " said Miss Duncan; "I've done itall from your face, too. I've made you a very poor girl brought up bypeasants, only you are really of a great family, although nobody knowsit. A rich duke sees you one day when he is hunting and falls in lovewith you, and you have to stand a lot of suffering and persecutionbecause of it, and say nothing. I believe you could do that, " addedJanet, looking critically at Cynthia's face. 

"I suppose I could if I had to, " said Cynthia, "but I shouldn't like it. "

"Oh, it would do you good, " said Janet; "it would ennoble your character. Not that it needs it, " she added hastily. "And I could write anotherstory about that quaint old man who paid the musicians to go away, andwho made us all laugh so much. "

Cynthia's eye kindled. 

"Mr. Bass isn't a quaint old man, " she said; "he's the greatest man inthe state. "

Miss Duncan's patronage had been of an unconscious kind. She knew thatshe had offended, but did not quite realize how. 

"I'm so sorry, " she cried, "I didn't mean to hurt you. You live with him, don't you--Coniston?"

"Yes, " replied Cynthia, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. 

"I've heard about Coniston. It must be quite a romance in itself to liveall the year round in such a beautiful place and to make your ownclothes. Yours become you very well, " said Miss Duncan, "although I don'tknow why. They're not at all in style, and yet they give you quite an airof distinction. I wish I could live in Coniston for a year, anyway, andwrite a book about you. My brother and Bob Worthington went out there onenight and serenaded you, didn't they?"

"Yes, " said Cynthia, that peculiar flash coming into her eyes again, "andI think it was very foolish of them. "

"Do you?" exclaimed Miss Duncan, in surprise; "I wish somebody wouldserenade me. I think it was the most romantic thing Bob ever did. He'swild about you, and so is Somers they have both told me so inconfidence. "

Cynthia's face was naturally burning now. 

"If it were true, " she said, "they wouldn't have told you about it. "

"I suppose that's so, " said Miss Duncan, thoughtfully, "only you're veryclever to have seen it. Now that I know you, I think you a moreremarkable person than ever. You don't seem at all like a country girl, and you don't talk like one. "

Cynthia laughed outright. She could not help liking Janet Duncan, mereflesh and blood not being proof against such compliments. 

"I suppose it's because my father was an educated man, " she said; "hetaught me to read and speak when I was young. "

"Why, you are just like a person out of a novel! Who was your father?"

"He kept the store at Coniston, " answered Cynthia, smiling a littlesadly. She would have liked to have added that William Wetherell wouldhave been a great man if he had had health, but she found it difficult togive out confidences, especially when they were in the nature ofsurmises. 

"Well, " said Janet, stoutly, "I think that is more like a story thanever. Do you know, " she continued, "I saw you once at the state capitaloutside of our grounds the day Bob ran after you. That was when I was inlove with him. We had just come back from Europe then, and I thought hewas the most wonderful person I had ever seen. "

If Cynthia had felt any emotion from this disclosure, she did not betrayit. Janet, moreover, was not looking for it. 

"What made you change your mind?" asked Cynthia, biting her lip. 

"Oh, Bob hasn't the temperament, " said Janet, making use of a word thatshe had just discovered; "he's too practical--he never does or says thethings you want him to. He's just been out West with us on a trip, and hewas always looking at locomotives and brakes and grades and bridges andall such tiresome things. I should like to marry a poet, " said MissDuncan, dreamily; "I know they want me to marry Bob, and Mr. Worthingtonwants it. I'm sure, of that. But he wouldn't at all suit me. "

If Cynthia had been able to exercise an equal freedom of speech, shemight have been impelled to inquire what young Mr. Worthington's viewswere in the matter. As it was, she could think of nothing appropriate tosay, and just then four people entered the room and came towards them. Two of these were Janet's mother and father, and the other two were Mr. Worthington, the elder, and the Honorable Heth Sutton. Mrs. Duncan, whomJanet did not at all resemble was a person who naturally commandedattention. She had strong features, and a very decided, though notdisagreeable, manner. 

"I couldn't imagine what had become of you, Janet, " she said, comingforward and throwing off her lace shawl. "Whom have you found--a schoolfriend?"

"No, Mamma, " said Janet, "this is Cynthia Wetherell. " "Oh, " said Mrs. Duncan, looking very hard at Cynthia in a near-sighted way, and, notknowing in the least who she was; "you haven't seen Senator and Mrs. Meade, have you, Janet? They were to be here at eight o'clock. "

"No, " said Janet, turning again to Cynthia and scarcely hearing thequestion. 

"Janet hasn't seen them, Dudley, " said Mrs. Duncan, going up to Mr. Worthington, who was pulling his chop whiskers by the door. "Janet hasdiscovered such a beautiful creature, " she went on, in a voice which shedid not take the trouble to lower. "Do look at her, Alexander. And you, Mr. Sutton--who are such a bureau of useful information, do tell me whoshe is. Perhaps she comes from your part of the country--her name'sWetherell. "

"Wetherell? Why, of course I know her, " said Mr. Sutton, who was greatlypleased because Mrs. Duncan had likened him to an almanac: greatlypleased this evening in every respect, and even the diamond in his bosomseemed to glow with a brighter fire. He could afford to be generousto-night, and he turned to Mr. Worthington and laughed knowingly. "She'sthe ward of our friend Jethro, " he explained. 

"What is she?" demanded Mrs. Duncan, who knew and cared nothing aboutpolitics, a country girl, I suppose. "

"Yes, " replied Mr. Sutton, "a country girl from a little village not farfrom Clovelly. A good girl, I believe, in spite of the atmosphere inwhich she has been raised. "

"It's really wonderful, Mr. Sutton, how you seem to know every one inyour district, including the women and children, " said the lady; "but Isuppose you wouldn't be where you are if you didn't. "

The Honorable Heth cleared his throat. 

"Wetherell, " Mr. Duncan was saying, staring at Cynthia through hisspectacles, "where have I heard that name?"

He must suddenly have remembered, and recalled also that he and his allyWorthington had been on opposite sides in the Woodchuck Session, for hesat down abruptly beside the door, and remained there for a while. ForMr. Duncan had never believed Mr. Merrill's explanation concerning poorWilliam Wetherell' s conduct. 

"Pretty, ain't she?" said Mr. Sutton to Mr. Worthington. "Guess she'smore dangerous than Jethro, now that we've clipped his wings a little. "The congressman had heard of Bob's infatuation. 

Isaac D. Worthington, however, was in a good humor this evening and wasmoved by a certain curiosity to inspect the girl. Though what he had seenand heard of his son's conduct with her had annoyed him, he did notregard it seriously. 

"Aren't you going to speak to your constituent, Mr. Sutton?" said Mrs. Duncan, who was bored because her friends had not arrived; "a congressmanought to keep on the right side of the pretty girls, you know. "

It hadn't occurred to the Honorable Heth to speak to his constituent. Theways of Mrs. Duncan sometimes puzzled him, and he could not see why thatlady and her daughter seemed to take more than a passing interest in thegirl. But if they could afford to notice her, certainly he could; so hewent forward graciously and held out his hand to Cynthia; interruptingMiss Duncan in the middle of a discourse upon her diary. 

"How do you do, Cynthia?" said Mr. Sutton. Had he been in Coniston, hewould have said, "How be you?"

Cynthia took the hand, but did not rise, somewhat to Mr. Sutton'sannoyance. A certain respect was due to a member of Congress and theRajah of Clovelly. 

"How do you do, Mr. Sutton?" said Cynthia, very coolly. 

"I like her, " remarked Mrs. Duncan to Mr. Worthington. 

"This is a splendid trip for you, eh, Cynthia?" Mr. Sutton persisted, with a praiseworthy determination to be pleasant. 

"It has turned out to be so, Mr. Sutton, " replied Cynthia. This was notprecisely the answer Mr. Sutton expected, and to tell the truth, hedidn't know quite what to make of it. 

"A great treat to see Washington and New York, isn't it?" said Mr. Sutton, kindly, "a great treat for a Coniston girl. I suppose you camethrough New York and saw the sights?"

"Is there another way to get to Washington?" asked Cynthia. 

Mrs. Duncan nudged Mr. Worthington and drew a little nearer, while Mr. Sutton began to wish he had not been lured into the conversation. Cynthiahad been very polite, but there was something in the quiet manner inwhich the girl's eyes were fixed upon him that made him vaguely uneasy. He could not back out with dignity, and he felt himself on the verge ofbecoming voluble. Mr. Sutton prided himself on never being voluble. 

"Why, no, " he answered, "we have to go to New York to get anywhere inthese days. " There was a slight pause. "Uncle Jethro taking you and Mr. Prescott on a little pleasure trip?" He had not meant to mention Jethro'sname, but he found himself, to his surprise, a little at a loss for asubject. 

"Well, partly a pleasure trip. It's always a pleasure for Uncle Jethro todo things for others, " said Cynthia, quietly, "although people do notalways appreciate what he does for them. "

The Honorable Heth coughed. He was now very uncomfortable, indeed. Howmuch did this astounding young person know, whom he had thought soinnocent?

"I didn't discover he was in town until I ran across him in the corridorthis evening. Should have liked to have introduced him to some of theWashington folks--some of the big men, although not many of 'em arehere, " Mr. Sutton ran on, not caring to notice the little points of lightin Cynthia's eyes. (The idea of Mr. Sutton introducing Uncle Jethro toanybody!) "I haven't seen Ephraim Prescott. It must be a great treat forhim, too, to get away on a little trip and see his army friends. How ishe?"

"He's very happy, " said Cynthia. 

"Happy!" exclaimed Mr. Sutton. "Oh, yes, of course, Ephraim's alwayshappy, in spite of his troubles and his rheumatism. I always likedEphraim Prescott. "

Cynthia did not answer this remark at all, and Mr. Sutton suspectedstrongly that she did not believe it, therefore he repeated it. 

"I always liked Ephraim. I want you to tell Jethro that I'm downrightsorry I couldn't get him that Brampton postmastership. "

"I'll tell him that you are sorry, Mr. Sutton, " replied Cynthia, gravely, "but I don't think it'll do any good. "

Not do any good!--What did the girl mean? Mr. Sutton came to theconclusion that he had been condescending enough, that somehow he wasgaining no merit in Mrs. Duncan's eyes by this kindness to a constituent. He buttoned up his coat rather grandly. 

"I hope you won't misunderstand me, Cynthia, " he said. "I regretextremely that my sense of justice demanded that I should make DavidWheelock postmaster at Brampton, and I have made him so. "

It was now Cynthia's turn to be amazed. 

"But, " she exclaimed, "but Cousin Ephraim is postmaster of Brampton. "

Mr. Sutton started violently, and that part of his face not hidden by hiswhiskers seemed to pale, and Mr: Worthington, usually self-possessed, took a step forward and seized him by the arm. 

"What does this mean, Sutton?" he said. 

Mr. Sutton pulled himself together, and glared at Cynthia. 

"I think you are mistaken, " said he, "the congressman of the districtusually arranges these matters, and the appointment will be sent to Mr. Wheelock to-morrow. "

"But Cousin Ephraim already has the appointment, " said Cynthia; "it wassent to him this afternoon, and he is up in his room now writing to thankthe President for it. "

"What in the world's the matter?" cried Mrs. Duncan, in astonishment. 

Cynthia's simple announcement had indeed caused something of a panicamong the gentlemen present. Mr. Duncan had jumped up from his seatbeside the door, and Mr. Worthington, his face anything but impassive, tightened his hold on the congressman's arm. 

"Good God, Sutton!" he exclaimed, "can this be true?"

As for Cynthia, she was no less astonished than Mrs. Duncan. By the factthat these rich and powerful gentlemen were so excited over a littlething like the postmastership of Brampton. But Mr. Sutton laughed; it wasnot hearty, but still it might have passed muster for a laugh. 

"Nonsense, " he exclaimed, making a fair attempt to regain his composure, "the girl's got it mixed up with something else--she doesn't know whatshe's talking about. "

Mrs. Duncan thought the girl did look uncommonly as if she knew what shewas talking about, and Mr. Duncan and Mr. Worthington had some suchimpression, too, as they stared at her. Cynthia's eyes flashed, but hervoice was no louder than before. 

"I am used to being believed, Mr. Sutton, " she said, "but here's UncleJethro himself. You might ask him. "

They all turned in amazement, and one, at least, in trepidation, toperceive Jethro Bass standing behind them with his hands in his pockets, as unconcerned as though he were under the butternut tree in Coniston. 

"How be you, Heth?" he said. "Er--still got that appointmentp-practically in your pocket?"

"Uncle Jethro, " said Cynthia, "Mr. Sutton does not believe me when I tellhim that Cousin Ephraim has been made postmaster of Brampton. He wouldlike to have you tell him whether it is so or not. "

But this, as it happened, was exactly what the Honorable Heth did notwant to have Jethro tell him. How he got out of the parlor of the WillardHouse he has not to this day a very clear idea. As a matter of fact, hefollowed Mr. Worthington and Mr. Duncan, and they made their exit by thefarther door. Jethro did not appear to take any notice of theirdeparture. 

"Janet, " said Mrs. Duncan, "I think Senator and Mrs. Meade must have goneto our sitting room. " Then, to Cynthia's surprise, the lady took her bythe hand. "I can't imagine what you've done, my dear, " she saidpleasantly, "but I believe that you are capable of taking care ofyourself, and I like you. "

Thus it will be seen that Mrs. Duncan was an independent person. Sometimes heiresses are apt to be. 

"And I like you, too, " said Janet, taking both of Cynthia's hands, "and Ihope to see you very, very often. "

Jethro looked after them. 

"Er--the women folks seem to have some sense, " he said. Then he turned toCynthia. "B-be'n havin' some fun with Heth, Cynthy?" he inquired. 

"I haven't any respect for Mr. Sutton, " said Cynthia, indignantly; "itserves him right for presuming to think that he could give a post-officeto any one. "

Jethro made no remark concerning this presumption on the part of thecongressman of the district. Cynthia's indignation against Mr. Sutton wasvery real, and it was some time before she could compose herselfsufficiently to tell Jethro what had happened. His enjoyment as helistened may be imagined but presently he forgot this, and became awarethat something really troubled her. 

"Uncle Jethro, " she asked suddenly, "why do they treat me as they do?"

He did not answer at once. This was because of a pain around hisheart--had she known it. He had felt that pain before. 

"H-how do they treat you, Cynthy?"

She hesitated. She had not yet learned to use the word patronize in thesocial sense, and she was at a loss to describe the attitude of Mrs. Duncan and her daughter, though her instinct had registered it. She wasat a loss to account for Mr. Worthington's attitude, too. Mr. Sutton'sshe bitterly resented. 

"Are they your enemies?" she demanded. 

Jethro was in real distress. 

"If they are, " she continued, "I won't speak to them again. If they can'ttreat me as--as your daughter ought to be treated, I'll turn my back onthem. I am--I am just like your daughter--am I not, Uncle Jethro?"

He put out his hand and seized hers roughly, and his voice was thick withsuffering. 

"Yes, Cynthy, " he said, "you--you're all I've got in the world. "

She squeezed his hand in return. 

"I know it, Uncle Jethro, " she cried contritely, "I oughtn't to havetroubled you by asking. You--you have done everything for me, much morethan I deserve. And I shan't be hurt after this when people are too smallto appreciate how good you are, and how great. "

The pain tightened about Jethro's heart--tightened so sharply that hecould not speak, and scarcely breathe because of it. Cynthia picked upher novel, and set the bookmark. 

"Now that Cousin Eph is provided for, let's go back to Coniston, UncleJethro. " A sudden longing was upon her for the peaceful life in theshelter of the great ridge, and she thought of the village maples all redand gold with the magic touch of the frosts. "Not that I haven't enjoyedmy trip, " she added; "but we are so happy there. "

He did not look at her, because he was afraid to. 

"C-Cynthy, " he said, after a little pause, "th-thought we'd go toBoston. "

"Boston, Uncle Jethro!"

"Er--to-morrow--at one--to-morrow--like to go to Boston?"

"Yes, " she said thoughtfully, "I remember parts of it. The Common, whereI used to walk with Daddy, and the funny old streets that went uphill. Itwill be nice to go back to Coniston that way--over Truro Pass in thetrain. "

That night a piece of news flashed over the wires to New England, and thenext morning a small item appeared in the Newcastle Guardian to theeffect that one Ephraim Prescott had bean appointed postmaster atBrampton. Copied in the local papers of the state, it caused somesurprise in Brampton, to be sure, and excitement in Coniston. Perhapsthere were but a dozen men, however, who saw its real significance, whoknew through this item that Jethro Bass was still supreme--that therailroads had failed to carry this first position in their war againsthim. 

It was with a light heart the next morning that Cynthia, packed thelittle leather trunk which had been her father's. Ephraim was in thecorridor regaling his friend, Mr. Beard, with that wonderful encounterwith General Grant which sounded so much like a Fifth Reader anecdote ofa chance meeting with royalty. Jethro's room was full of visitingpoliticians. So Cynthia, when she had finished her packing, went out towalk about the streets alone, scanning the people who passed her, lookingat the big houses, and wondering who lived in them. Presently she foundherself, in the middle of the morning, seated on a bench in a littlepark, surrounded by colored mammies and children playing in the paths. Itseemed a long time since she had left the hills, and this glimpse ofcities had given her many things to think and dream about. Would shealways live in Coniston? Or was her future to be cast among those whomoved in the world and helped to sway it? Cynthia felt that she was to beof these, though she could not reason why, and she told herself that thefeeling was foolish. Perhaps it was that she knew in the bottom of herheart that she had been given a spirit and intelligence to cope with alarger life than that of Coniston. With a sense that such imaginings werevain, she tried to think what the would do if she were to become a greatlady like Mrs. Duncan. 

She was aroused from these reflections by a distant glimpse, through thetrees, of Mr. Robert Worthington. He was standing quite alone on the edgeof the park, his hands in his pockets, staring at the White House. Cynthia half rose, and then sat down and looked at him again. He wore alight gray, loose-fitting suit and a straw hat, and she could not butacknowledge that there was something stalwart and clean and altogetherappealing in him. She wondered, indeed, why he now failed to appeal toMiss Duncan, and she began to doubt the sincerity of that young lady'sstatements. Bob certainly was not romantic, but he was a man--or would bevery soon. 

Cynthia sat still, although her impulse was to go away. She scarcelyanalyzed her feeling of wishing to avoid him. It may not be well, indeed, to analyze them on paper too closely. She had an instinct that only paincould come from frequent meetings, and she knew now what but a week agowas a surmise, that he belonged to the world of which she had beendreaming--Mrs. Duncan's world. Again, there was that mysterious barrierbetween them of which she had seen so many evidences. And yet she satstill on her bench and looked at him. 

Presently he turned, slowly, as if her eyes had compelled his. She satstill--it was too late, then. In less than a minute he was standingbeside her, looking down at her with a smile that had in it a touch ofreproach. 

"How do you do, Mr. Worthington?" said Cynthia, quietly. 

"Mr. Worthington!" he cried, "you haven't called me that before. We arenot children any more, " she said. 

"What difference does that make?"

"A great deal, " said Cynthia, not caring to define it. 

"Cynthia, " said Mr. Worthington, sitting down on the beach and facingher, "do you think you've treated me just right?"

"Of course I do, " she said, "or I should have treated you differently. "

Bob ignored such quibbling. 

"Why did you run away from that baseball game in Brampton? And whycouldn't you have answered my letter yesterday, if it were only a line?And why have you avoided me here in Washington?"

It is very difficult to answer for another questions which one cannotanswer for one's self. 

"I haven't avoided you, " said Cynthia. 

"I've been looking for you all over town this morning, " said Bob, withpardonable exaggeration, "and I believe that idiot Somers has, too. "

"Then why should you call him an idiot?" Cynthia flashed. 

Bob laughed. 

"How you do catch a fellow up!" said he; admiringly. "We both found outyou'd gone out for a walk alone. "

"How did you find it out?"

"Well, " said Bob, hesitating, "we asked the colored doorkeeper. "

"Mr. Worthington, " said Cynthia, with an indignation that made him quail, "do you think it right to ask a doorkeeper to spy on my movements?"

"I'm sorry, Cynthia, " he gasped, "I--I didn't think of it that way--andhe won't tell. Desperate cases require desperate remedies, you know. "

But Cynthia was not appeased. 

"If you wanted to see me, " she said, "why didn't you send your card to myroom, and I would have come to the parlor. "

"But I did send a note, and waited around all day. "

How was she to tell him that it was to the tone of the note sheobjected--to the hint of a clandestine meeting? She turned the light ofher eyes full upon him. 

"Would you have been content to see me in the parlor?" she asked. "Didyou mean to see me there?"

"Why, yes, " said he; "I would have given my head to see you anywhere, only--"

"Only what?"

"Duncan might have came in and spoiled it. "

"Spoiled what?"

Bob fidgeted. 

"Look here, Cynthia, " he said, "you're not stupid--far from it. Of courseyou know a fellow would rather talk to you alone. "

"I should have been very glad to have seen Mr. Duncan, too. "

"You would, would you!" he exclaimed. "I shouldn't have thought that. "

"Isn't he your friend?" asked Cynthia. 

"Oh, yes, " said Bob, "and one of the best in the world. Only--I shouldn'thave thought you'd care to talk to him. " And he looked around for fearthe vigilant Mr. Duncan was already in the park and had discovered them. Cynthia smiled, and immediately became grave again. 

"So it was only on Mr. Duncan's account that you didn't ask me to comedown to the parlor?" she said. 

Bob was in a quandary. He was a truthful person, and he had learnedsomething of the world through his three years at Cambridge. He had seenmany young women, and many kinds of them. But the girl beside him wassuch a mixture of innocence and astuteness that he was wholly at a losshow to deal with her--how to parry her searching questions. 

"Naturally--I wanted to have you all to myself, " he said; "you ought toknow that. "

Cynthia did not commit herself on this point. She wished to gomercilessly to the root of the matter, but the notion of what this wouldimply prevented her. Bob took advantage of her silence. 

"Everybody who sees you falls a victim, Cynthia, " he went on; "Mrs. Duncan and Janet lost their hearts. You ought to have heard them praisingyou at breakfast. " He paused abruptly, thinking of the rest of thatconversation, and laughed. Bob seemed fated to commit himself that day. "I heard the way you handled Heth Sutton, " he said, plunging in. "I'llbet he felt as if he'd been dropped out of the third-story window, " andBob laughed again. "I'd have given a thousand dollars to have been there. Somers and I went out to supper with a classmate who lives in Washington, in that house over there, " and he pointed casually to one of the imposingmansions fronting on the park. "Mrs. Duncan said she'd never heardanybody lay it on the way you did. I don't believe you half know whathappened, Cynthia. You made a ten-strike. "

"A ten-strike?" she repeated. 

"Well, " he said, "you not only laid out Heth, but my father and Mr. Duncan, too. Mrs. Duncan laughed at 'em--she isn't afraid of anything. But they didn't say a word all through breakfast. I've never seen myfather so mad. He ought to have known better than to run up against UncleJethro. "

"How did they run up against Uncle Jethro?" asked Cynthia, now keenlyinterested. 

"Don't you know?" exclaimed Bob, in astonishment. 

"No, " said Cynthia, "or I shouldn't have asked. "

"Didn't Uncle Jethro tell you about it?"

"He never tells me anything about his affairs, " she answered. 

Bob's astonishment did not wear off at once. Here was a new phase, and hewas very hard put. He had heard, casually, a good deal of abuse of Jethroand his methods in the last two days. 

"Well, " he said, "I don't know anything about politics. I don't knowmyself why father and Mr. Duncan were so eager for this post-mastership. But they were. And I heard them say something about the President goingback on them when they had telegraphed from Chicago and come to see himhere. And maybe they didn't let Heth in for it. It seems Uncle Jethroonly had to walk up to the White House. They ought to have sense enoughto know that he runs the state. But what's the use of wasting time overthis business?" said Bob. "I told you I was going to Brampton before theterm begins just to see you, didn't I?"

"Yes, but I didn't believe you, " said Cynthia. 

"Why not?" he demanded. 

"Because it's my nature, I suppose, " she replied. 

This was too much for Bob, exasperated though he was, and he burst intolaughter. 

"You're the queerest girl I've ever known, " he said. 

Not a very original remark. 

"That must be saying a great deal, " she answered. 

"Why?"

"You must have known many. "

"I have, " he admitted, "and none of 'em, no matter how much they'dknocked about, were able to look out for themselves any better than you. "

"Not even Cassandra Hopkins?" Cynthia could not resist saying. She sawthat she had scored; his expressions registered his sensations soaccurately. 

"What do you know about her?" he said. 

"Oh, " said Cynthia, mysteriously, "I heard that you were very fond of herat Andover. "

Bob could not help pluming himself a little. He thought the fact that shehad mentioned the matter a flaw in Cynthia's armor, as indeed it was. Andyet he was not proud of the Cassandra Hopkins episode in his career. 

"Cassandra is one of the institutions at Andover, " said he; "most fellowshave to take a course in Cassandra to complete their education. "

"Yours seems to be very complete, " Cynthia retorted. 

"Great Scott!" he exclaimed, looking at her, "no wonder you mademince-meat of the Honorable Heth. Where did you learn it all, Cynthia?"

Cynthia did not know. She merely wondered where she would be if shehadn't learned it. Something told her that if it were not for this anchorshe would be drifting out to sea: might, indeed, soon be drifting out tosea in spite of it. It was one thing for Mr. Robert Worthington, with hisnumerous resources, to amuse himself with a girl in her position; itwould be quite another thing for the girl. She got to her feet and heldout her hand to him. 

"Good-by, " she said. 

"Good-by?"

"We are leaving Washington at one o'clock, and Uncle Jethro will beworried if I am not in time for dinner. "

"Leaving at one! That's the worst luck I've had yet. But I'm going backto the hotel myself. "

Cynthia didn't see how she was to prevent him walking with her. She wouldnot have admitted to herself that she had enjoyed this encounter, sinceshe was trying so hard not to enjoy it. So they started together out ofthe park. Bob, for a wonder, was silent awhile, glancing now and then ather profile. He knew that he had a great deal to say, but he couldn'tdecide exactly what it was to be. This is often the case with young menin his state of mind: in fact, to be paradoxical again, he might hardlybe said at this time to have had a state of mind. He lacked both anattitude and a policy. 

"If you see Duncan before I do, let me know, " he remarked finally. 

Cynthia bit her lip. "Why should I?" she asked. 

"Because we've only got five minutes more alone together, at best. If wesee him in time, we can go down a side street. "

"I think it would be hard to get away from Mr. Duncan if we met him--evenif we wanted to, " she said, laughing outright. 

"You don't know how true that is, " he replied, with feeling. 

"That sounds as though you'd tried it before. "

He paid no attention to this thrust. 

"I shan't see you again till I get to Brampton, " he said; "that will be awhole week. And then, " he ventured to look at her, "I shan't see youuntil the Christmas holidays. You might be a little kind, Cynthia. Youknow I've--I've always thought the world of you. I don't know how I'mgoing to get through the three months without seeing you. "

"You managed to get through a good many years, " said Cynthia, looking atthe pavement. 

"I know, " he said; "I was sent away to school and college, and our livesseparated. "

"Yes, our lives separated, " she assented. 

"And I didn't know you were going to be like--like this, " he went on, vaguely enough, but with feeling. 

"Like what?"

"Like--well, I'd rather be with you and talk to you than any girl I eversaw. I don't care who she is, " Bob declared, "or how much she may havetraveled. " He was running into deep water. "Why are you so cold, Cynthia?" "Why can't you be as you used to be? You used to like me wellenough. "

"And I like you now, " answered Cynthia. They were very near the hotel bythis time. 

"You talk as if you were ten years older than I, " he said, smilingplaintively. 

She stopped and turned to him, smiling. They had reached the steps. 

"I believe I am, Bob, " she replied. "I haven't seen much of the world, but I've seen something of its troubles. Don't be foolish. If you'recoming to Brampton just to see me, don't come. Good-by. " And she gave himher hand frankly. 

"But I will come to Brampton, " he cried, taking her hand and squeezingit. "I'd like to know why I shouldn't come. "

As Cynthia drew her hand away a gentleman came out of the hotel, pausedfor a brief moment by the door and stared at them, and then passed onwithout a word or a nod of recognition. It was Mr. Worthington. Boblooked after his father, and then glanced at Cynthia. There was a triflemore color in her cheeks, and her head was raised a little, and her eyeswere fixed upon him gravely. 

"You should know why not, " she said, and before he could answer her shewas gone into the hotel. He did not attempt to follow her, but stoodwhere she had left him in the sunlight. 

He was aroused by the voice of the genial colored doorkeeper. 

"Wal, suh, you found the lady, Mistah Wo'thington. Thought you would, suh. T'other young gentleman come in while ago--looked as if he wasfeelin' powerful bad, Mistah Wo'thington. "

CHAPTER VII

When they reached Boston, Cynthia felt almost as if she were home again, and Ephraim declared that he had had the same feeling when he returnedfrom the war. Though it be the prosperous capital of New England, it is acity of homes, and the dwellers of it have held stanchly to the belief oftheir forefathers that the home is the very foundation-rock of thenation. Held stanchly to other beliefs, too: that wealth carries with itsome little measure of responsibility. The stranger within the gates ofthat city feels that if he falls, a heedless world will not go chargingover his body: that a helping hand will be stretched out, --a helping anda wise hand that will inquire into the circumstances of his fall--butstill a human hand. 

They were sitting in the parlor of the Tremont House that morning withthe sun streaming in the windows, waiting for Ephraim. 

"Uncle Jethro, " Cynthia asked, abruptly, "did you ever know my mother?"

Jethro started, and looked at her quickly. 

"W-why, Cynthy?" he asked. 

"Because she grew up in Coniston, " answered Cynthia. "I never thought ofit before, but of course you must have known her. "

"Yes, I knew her, " he said. 

"Did you know her well?" she persisted. 

Jethro got up and went over to the window, where he stood with his backtoward her. 

"Yes, Cynthy, " he answered at length. 

"Why haven't you ever told me about her?" asked Cynthia. How was she toknow that her innocent questions tortured him cruelly; that the spirit ofthe Cynthia who had come to him in the tannery house had haunted him allhis life, and that she herself, a new Cynthia, was still that spirit? Thebygone Cynthia had been much in his thoughts since they came to Boston. 

"What was she like?"

"She--she was like you, Cynthy, " he said, but he did not turn round. "Shewas a clever woman, and a good woman, and--a lady, Cynthy. "

The girl said nothing for a while, but she tingled with pleasure becauseJethro had compared her to her mother. She determined to try to be likethat, if he thought her so. 

"Uncle Jethro, " she said presently, "I'd like to go to see the housewhere she lived. "

"Er--Ephraim knows it, " said Jethro. 

So when Ephraim came the three went over the hill; past the State Housewhich Bulfinch set as a crown on the crest of it looking over the sweepof the Common, and on into the maze of quaint, old-world streets on theslope beyond: streets with white porticos, and violet panes in thewindows. They came to an old square hidden away on a terrace of the hill, and after that the streets grew narrower and dingier. Ephraim, whosememory never betrayed him, hobbled up to a shabby house in the middle ofone of these blocks and rang the bell. 

"Here's where I found Will when I come back from the war, " he said, andexplained the matter in full to the slatternly landlady who came to thedoor. She was a good-natured woman, who thought her boarder would notmind, and led the way up the steep stairs to the chamber over the roofswhere Wetherell and Cynthia had lived and hoped and worked together;where he had written those pages by which, with the aid of her lovingcriticism, he had thought to become famous. The room was as bare now asit had been then, and Ephraim, poking his stick through a hole in thecarpet, ventured the assertion that even that had not been changed. Jethro, staring out over the chimney tops, passed his hand across hiseyes. Cynthia Ware had come to this!

"I found him right here in that bed, " Ephraim was saying, and he pokedthe bottom boards, too. "The same bed. Had a shack when I saw him. Callate he wouldn't have lived two months if the war hadn't bust up and Ihadn't come along. "

"Oh, Cousin Eph!" exclaimed Cynthia. 

The old soldier turned and saw that there were tears in her eyes. But, stranger than that, Cynthia saw that there were tears in his own. He tookher gently by the arm and led her down the stairs again, she supportinghim, and Jethro following. 

That same morning, Jethro, whose memory was quite as good as Ephraim's, found a little shop tucked away in Cornhill which had been miraculouslyspared in the advance of prosperity. Mr. Judson's name, however, was nolonger in quaint lettering over the door. Standing before it, Jethro toldthe story in his droll way, of a city clerk and a country bumpkin, andCynthia and Ephraim both laughed so heartily that the people who werepassing turned round to look at them and laughed too. For the three werean unusual group, even in Boston. It was not until they were seated atdinner in the hotel, Ephraim with his napkin tucked under his chin, thatJethro gave them the key to the characters in this story. 

"And who was the locket for, Uncle Jethro?" demanded Cynthia. 

Jethro, however, shook his head, and would not be induced to tell. 

They were still so seated when Cynthia perceived coming toward themthrough the crowded dining roam a merry, middle-aged gentleman with abald head. He seemed to know everybody in the room, for he was kept busynodding right and left at the tables until he came to theirs. He was Mr. Merrill who had come to see her father in Coniston, and who had spoken sokindly to her on that occasion. 

"Well, well, well, " he said; "Jethro, you'll be the death of me yet. 'Don't write-send, ' eh? Well, as long as you sent word you were here, Idon't complain. So you licked 'em again, eh--down in Washington? Neverhad a doubt but what you would. Is this the new postmaster? How are you, Mr. Prescott--and Cynthia--a young lady! Bless my soul, " said Mr. Merrill, looking her over as he shook her hand. "What have you done toher, Jethro? What kind of beauty powder do they use in Coniston?"

Mr. Merrill took the seat next to her and continued to talk, scatteringhis pleasantries equally among the three, patting her arm when her ownturn came. She liked Mr. Merrill very much; he seemed to her (as, indeed, he was) honest and kind-hearted. Cynthia was not lacking in a properappreciation of herself--that may have been discovered. But she waspuzzled to know why this gentleman should make it a point to pay suchparticular attention to a young country girl. Other railroad presidentswhom she could name had not done so. She was thinking of these things, rather than listening to Mr. Merrill's conversation, when the sound ofMr. Worthington's name startled her. 

"Well, Jethro, " Mr. Merrill was saying, "you certainly nipped this littlegame of Worthington's in the bud. Thought he'd take you in the rear bygoing to Washington, did he? Ha, ha! I'd like to know how you did it. I'll get you to tell me to-night--see if I don't. You're all coming in tosupper to-night, you know, at seven o'clock. "

Ephraim laid down his knife and fork for the first time. Were the wondersof this journey never to cease? And Jethro, once in his life, lookednervous. 

"Er--er--Cyn'thy'll go, Steve--Cynthy'll go. "

"Yes, Cynthy'll go, " laughed Mr. Merrill, "and you'll go, and Ephraim'llgo. " Although he by no means liked everybody, as would appear at firstglance, Mr. Merrill had a way of calling people by their first names whenhe did fancy them. 

"Er--Steve, " said Jethro, "what would your wife say if I was to drinkcoffee out of my saucer?"

"Let's see, " said Mr. Merrill grave for once. "What's the punishment forthat in my house? I know what she'd do if you didn't drink it. What doyou think she'd do, Cynthy?"

"Ask him what was the matter with it, " said Cynthia, promptly. 

"Well, Cynthy, " said he, "I know why these old fellows take you roundwith 'em. To take care of 'em, eh? They're not fit to travel alone. "

And so it was settled, after much further argument, that they were all tosup at Mr. Merrill's house, Cynthia stoutly maintaining that she wouldnot desert them. And then Mr. Merrill, having several times repeated thestreet and number, went, back to his office. There was much mysteriouswhispering between Ephraim and Jethro in the hotel parlor after dinner, while Cynthia was turning over the leaves of a magazine, and then Ephraimproposed going out to see the sights. 

"Where's Uncle Jethro going?" she asked. 

"He'll meet us, " said Ephraim, promptly, but his voice was not quitesteady. 

"Oh, Uncle Jethro!" cried Cynthia, "you're trying to get out of it. Youremember you promised to meet us in Washington. "

"Guess he'll keep this app'intment, " said Ephraim, who seemed to be fullof a strange mirth that bubbled over, for he actually winked at Jethro. Cynthia's mind flew to Bunker Bill and the old North Church, but theywent first to Faneuil Hall. Presently they found themselves among thecrowd in Washington Street, where Ephraim confessed the trepidation whichhe felt over the coming supper party: a trepidation greater, so hedeclared many times, than he had ever experienced before any of hisbattles in the war. He stopped once or twice in the eddy of the crowd toglance up at the numbers; and finally came to a halt before the windowsof a large dry-goods store. 

"I guess I ought to buy a new shirt for this occasion, Cynthy, " he said, staring hard at the articles of apparel displayed there: "Let's go in. "

Cynthia laughed outright, since Ephraim could not by any chance have wornany of the articles in question. 

"Why, Cousin Ephraim, " she exclaimed, "you can't buy gentlemen's thingshere. "

"Oh, I guess you can, " said Ephraim, and hobbled confidently in at thedoorway. There we will leave him for a while conversing in an undertonewith a floor-walker, and follow Jethro. He, curiously enough, had somefifteen minutes before gone in at the same doorway, questioned the samefloor-walker, and he found himself in due time walking amongst abewildering lot of models on the third floor, followed by a gigglingsaleswoman. 

"What kind of a dress do you want, sir?" asked the saleslady, --for we areimpelled to call her so. 

"S-silk cloth, " said Jethro. 

"What shades of silk would you like, sir?"

"Shades? shades? What do you mean by shades?"

"Why, colors, " said the saleslady, giggling openly. 

"Green, " said Jethro, with considerable emphasis. 

The saleslady clapped her hand over her mouth and led the way to anothermodel. 

"You don't call that green--do you? That's not green enough. "

They inspected another dress, and then another and another, --not all ofthem were green, --Jethro expressing very decided if not expert views oneach of them. At last he paused before two models at the far end of theroom, passing his hand repeatedly over each as he had done so often withthe cattle of Coniston. 

"These two pieces same kind of goods?" he demanded. 

"Yes. "

"Er-this one is a little shinier than that one?"

"Perhaps the finish is a little higher, " ventured the saleslady. 

"Sh-shinier, " said Jethro. 

"Yes, shinier, if you please to call it so. "

"W-what would you call it?"

By this time the saleslady had become quite hysterical, and altogetherincapable of performing her duties. Jethro looked at her for a moment indisgust, and in his predicament cast around for another to wait on him. There was no lack of these, at a safe distance, but they all seemed to beaffected by the same mania. Jethro's eye alighted upon the back ofanother customer. She was, apparently, a respectable-looking lady ofuncertain age, and her own attention was so firmly fixed in thecontemplation of a model that she had not remarked the merriment abouther, nor its cause. She did not see Jethro, either, as he strode acrossto her. Indeed, her first intimation of his presence was a dig in herarm. The lady turned, gave a gasp of amazement at the figure confrontingher, and proceeded to annihilate it with an eye that few women possess. 

"H-how do, Ma'am, " he said. Had he known anything about the appearance ofwomen in general, he might have realized that he had struck a tartar. This lady was at least sixty-five, and probably unmarried. Her face, though not at all unpleasant, was a study in character-development: shewore ringlets, a peculiar bonnet of a bygone age, and her clothes hadcertain eccentricities which, for, lack of knowledge, must be omitted. Inshort, the lady was no fool, and not being one she glanced at thegiggling group of saleswomen and--wonderful to relate--they stoppedgiggling. Then she looked again at Jethro and gave him a smile. One ofsuperiority, no doubt, but still a smile. 

"How do you do, sir?"

"T-trying to buy a silk cloth gown for a woman. There's two over here Ifancied a little. Er--thought perhaps you'd help me. "

"Where are the dresses?" she demanded abruptly. 

Jethro led the way in silence until they came to the models. She plantedherself in front of them and looked them over swiftly but critically. 

"What is the age of the lady?"

"W-what difference does that make?" said Jethro, whose instinct wasagainst committing himself to strangers. 

"Difference!" she exclaimed sharply, "it makes a considerable difference. Perhaps not to you, but to the lady. What coloring is she?"

"C-coloring? She's white. "

His companion turned her back on him. 

"What size is she?"

"A-about that size, " said Jethro, pointing to a model. 

"About! about!" she ejaculated, and then she faced him. "Now look here, my friend, " she said vigorously, "there's something very mysterious aboutall this. You look like a good man, but you may be a very wicked one forall I know. I've lived long enough to discover that appearances, especially where your sex is concerned, are deceitful. Unless you arewilling to tell me who this lady is for whom you are buying silk dresses, and what your relationship is to her, I shall leave you. And mind, noevasions. I can detect the truth pretty well when I hear it. "

Unexpected as it was, Jethro gave back a step or two before thisonslaught of feminine virtue, and the movement did not tend to raise himin the lady's esteem. He felt that he would rather face General Grant athousand times than this person. She was, indeed, preparing to sweep awaywhen there came a familiar tap-tap behind them on the bare floor, and heturned to behold Ephraim hobbling toward them with the aid of his greenumbrella, Cynthia by his side. 

"Why, it's Uncle Jethro, " cried Cynthia, looking at him and the lady inastonishment, and then with equal astonishment at the models. "What inthe world are you doing here?" Then a light seemed to dawn on her. 

"You frauds! So this is what you were whispering about! This is the wayCousin Ephraim buys his shirts!"

"C-Cynthy, " said Jethro, apologetically, "d-don't you think you ought tohave a nice city dress for that supper party?"

"So you're ashamed of my country clothes, are you?" she asked gayly. 

"W-want you to have the best, Cynthy, " he replied. "I-I-meant to have itall chose and bought when you come, but I got into a kind of argumentwith this lady. "

"Argument!" exclaimed the lady. But she did not seem displeased. She hadbeen staring very fixedly at Cynthia. "My dear, " she continued kindly, "you look like some one I used to know a long, long time ago, and I'll beglad to help you. Your uncle may be sensible enough in other matters, butI tell him frankly he is out of place here. Let him go away and sit downsomewhere with the other gentleman, and we'll get the dress between us, if he'll tell us how much to pay. "

"P-pay anything, so's you get it, " said Jethro. 

"Uncle Jethro, do you really want it so much?"

It must not be thought that Cynthia did not wish for a dress, too. Butthe sense of dependence on Jethro and the fear of straining his pursenever quite wore off. So Jethro and Ephraim took to a bench at somedistance, and at last a dress was chosen--not one of the gorgeous modelsJethro had picked out, but a pretty, simple, girlish gown which Cynthiaherself had liked and of which the lady highly approved. Not content withhelping to choose it, the lady must satisfy herself that it fit, which itdid perfectly. And so Cynthia was transformed into a city person, thoughher skin glowed with a health with which few city people are blessed. 

"My dear, " said the lady, still staring at her, "you look very well. Ishould scarcely have supposed it. " Cynthia took the remark in good part, for she thought the lady a character, which she was. "I hope you willremember that we women were created for a higher purpose than merebeauty. The Lord gave us brains, and meant that we should use them. Ifyou have a good mind, as I believe you have, learn to employ it for thebetterment of your sex, for the time of our emancipation is at hand. "Having delivered this little lecture, the lady continued to stare at herwith keen eyes. "You look very much like someone I used to love when Iwas younger. What is your name. "

"Cynthia Wetherell. "

"Cynthia Wetherell? Was your mother Cynthia Ware, from Coniston?"

"Yes, " said Cynthia, amazed. 

In an instant the strange lady had risen and had taken Cynthia in herembrace, new dress and all. 

"My dear, " she said, "I thought your face had a familiar look. It wasyour mother I knew and loved. I'm Miss Lucretia Penniman. "

Miss Lucretia Penniman! Could this be, indeed, the authoress of the "Hymnto Coniston, " of whom Brampton was so proud? The Miss Lucretia Pennimanwho sounded the first clarion note for the independence of Americanwomen, the friend of Bryant and Hawthorne and Longfellow? Cynthia hadindeed heard of her. Did not all Brampton point to the house which hadheld the Social Library as to a shrine?

"Cynthia, " said Miss Lucretia, "I have a meeting now of a girls' charityto which I must go, but you will come to me at the offices of the Woman'sHour to-morrow morning at ten. I wish to talk to you about your motherand yourself. "

Cynthia promised, provided they did not leave for Coniston earlier, andin that event agreed to write. Whereupon Miss Lucretia kissed her againand hurried off to her meeting. On the way back to the Tremont HouseCynthia related excitedly the whole circumstance to Jethro and Ephraim. Ephraim had heard of Miss Lucretia, of course. Who had not? But he didnot read the Woman's Hour. Jethro was silent. Perhaps he was thinking ofthat fresh summer morning, so long ago, when a girl in a gig hadovertaken him in the canon made by the Brampton road through the woods. The girl had worn a poke bonnet, and was returning a book to this sameMiss Lucretia Penniman's Social Library. And the book was the "Life ofNapoleon Bonaparte. "

"Uncle Jethro, shall we still be in Boston to-morrow morning?" Cynthiaasked. 

He roused himself. "Yes, " he said, "yes. " "When are you going home?"

He did not answer this simple question, but countered. "Hain't youenjoyin' yourself, Cynthy?"

"Of course I am, " she declared. But she thought it strange that he wouldnot tell her when they would be in Coniston. 

Ephraim did buy a new shirt, and also (in view of the postmastership inhis packet) a new necktie, his old one being slightly frayed. 

The grandeur of the approaching supper party and the fear of Mrs. Merrillhung very heavy over him; nor was Jethro's mind completely at rest. Ephraim even went so far as to discuss the question as to whether Mr. Merrill had not surpassed his authority in inviting him, and fullexpected to be met at the door by that gentleman uttering profuseapologies, which Ephraim was quite prepared and willing to take in goodfaith. 

Nothing of the kind happened, however. Mr. Merrill's railroad being amodest one, his house was modest likewise. But Ephraim thought it grandenough, and yet acknowledged a homelike quality in its grandeur. He beganby sitting on the edge of the sofa and staring at the cut-glasschandelier, but in five minutes he discovered with a shock of surprisethat he was actually leaning back, describing in detail how his regimenthad been cheered as they marched through Boston. And incredible as it mayseem, the person whom he was entertaining in this manner was Mrs. StephenMerrill herself. Mrs. Merrill was as tall as Mr. Merrill was short. Shewore a black satin dress with a big cameo brooch pinned at her throat, her hair was gray, and her face almost masculine until it lighted up witha wonderfully sweet smile. That smile made Ephraim and Jethro feel athome; and Cynthia, too, who liked Mrs. Merrill the moment she laid eyeson her. 

Then there were the daughters, Jane and Susan, who welcomed her with ahospitality truly amazing for city people. Jane was big-boned like hermother, but Susan was short and plump and merry like her father. Susantalked and laughed, and Jane sat and listened and smiled, and Cynthiacould not decide which she liked the best. And presently they all wentinto the dining room to supper, where there was another chandelier overthe table. There was also real silver, which shone brilliantly on thewhite cloth--but there was nothing to eat. 

"Do tell us another story, Mr. Prescott, " said Susan, who had listened tohis last one. 

The sight of the table, however, had for the moment upset Ephraim, "GetJethro to tell you how he took dinner with Jedge Binney, " he said. 

This suggestion, under the circumstances, might not have been a happyone, but its lack of appropriateness did not strike Jethro either. Heyielded to the demand. 

"Well, " he said, "I supposed I was goin' to set down same as I would athome, where we put the vittles on the table. W-wondered what I was goin'to eat--wahn't nothin' but a piece of bread on the table. S-sat there andwatched 'em--nobody ate anything. Presently I found out that Binney'swife ran her house same as they run hotels. Pretty soon a couple of girlscome in and put down some food and took it away again before you had achance. A-after a while we had coffee, and when I set my cup on thetable, I noticed Mis' Binney looked kind of cross and began whisperin' tothe girls. One of 'em fetched a small plate and took my cup and set it onthe plate. That was all right. I used the plate. 

"Well, along about next summer Binney had to come to Coniston to see meon a little matter and fetched his wife. Listy, my wife, was alive then. I'd made up my mind that if I could ever get Mis' Binney to eat at myplace I would, so I asked 'em to stay to dinner. When we set down, Isaid: 'Now, Mis' Binney, you and the Judge take right hold, and anythingyou can't reach, speak out and we'll wait on you. ' And Mis' Binney?'

"Yes, " she said. She was a little mite scared, I guess. B-begun tosuspect somethin'. "

"Mis' Binney, " said I, "y-you can set your cup and sarcer where you've amind to. ' O-ought to have heard the Judge laugh. Says he to his wife:'Fanny, I told you Jethro'd get even with you some time for that sarcerbusiness. '"

This story, strange as it may seem, had a great success at Mr. Merrill'stable. Mr. Merrill and his daughter Susan shrieked with laughter when itwas finished, while Mrs. Merrill and Jane enjoyed themselves quite asmuch in their quiet way. Even the two neat Irish maids, who were servingthe supper very much as poor Mis' Binney's had been served, were fain toleave the dining room abruptly, and one of them disgraced herself atsight of Jethro when she came in again, and had to go out once mare. Mrs. Merrill insisted that Jethro should pour out his coffee in what she waspleased to call the old-fashioned way. All of which goes to prove thattable-silver and cut glass chandeliers do not invariably make theirowners heartless and inhospitable. And Ephraim, whose plan of campaignhad been to eat nothing to speak of and have a meal when he got back tothe hotel, found that he wasn't hungry when he arose from the table. 

There was much bantering of Jethro by Mr. Merrill, which the ladies didnot understand--talk of a mighty coalition of the big railroads which wasto swallow up the little railroads. Fortunately, said Mr. Merrill, humorously, fortunately they did not want his railroad. Or unfortunately, which was it? Jethro didn't know. He never laughed at anybody's jokes. But Cynthia, who was listening with one ear while Susan talked into theother, gathered that Jethro had been struggling with the railroads, andwas sooner or later to engage in a mightier struggle with them. How, sheasked herself in her innocence, was any one, even Uncle Jethro, tostruggle with a railroad? Many other people in these latter days haveasked themselves that very question. 

All together the evening at Mr. Merrill's passed off so quickly and sohappily that Ephraim was dismayed when he discovered that it was teno'clock, and he began to make elaborate apologies to the ladies. ButJethro and Mr. Merrill were still closeted together in the dining room:once Mrs. Merrill had been called to that conference, and had returnedafter a while to take her place quietly again among the circle ofEphraim's listeners. Now Mr. Merrill came out of the dining room alone. 

"Cynthia, " he said, and his tone was a little more grave than usual, "your Uncle Jethro wants to speak to you. "

Cynthia rose, with a sense of something in the air which concerned her, and went into the dining room. Was it the light falling from above thatbrought out the lines of his face so strongly? Cynthia did not know, butshe crossed the room swiftly and sat down beside him. 

"What is it, Uncle Jethro?"

"C-Cynthy, " he said, putting his hand over hers on the table, "I want youto do something for me er--for me, " he repeated, emphasizing the lastword. 

"I'll do anything in the world for you, Uncle Jethro, " she answered; "youknow that. What--what is it?"

"L-like Mr. Merrill, don't you?" "Yes, indeed. "

"L-like Mrs. Merrill--like the gals--don't you?" "Very much, " saidCynthia, perplexedly. 

"Like 'em enough to--to live with 'em a winter?"

"Live with them a winter!"

"C-Cynthy, I want you should stay in Boston this winter and go to a youngladies' school. "

It was out. He had said it, though he never quite knew where he had foundthe courage. 

"Uncle Jethro!" she cried. She could only look at him in dismay, but thetears came into her eyes and sparkled. 

"You--you'll be happy here, Cynthy. It'll be a change for you. And Ishan't be so lonesome as you'd think. I'll--I'll be busy this winter, Cynthy. "

"You know that I wouldn't leave you, Uncle Jethro, " she saidreproachfully. "I should be lonesome, if you wouldn't. You would belonesome--you know you would be. "

"You'll do this for me, Cynthy. S-said you would, didn't you--said youwould?"

"Why do you want me to do this?"

"W-want you to go to school for a winter, Cynthy. Shouldn't think I'ddone right by you if I didn't. "

"But I have been to school. Daddy taught me a lot, and Mr. Satterlee hastaught me a great deal more. I know as much as most girls of my age, andI will study so hard in Coniston this winter, if that is what you want. I've never neglected my lessons, Uncle Jethro. "

"Tain't book-larnin'--'tain't what you'd get in book larnin' in Boston, Cynthy. "

"What, then?" she asked. 

"Well, " said Jethro, "they'd teach you to be a lady, Cynthy. "

"A lady!"

"Your father come of good people, and--and your mother was a lady. I'monly a rough old man, Cynthy, and I don't know much about the ways offine folks. But you've got it in ye, and I want you should be equal tothe best of 'em: You can. And I shouldn't die content unless I'd feltthat you'd had the chance. Er--Cynthy--will you do it for me?"

She was silent a long while before she turned to him, and then the tearswere running very swiftly down her cheeks. 

"Yes, I will do it for you, " she answered. "Uncle Jethro, I believe youare the best man, in the world. "

"D-don't say that, Cynthy--d-don't say that, " he exclaimed, and a sharpagony was in his voice. He got to his feet and went to the folding doorsand opened them. "Steve!" he called, "Steve!"

"S-says she'll stay, Steve. "

Mr. Merrill had come in, followed by his wife. Cynthia saw them but dimlythrough her tears. And while she tried to wipe the tears away she feltMrs. Merrill's arm about her, and heard that lady say:--"We'll try tomake you very happy, my dear, and send you back safely in the spring. "

CHAPTER VIII

An attempt will be made in these pages to set down such incidents whichalone may be vital to this chronicle, now so swiftly running on. Thereasons why Mr. Merrill was willing to take Cynthia into his house mustcertainly be clear to the reader. In the first place, he was under veryheavy obligations to Jethro Bass for many favors; in the second place, Mr. Merrill had a real affection for Jethro, which, strange as it mayseem to some, was quite possible; and in the third place, Mr. Merrill hadtaken a fancy to Cynthia, and he had never forgotten the unintentionalwrong he had done William Wetherell. Mr. Merrill was a man of impulses, and generally of good impulses. Had he not himself urged upon Jethro thearrangement, it would never have come about. Lastly, he had invitedCynthia to his house that his wife might inspect her, and Mrs. Merrill'sverdict had been instant and favorable--a verdict not given in words. Asingle glance was sufficient, for these good people so understood eachother that Mrs. Merrill had only to raise her eyes to her husband's, andthis she did shortly after the supper party began; while she was pouringthe coffee, to be exact. Thus the compact that Cynthia was to spend thewinter in their house was ratified. 

There was, first of all, the parting with Jethro and the messages withwhich he and Ephraim were laden for the whole village and town ofConiston. It was very hard, that parting, and need not be dwelt upon. Ephraim waved his blue handkerchief as the train pulled out, but Jethrostood on the platform, silent and motionless: more eloquent in hissorrow--so Mr. Merrill thought--than any human being he had ever known. Mr. Merrill wondered if Jethro's sorrow were caused by this partingalone; he believed it was not, and suddenly guessed at the true note ofit. Having come by chance upon the answer to the riddle, Mr. Merrillstood still with his hand on the carriage door and marvelled that he hadnot seen it all sooner. He was a man to take to heart the troubles of hisfriends. A subtle change had indeed come over Jethro, and he was not thesame man Mr. Merrill had known for many years. Would others, the men withwhom Jethro contended and the men he commanded, mark this change? Andwhat effect would it have on the conflict for the mastery of a statewhich was to be waged from now on?

"Father, " said his daughter Susan, "if you don't get in and close thedoor, we'll drive off and leave you standing on the sidewalk. "

Thus Cynthia went to her new friends in their own carriage. Mrs. Merrillwas goodness itself, and loved the girl for what she was. How, indeed, was she to help loving her? Cynthia was scrupulous in her efforts to giveno trouble, and yet she never had the air of a dependent or abeneficiary; but held her head high, and when called upon gave an opinionas though she had a right to it. The very first morning Susan, who wasprone to be late to breakfast, came down in a great state of excitementand laughter. 

"What do you think Cynthia's done, Mother?" she cried. "I went into herroom a while ago, and it was all swept and aired, and she was making upthe bed. "

"That's an excellent plan, " said Mrs. Merrill, "tomorrow morning youthree girls will have a race to see who makes up her room first. "

It is needless to say that the race at bed-making never came off, Susanand Jane having pushed Cynthia into a corner as soon as breakfast wasover, and made certain forcible representations which she felt bound torespect, and a treaty was drawn up and faithfully carried out, betweenthe three, that she was to do her own room if necessary to her happiness. The chief gainer by the arrangement was the chambermaid. 

Odd as it may seem, the Misses Merrill lived amicably enough withCynthia. It is a difficult matter to force an account of the relationshipof five people living in one house into a few pages, but the fact thatthe Merrills had large hearts makes this simpler. There are few familieswho can accept with ease the introduction of a stranger into their midst, even for a time, and there are fewer strangers who can with impunity beintroduced. The sisters quarrelled among themselves as all sisters will, and sometimes quarrelled with Cynthia. But oftener they made her thearbiter of their disputes, and asked her advice on certain matters. Especially was this true of Susan, whom certain young gentlemen fromHarvard College called upon more or less frequently, and Cynthia had allof Susan's love affairs--including the current one--by heart in a veryshort time. 

As for Cynthia, there were many subjects on which she had to take theadvice of the sisters. They did not criticise the joint creations ofherself and Miss Sukey Kittredge as frankly as Janet Duncan had done; butJethro had left in Mrs. Merrill's hands a certain sufficient sum for newdresses for Cynthia, and in due time the dresses were got and worn. To dothem justice, the sisters were really sincere in their rejoicings overthe very wonderful transformation which they had been chieflyinstrumental in effecting. 

It is not a difficult task to praise a heroine, and one that should beindulged in but charily. But let some little indulgence be accorded thisparticular heroine by reason of the life she had led, and the situationin which she now found herself: a poor Coniston girl, dependent on onewho was not her father, though she loved him as a father; beholden tothese good people who dwelt in a world into which she had no reasonableexpectations of entering, and which, to tell the truth, she now feared. 

It was inevitable that Cynthia should be brought into contact with manyfriends and relations of the family. Some of these noticed and admiredher; others did neither; others gossiped about Mrs. Merrill behind herback at her own dinners and sewing circles and wondered what folly couldhave induced her to bring the girl into her house. But Mrs. Merrill, likemany generous people who do not stop to calculate a kindness, was alwaysseverely criticised. 

And then there were Jane's and Susan's friends, in and out of MissSadler's school. For Mrs. Merrill's influence had been sufficient toinduce Miss Sadler to take Cynthia as a day scholar with her owndaughters. This, be it known, was a great concession on the part of MissSadler, who regarded Cynthia's credentials as dubious enough; and heryoung ladies were inclined to regard them so, likewise. Some of theseyoung ladies came from other cities, --New York and Philadelphia andelsewhere, --and their fathers and mothers were usually people to bementioned as a matter of course--were, indeed, frequently so mentioned byMiss Sadler, especially when a visitor called at the school. 

"Isabel, I saw that your mother sailed for Europe yesterday, " or, "Sally, your father tells me he is building a gallery for his collection. " Thento the visitor, "You know the Broke house in Washington Square, ofcourse. "

Of course the visitor did. But Sally or Isabel would often imitate MissSadler behind her back, showing how well they understood hersnobbishness. 

Miss Sadler was by no means the type which we have come to recognize inthe cartoons as the Boston school ma'am. She was a little, round personwith thin lips and a sharp nose all out of character with her roundness, and bright eyes like a bird's. To do her justice, so far as instructionwent, her scholars were equally well cared for, whether they hailed fromWashington Square or Washington Court House. There were, indeed, nonefrom such rural sorts of places--except Cynthia. But Miss Sadler did nottake her hand on the opening day--or afterward--and ask her about UncleJethro. Oh, no. Miss Sadler had no interest for great men who did notsail for Europe or add picture galleries on to their houses. Cynthialaughed, a little bitterly, perhaps, at the thought of a picture gallerybeing added to the tannery house. And she told herself stoutly that UncleJethro was a greater man than any of the others, even if Miss Sadler didnot see fit to mention him. So she had her first taste of a kind ofwormwood that is very common in the world though it did not grow inConiston. 

For a while after Cynthia's introduction to the school she was calmlyignored by many of the young ladies there, and once openly--snubbed, touse the word in its most disagreeable sense. Not that she gave any ofthem any real cause to snub her. She did not intrude her own affairs uponthem, but she was used to conversing kindly with the people about her asequals, and for this offence; on the third day, Miss Sally Broke snubbedher. It is hard not to make a heroine of Cynthia, not to be able torelate that she instantly put Miss Sally's nose out of joint. SusanMerrill tried to do that, and failed signally, for Miss Sally's nose wasnot easily dislodged. Susan fought more than one of Cynthia's battles. Asa matter of fact, Cynthia did not know that she had been affronted untilthat evening. She did not tell her friends how she spent the nightyearning fiercely for Coniston and Uncle Jethro, at times weeping forthem, if the truth be told; how she had risen before the dawn to write aletter, and to lay some things in the rawhide trunk. The letter was neversent, and the packing never finished. Uncle Jethro wished her to stay andto learn to be a lady, and stay she would, in spite of Miss Broke and therest of them. She went to school the next day, and for many days andweeks thereafter, and held communion with the few alone who chose totreat her pleasantly. Unquestionably this is making a heroine of Cynthia. 

If young men are cruel in their schools, what shall be written of youngwomen? It would be better to say that both are thoughtless. Miss SallyBroke, strange as it may seem, had a heart, and many of the other youngladies whose fathers sailed for Europe and owned picture galleries; butthese young ladies were absorbed, especially after vacation, in affairsof which a girl from Coniston had no part. Their friends were not herfriends, their amusements not her amusements, and their talk not hertalk. But Cynthia watched them, as was her duty, and gradually absorbedmany things which are useful if not essential--outward observances ofwhich the world takes cognizance, and which she had been sent there byUncle Jethro to learn. Young people of Cynthia's type and nationality arethe most adaptable in the world. 

Before the December snows set in Cynthia had made one firm friend, atleast, in Boston; outside of the Merrill family. That friend was MissLucretia Penniman, editress of the Woman's Hour. Miss Lucretia lived inthe queerest and quaintest of the little houses tucked away under thehill, with the back door a story higher than the fronts an arrangementwhich in summer enabled the mistress to walk out of her sitting-roomwindows into a little walled garden. In winter that sitting room was thesunniest, cosiest room in the city, and Cynthia spent many hours there, reading or listening to the wisdom that fell from the lips of MissLucretia or her guests. The sitting room had uneven, yellow-whitepanelling that fairly shone with enamel, mahogany bookcases filled withauthors who had chosen to comply with Miss Lucretia's somewhat rigorouscensorship; there was a table laden with such magazines as had to do withthe uplifting of a sex, a delightful wavy floor covered with a rosecarpet; and, needless to add, not a pin or a pair of scissors out ofplace in the whole apartment. 

There is no intention of enriching these pages with Miss Lucretia'shomilies. Their subject-matter may be found in the files of the Woman'sHour. She did not always preach, although many people will not believethis statement. Miss Lucretia, too, had a heart, though she kept ithidden away, only to be brought out on occasions when she was sure of itsappreciation, and she grew strangely interested in this self-containedgirl from Coniston whose mother she had known. Miss Lucretia understoodCynthia, who also was the kind who kept her heart hidden, the kind whoconceal their troubles and sufferings because they find it difficult togive them out. So Miss Lucretia had Cynthia to take supper with her atleast once in the week, and watched her quietly, and let her speak of asmuch of her life as she chose--which was not much, at first. But MissLucretia was content to wait, and guessed at many things which Cynthiadid not tell her, and made some personal effort, unknown to Cynthia, tofind out other things. It will be said that she had designs on the girl. If so, they were generous designs; and perhaps it was inevitable thatMiss Lucretia should recognize in every young woman of spirit and brainsa possible recruit for the cause. 

It has now been shown in some manner and as briefly as possible howCynthia's life had changed, and what it had become. We have got herpartly through the winter, and find her still dreaming of the sparklingsnow on Coniston and of the wind whirling it on clear, cold days likesmoke among the spruces; of Uncle Jethro sitting by his stove through thelong evenings all alone; of Rias in his store and Moses Hatch and LemHallowell, and Cousin Ephraim in his new post-office. Uncle Jethro wrotefor the first time in his life--letters: short letters, but in his ownhandwriting, and deserving of being read for curiosity's sake if therewere time. The wording was queer enough and guarded enough, but they werecharged with a great affection which clung to them like lavender. 

And Cynthia kept them every one, and read them over on such occasionswhen she felt that she could not live another minute out of sight of hermountain. 

Such was the state of affairs one gray afternoon in December whenCynthia, who was sitting in Mrs. Merrill's parlor, suddenly looked upfrom her book to discover that two young men were in the room. The youngmen were apparently quite as much surprised as she, and the parlor maidstood grinning behind them. 

"Tell Miss Susan and Miss Jane, Ellen, " said Cynthia, preparing todepart. One of the young men she recognized from a photograph on Susan'sbureau. He was, for the time being, Susan's. His name, although it doesnot matter much, was Morton Browne, and he would have been considerablyastonished if he had guessed how much of his history Cynthia knew. It wasMr. Browne's habit to take Susan for a walk as often as proprietypermitted, and on such occasions he generally brought along agood-natured classmate to take care of Jane. This, apparently, was one ofthe occasions. Mr. Browne was tall and dark and generally good-looking, while his friends were usually distinguished for their good nature. 

Mr. Browne stood between her and the door and looked at her ratherfixedly. Then he said:--"Excuse me. "

A great many friendships, and even love affairs, have been inaugurated byjust such an opening. 

"Certainly, " said Cynthia, and tried to pass out. But Mr. Browne had nointention of allowing her to do so if he could help it. 

"I hope I am not intruding, " he said politely. 

"Oh, no, " answered Cynthia, wondering how she could get by him. 

"Were you waiting for Miss Merrill?"

"Oh, no, " said Cynthia again. 

The other young man turned his back and became absorbed in the picture ofa lion getting ready to tear a lady to pieces. But Mr. Browne was of thatmettle which is not easily baffled in such matters. He introducedhimself, and desired to know whom he had the honor of addressing. Cynthiacould not but enlighten him. Mr. Browne was greatly astonished, andshowed it. 

"So you are the mysterious young lady who has been staying here in thehouse this winter, " he exclaimed, as though it were a marvellous thing. "I have heard Miss Merrill speak of you. She admires you very much. Is ittrue that you come from--Coniston?"

"Yes, " she said. 

"Let me see--where is Coniston?" inquired Mr. Browne. 

"Do you know where Brampton is?" asked Cynthia. "Coniston is nearBrampton. "

"Brampton!" exclaimed Mr. Browne, "I have a classmate who comes fromBrampton--Bob Worthington--You must know Bob, then. "

Yes, Cynthia knew Mr. Worthington. 

"His father's got a mint of money, they say. I've been told that oldWorthington was the whole show up in those parts. Is that true?"

"Not quite, " said Cynthia. 

Not quite! Mr. Morton Browne eyed her in surprise, and from that momentshe began to have decided possibilities. Just then Jane and Susan enteredarrayed for the walk, but Mr. Browne showed himself in no hurry todepart: began to speak, indeed, in a deprecating way about the weather, appealed to his friend, Mr. King, if it didn't look remarkably like rain, or hail, or snow. Susan sat down, Jane sat down, Mr. Browne and hisfriend prepared to sit down when Cynthia moved toward the door. 

"You're not going, Cynthia!" cried Susan, in a voice that may have had alittle too much eagerness in it. "You must stay and help us entertain Mr. Browne. " (Mr. King, apparently, was not to be entertained. ) "We've triedso hard to make her come down when people called, Mr. Browne, but shenever would. "

Cynthia was not skilled in the art of making excuses. She hesitated forone, and was lost. So she sat down, as far from Mr. Browne as possible, next to Jane. In a few minutes Mr. Browne was seated beside her, and howhe accomplished this manoeuvre Cynthia could not have said, so skilfullyand gradually was it done. For lack of a better subject he chose Mr. Robert Worthington. Related, for Cynthia's delectation, several of Bob'sescapades in his freshman year: silly escapades enough, but very bold anddaring and original they sounded to Cynthia, who listened (if Mr. Brownecould have known it) with almost breathless interest, and forgot allabout poor Susan talking to Mr. King. Did Mr. Worthington still whileaway his evenings stealing barber poles and being chased around Cambridgeby irate policemen? Mr. Browne laughed at the notion. O dear, no! seniorsnever descended to that. Had not Miss Wetherell heard the song whereinseniors were designated as grave and reverend? Yes, Miss Wetherell hadheard the song. She did not say where, or how. Mr. Worthington, said hisclassmate, had become very serious-minded this year. Was captain of thebase-ball team and already looking toward the study of law. 

"Study law!" exclaimed Cynthia, "I thought he would go into his father'smills. "

"Do you know Bob very well?" asked Mr. Browne. 

She admitted that she did not. 

"He's been away from Brampton a good deal, of course, " said Mr. Browne, who seemed pleased by her admission. To do him justice, he would notundermine a classmate, although he had other rules of conduct which mighteventually require a little straightening out. "Worthy's a first-ratefellow, a little quick-tempered, perhaps, and inclined to go his own way. He's got a good mind, and he's taken to using it lately. He has comepretty near being suspended once or twice. "

Cynthia wanted to ask what "suspended" was. It sounded rather painful. But at this instant there was the rattle of a latch key at the door, andMr. Merrill walked in. 

"Well, well, " he said, spying Cynthia, "so you have got Cynthia to comedown and entertain the young men at last. "

"Yes, " said Susan, "we have got Cynthia to come down at last. "

Susan did not go to Cynthia's room that night to chat, as usual, and Mr. Morton Browne's photograph was mysteriously removed from the prominentposition it had occupied. If Susan had carried out a plan which sheconceived in a moment of folly of placing that photograph on Cynthia'sbureau, there would undoubtedly have been a quarrel. Cynthia's ownfeelings--seeing that Mr. Browne had not dazzled her--were not--enviable. 

But she held her peace, which indeed was all she could do, and the nexttime Mr. Browne called, though he took care to mention her nameparticularly at the door, she would not go down to entertain him: thoughSusan implored and Jane appealed, she would not go down. Mr. Brownecalled several times again, with the same result. Cynthia wasinexorable--she would have none of him. Then Susan forgave her. There wasno quarrel, indeed, but there was a reconciliation, which is the bestpart of a quarrel. There were tears, of Susan's shedding; there was acharacter-sketch of Mr. Browne, of Susan's drawing, and that gentlemanflitted lightly out of Susan's life. 

Some ten days subsequent to this reconciliation Ellen, the parlor maid, brought up a card to Cynthia's room. The card bore the name of Mr. RobertWorthington. Cynthia stared at it, and bent it in her fingers, whileEllen explained how the gentleman had begged that she might see him. Totell the truth, Cynthia had wondered more than once why he had not comebefore, and smiled when she thought of all the assurances of undyingdevotion she had heard in Washington. After all, she reflected, whyshould she not see him--once? He might give her news of Brampton andConiston. Thus willingly deceiving herself, she told Ellen that she wouldgo down: much to the girl's delight, for Cynthia was a favorite in thehouse. 

As she entered the parlor Mr. Worthington was standing in the window. When he turned and saw her he started to come forward in his oldimpetuous way, and stopped and looked at her in surprise. She herself didnot grasp the reason for this. 

"Can it be possible, " he said, "can it be possible that this is my friendfrom the country?" And he took her hand with the greatest formality, pressed it the least little bit, and released it. "How do you do, MissWetherell? Do you remember me?"

"How do you do--Bob, " she answered, laughing in spite of herself at hisbanter. "You haven't changed, anyway. "

"It was Mr. Worthington in Washington, " said he. "Now it is 'Bob' and'Miss Wetherell. ' Rank patronage! How did you do it, Cynthia?"

"You are like all men, " said Cynthia, "you look at the clothes, and notthe woman. They are not very fine clothes; but if they were much finer, they wouldn't change me. "

"Then it must be Miss Sadler. "

"Miss Sadler would willingly change me--if she could, " said Cynthia, alittle bitterly. "How did you find out I was at Miss Sadler's?"

"Morton Browne told me yesterday, " said Bob. "I felt like punching hishead. "

"What did he tell you?" she asked with some concern. 

"He said that you were here, visiting the Merrills, among other things, and said that you knew me. "

The "other things" Mr. Browne had said were interesting, but flippant. Hehad seen Bob at a college club and declared that he had met a witch of acountry girl at the Merrills. He couldn't make her out, because she hadrefused to see him every time he called again. He had also repeatedCynthia's remark about Bob's father not being quite the biggest man inhis part of the country, and ventured the surmise that she was thedaughter of a rival mill owner. 

"Why didn't you let me know you were in Boston?" said Bob, reproachfully. 

"Why should I?" asked Cynthia, and she could not resist adding, "Didn'tyou find it out when you went to Brampton--to see me?"

"Well, " said he, getting fiery red, "the fact is--I didn't go toBrampton. "

"I'm glad you were sensible enough to take my advice, though I supposethat didn't make any difference. But--from the way you spoke, I shouldhave thought nothing could have kept you away. "

"To tell you the truth, " said Bob, "I'd promised to visit a fellow namedBroke in my class, who lives in New York. And I couldn't get out of it. His sister, by the way, is in Miss Sadler's. I suppose you know her. Butif I'd thought you'd see me, I should have gone to Brampton, anyway. Youwere so down on me in Washington. "

"It was very good of you to take the trouble to come to see me here. There must be a great many girls in Boston you have to visit. "

He caught the little note of coolness in her voice. Cynthia was askingherself whether, if Mr. Browne had not seen fit to give a good report ofher, he would have come at all. He would have come, certainly. It is tobe hoped that Bob Worthington's attitude up to this time toward Cynthiahas been sufficiently defined by his conversation and actions. There hadbeen nothing serious about it. But there can be no question that Mr. Browne's openly expressed admiration had enhanced her value in his eyes. 

"There's no girl in Boston that I care a rap for, " he said. 

"I'm relieved to hear it, " said Cynthia, with feeling. 

"Are you really?"

"Didn't you expect me to be, when you said it?"

He laughed uncomfortably. 

"You've learned more than one thing since you've been in the city, " heremarked, "I suppose there are a good many fellows who come here all thetime. "

"Yes, there are, " she said demurely. 

"Well, " he remarked, "you've changed a lot in three months. I alwaysthought that, if you had a chance, there'd be no telling where you'd endup. "

"That doesn't sound very complimentary, " said Cynthia. She had, indeed, changed. "In what terrible place do you think I'll end up?"

"I suppose you'll marry one of these Boston men. "

"Oh, " she laughed, "that wouldn't be so terrible, would it?"

"I believe you're engaged to one of 'em now, " he remarked, looking veryhard at her. 

"If you believed that, I don't think you would say it, " she answered. 

"I can't make you out. You used to be so frank with me, and now you'renot at all so. Are you going to Coniston for the holidays?"

Her face fell at the question. 

"Oh, Bob, " she cried, surprising him utterly by a glimpse of the realCynthia, "I wish I were--I wish I were! But I don't dare to. "

"Don't dare to?"

"If I went, I should' never come back--never. I should stay with UncleJethro. He's so lonesome up there, and I'm so lonesome down here, withouthim. And I promised him faithfully I'd stay a whole winter at school inBoston. "

"Cynthia, " said Bob, in a strange voice as he leaned toward her, "doyou--do you care for him as much as all that?"

"Care for him?" she repeated. 

"Care for--for Uncle Jethro?"

"Of course I care for him, " she cried, her eyes flashing at the thought. "I love him better than anybody in the world. Certainly no one ever hadbetter reason to care for a person. My father failed when he came toConiston--he was not meant for business, and Uncle Jethro took care ofhim all his life, and paid his debts. And he has taken care of me andgiven me everything that a girl could wish. Very few people know what afine character Uncle Jethro has, " continued Cynthia, carried away as shewas by the pent-up flood of feeling within her. "I know what he has donefor others, and I should love him for that even if he never had doneanything for me. "

Bob was silent. He was, in the first place, utterly amazed at thisoutburst, revealing as it did a depth of passionate feeling in the girlwhich he had never suspected, and which thrilled him. It was unlike her, for she was usually so self-repressed; and, being unlike her, accentuatedboth sides of her character the more. 

But what was he to say of the defence of Jethro Bass? Bob was not a youngman who had pondered much over the problems of life, because theseproblems had hitherto never touched him. But now he began to perceive, dimly, things that might become the elements of a tragedy, even as Mr. Merrill had perceived them some months before. Could a union endurebetween so delicate a creature as the girl before him and Jethro Bass?Could Cynthia ever go back to him again, and live with him happily, without seeing many things which before were hidden by reason of heryouth and innocence?

Bob had not been nearly four years at college without learning somethingof the world; and it had not needed the lecture from his father, which hegot upon leaving Washington, to inform him of Jethro's politicalpractices. He had argued soundly with his father on that occasion, havingthe courage to ask Mr. Worthington in effect whether he did not sanctionhis underlings to use the same tools as Jethro used. Mr. Worthington wasrighteously angry, and declared that Jethro had inaugurated thosepractices in the state, and had to be fought with his own weapons. ButMr. Worthington had had the sense at that time not to mention Cynthia'sname. He hoped and believed that that affair was not serious, and merelya boyish fancy--as indeed it was. 

It remains to be said, however, that the lecture had not been without itseffect upon Bob. Jethro Bass, after all, was--Jethro Bass. All his lifeBob had heard him familiarly and jokingly spoken of as the boss of thestate, and had listened to the tales, current in all the country towns, of how Jethro had outwitted this man or that. Some of them were notrefined tales. Jethro Bass as the boss of the state--with the tolerancewith which the public in general regard politics--was one thing. Bob waswilling to call him "Uncle Jethro, " admire his great strength andshrewdness, and declare that the men he had outwitted had richly deservedit. But Jethro Bass as the ward of Cynthia Wetherell was quite anotherthing. 

It was not only that Cynthia had suddenly and inevitably become a lady. That would not have mattered, for such as she would have borne Conistonand the life of Coniston cheerfully. But Bob reflected, as he walked backto his rooms in the dark through the snow-laden streets, that Cynthia, young though she might be, possessed principles from which no love wouldsway her a hair's breadth. How, indeed, was she to live with Jethro onceher eyes were opened?

The thought made him angry, but returned to him persistently during thedays that followed, --in the lecture room, in the gymnasium, in his ownstudy, where he spent more time than formerly. By these tokens it will beperceived that Bob, too, had changed a little. And the sight of Cynthiain Mrs. Merrill's parlor had set him to thinking in a very differentmanner than the sight of her in Washington had affected him. Bob hadmanaged to shift the subject from Jethro, not without an effort, thoughhe had done it in that merry, careless manner which was so characteristicof him. He had talked of many things, --his college life, hisfriends, --and laughed at her questions about his freshman escapades. Butwhen at length, at twilight, he had risen to go, he had taken both herhands and looked down into her face with a very different expression thanshe had seen him wear before--a much more serious expression, whichpuzzled her. It was not the look of a lover, nor yet that of a man whoimagines himself in love. With either of these her instinct would havetold her how to deal. It was more the look of a friend, with much of themasculine spirit of protection in it. 

"May I come to see you again?" he asked. 

Gently she released her hands, and she did not answer at once. She wentto the window, and stared across the sloping street at the grilledrailing before the big house opposite, thinking. Her reason told her thathe should not come, but her spirit rebelled against that reason. It was apleasure to see him, so she freely admitted to herself. Why should shenot have that pleasure? If the truth be told, she had argued it all outbefore, when she had wondered whether he would come. Mrs. Merrill, shethought, would not object to his coming. But--there was the question shehad meant to ask him. 

"Bob, " she said, turning to him, "Bob, would your father want you tocome?"

It was growing dark, and she could scarcely see his face. He hesitated, but he did not attempt to evade the question. 

"No, he would not, " he answered. And added, with a good deal of force anddignity: "I am of age, and can choose my own friends. I am my own master. If he knew you as I knew you, he would look at the matter in a differentlight. "

Cynthia felt that this was not quite true. She smiled a little sadly. 

"I am afraid you don't know me very well, Bob. " He was about to protest, but she went on, bravely, "Is it because he has quarrelled with UncleJethro?"

"Yes, " said Bob. She was making it terribly hard for him, sparing indeedneither herself nor him. 

"If you come here to see me, it will cause a quarrel between you and yourfather. I--I cannot do that. "

"There is nothing wrong in my seeing you, " said Bob, stoutly; "if hecares to quarrel with me for that, I cannot help it. If the people Ichoose for my friends are good people, he has no right to an objection, even though he is my father. "

Cynthia had never come so near real admiration for him as at that moment. 

"No, Bob, you must not come, " she said. "I will not have you quarrel withhim on my account. "

"Then I will quarrel with him on my own account, " he had answered. "Good-by. You may expect me this day week. "

He went into the hall to put on his overcoat. Cynthia stood still on thespot of the carpet where he had left her. He put his head in at the door. 

"This day week, " he said. 

"Bob, you must not come, " she answered. But the street door closed afterhim as he spoke. 

CHAPTER IX

"You must not come. " Had Cynthia made the prohibition strong enough?Ought she not to have said, "If you do come, I will not see you?" Herknowledge of the motives of the men and women in the greater world waslargely confined to that which she had gathered from novels--not trashynovels, but those by standard authors of English life. And many anothergirl of nineteen has taken a novel for a guide when she has been suddenlyconfronted with the first great problem outside of her experience. Somebody has declared that there are only seven plots in the world. Thereare many parallels in English literature to Cynthia's position, --so faras she was able to define that position, --the wealthy young peer, theparson's or physician's daughter, and the worldly, inexorable parents whohad other plans. 

Cynthia was, of course, foolish. She would not look ahead, yet there wasthe mirage in the sky when she allowed herself to dream. It cantruthfully be said that she was not in love with Bob Worthington. Shefelt, rather than knew, that if love came to her the feeling she had forJethro Bass--strong though that was--would be as nothing to it. The girlfelt the intensity of her nature, and shrank from it when her thoughtsran that way, for it frightened her. 

"Mrs. Merrill" she said, a few days later, when she found herself alonewith that lady, "you once told me you would have no objection if a friendcame to see me here. "

"None whatever, my dear, " answered Mrs. Merrill. "I have asked you tohave your friends here. "

Mrs. Merrill knew that a young man had called on Cynthia. The girls haddiscussed the event excitedly, had teased Cynthia about it; they haddiscovered, moreover, that the young man had not been a tiller of thesoil or a clerk in a country store. Ellen, with the enthusiasm of herrace, had painted him in glowing colors--but she had neglected to readthe name on his card. 

"Bob Worthington came to see me last week, and he wants to come again. Helives in Brampton, " Cynthia explained, "and is at Harvard College. "

Mrs. Merrill was decidedly surprised. She went on with her sewing, however, and did not betray the fact. She knew of Dudley Worthington asone of the richest and most important men in his state; she had heard herhusband speak of him often; but she had never meddled with politics andrailroad affairs. 

"By all means let him come, Cynthia, " she replied. 

When Mr. Merrill got home that evening she spoke of the matter to him. 

"Cynthia is a strange character, " she said. "Sometimes I can't understandher--she seems so much older than our girls, Stephen. Think of herkeeping this to herself for four days!"

Mr. Merrill laughed, but he went off to a little writing room he had andsat for a long time looking into the glowing coals. Then he laughedagain. Mr. Merrill was a philosopher. After all, he could not forbidDudley Worthington's son coming to his house, nor did he wish to. 

That same evening Cynthia wrote a letter and posted it. She found it avery difficult letter to write, and almost as difficult to drop into themail-box. She reflected that the holidays were close at hand, and then hewould go to Brampton and forget, even as he had forgotten before. And shedetermined when Wednesday afternoon came around that she would take along walk in the direction of Brookline. Cynthia loved these walks, forshe sadly missed the country air, --and they had kept the color in hercheeks and the courage in her heart that winter. She had amazed theMerrill girls by the distances she covered, and on more than one occasionshe had trudged many miles to a spot from which there was a view of BlueHills. They reminded her faintly of Coniston. 

Who can speak or write with any certainty of the feminine character, ordeclare what unexpected twists perversity and curiosity may give to it?Wednesday afternoon came, and Cynthia did not go to Brookline. She put onher coat, and took it off again. Would he dare to come in the face of themandate he had received? If he did come, she wouldn't see him. Ellen hadreceived her orders. 

At four o'clock the doorbell rang, and shortly thereafter Ellen appeared, simpering and apologetic enough, with a card. She had taken the troubleto read it this time. Cynthia was angry, or thought she was, and hercheeks were very red. 

"I told you to excuse me, Ellen. Why did you let him in?"

"Miss Cynthia, darlin', " said Ellen, "if it was made of flint I was, wouldn't he bring the tears out of me with his wheedlin' an' coaxin'? An'him such a fine young gintleman! And whin he took to commandin' like, sure I couldn't say no to him at all at all. 'Take the card to her, Ellen, ' he says--didn't he know me name!--'an' if she says she won't seeme, thin I won't trouble her more. ' Thim were his words, Miss. "

There he was before the fire, his feet slightly apart and his hands inhis pockets, waiting for her. She got a glimpse of him standing thus, asshe came down the stairs. It was not the attitude of a culprit. Nor didhe bear the faintest resemblance to a culprit as he came up to her in thedoorway. The chief recollection she carried away of that moment was thathis teeth were very white and even when he smiled. He had the impudenceto smile. He had the impudence to seize one of her hands in his, and tohold aloft a sheet of paper in the other. 

"What does this mean?" said he. 

"What do you thick it means?" retorted Cynthia, with dignity. 

"A summons to stay away, " said Bob, thereby more or less accuratelydescribing it. "What would you have thought of me if I had not come?"

Cynthia was not prepared for any such question as this. She had meant toask the questions herself. But she never lacked for words to protectherself. 

"I'll tell you what I think of you for coming, Bob, for insisting uponseeing me as you did, " she said, remembering with shame Ellen's accountof that proceeding. "It was very unkind and very thoughtless of you. "

"Unkind?" Thus she succeeded in putting him on the defensive. 

"Yes, unkind, because I know it is best for you not to come to see me, and you know it, and yet you will not help me when I try to do what isright. I shall be blamed for these visits, " she said. The young ladies inthe novels always were. But it was a serious matter for poor Cynthia, andher voice trembled a little. Her troubles seemed very real. 

"Who will blame you?" asked Bob, though he knew well enough. Then headded, seeing that she did not answer: "I don't at all agree with youthat it is best for me not to see you. I know of nobody in the world itdoes me more good to see than yourself. Let's sit down and talk it allover, " he said, for she still remained standing uncompromisingly by thedoor. 

The suspicion of a smile came over Cynthia's face. She remembered howEllen had been wheedled. Her instinct told her that now was the time tomake a stand or never. 

"It wouldn't do any good, Bob, " she replied, shaking her head; "we talkedit all over last week. "

"Not at all, " said he, "we only touched upon a few points last week. Weought to thrash it out. Various aspects of the matter have occurred to mewhich I ought to call to your attention. "

He could not avoid this bantering tone, but she saw that he was very muchin earnest too. He realized the necessity of winning; likewise, and hehad got in and meant to stay. 

"I don't want to argue, " said Cynthia. "I've thought it all out. "

"So have I, " said Bob. "I haven't thought of anything else, to speak of. And by the way, " he declared, shaking the envelope, "I never got a colderand more formal letter in my life. You must have taken it from one ofMiss Sadler's copy books. "

"I'm sorry I haven't been able to equal the warmth of your othercorrespondents, " said Cynthia, smiling at the mention of Miss Sadler. 

"You've got a good many degrees yet to go, " he replied. 

"I have no idea of doing so, " said Cynthia. 

If Cynthia had lured him there, and had carefully thought out a plan offanning his admiration into a flame, she could not have done better thanto stand obstinately by the door. Nothing appeals to a man likeresistance--resistance for a principle appealed to Bob, although he didnot care a fig about that particular principle. In his former dealingswith young women--and they had not been few--the son of DudleyWorthington had encountered no resistance worth the mentioning. He lookedat the girl before him, and his blood leaped at the thought of a conquestover her. She was often demure, but behind that demureness was firmness:she was mistress of herself, and yet possessed a marvellous vitality. 

"And now, " said Cynthia, "don't you think you had better go?"

Go! He laughed outright. Never! He would sit down under that fortress, and some day he meant to scale the walls. Like John Paul Jones, he hadnot yet begun to fight. But he did not sit down just yet, because Cynthiaremained standing. 

"I'm here now, " he said, "what's the good of going away? I might as wellstay the rest of the afternoon. "

"You will find a photograph album on the table, " said Cynthia, "withpictures of all the Merrill family and their friends and relations. "

In spite of the threat this remark conveyed, he could not help laughingat it. Mrs. Merrill in her sitting room heard the laugh, and felt thatshe would like Bob Worthington. 

"It's a heavy album, Cynthia, " he said; "perhaps you would hold up oneside of it. "

It was Cynthia's turn to laugh. She could not decide whether he were aman or a boy. Sometimes, she had to admit, he was very much of a man. 

"Where are you going?" he cried. 

"Upstairs, of course, " she answered. 

This was really alarming. But fate thrust a final weapon into his hands. 

"All right, " said he, "I'll look at the album. What time does Mr. Merrillget home?"

"About six, " answered Cynthia. "Why?"

"When he comes, " said Bob, "I shall put on my most disconsolateexpression. He'll ask me what I'm doing, and I'll tell him you wentupstairs at half-past four and haven't come down. He'll sympathize, I'llbet anything. "

Whether Bob were really capable of doing this, Cynthia could not tell. She believed he was. Perhaps she really did not intend to go upstairsjust then. To his intense relief she seated herself on a straight-backedchair near the door, although she had the air of being about to get upagain at any minute. It was not a surrender, not at all--but a parley, atleast. 

"I really want to talk to you seriously, Bob, " she said, and her voicewas serious. "I like you very much--I always have--and I want you tolisten seriously. All of us have friends. Some people--you, forinstance--have a great many. We have but one father. " Her voice failed alittle at the word. "No friend can ever be the same to you as yourfather, and no friendship can make up what his displeasure will cost you. I do not mean to say that I shan't always be your friend, for I shallbe. "

Young men seldom arrive at maturity by gradual steps--something sets themthinking, a week passes, and suddenly the world has a different aspect. Bob had thought much of his father during that week, and had consideredtheir relationship very carefully. He had a few precious memories of hismother before she had been laid to rest under that hideous andpretentious monument in the Brampton hill cemetery. How unlike her wasthat monument! Even as a young boy, when on occasions he had wanderedinto the cemetery, he used to stand before it with a lump in his throatand bitter resentment in his heart, and once he had shaken his fist atit. He had grown up out of sympathy with his father, but he had neveruntil now began to analyze the reasons for it. His father had given himeverything except that communion of which Cynthia spoke so feelingly. Mr. Worthington had acted according to his lights: of all the people in theworld he thought first of his son. But his thoughts and care had beenalone of what the son would be to the world: how that son would carry onthe wealth and greatness of Isaac D. Worthington. 

Bob had known this before, but it had had no such significance for himthen as now. He was by no means lacking in shrewdness, and as he hadgrown older he had perceived clearly enough Mr. Worthington's reasons forthrowing him socially with the Duncans. Mr. Worthington had never been aplain-spoken man, but he had as much as told his son that it was decreedthat he should marry the heiress of the state. There were other plansconnected with this. Mr. Worthington meant that his son should eventuallyown the state itself, for he saw that the man who controlled the highwaysof a state could snap his fingers at governor and council and legislatureand judiciary: could, indeed, do more--could own them even morecompletely than Jethro Bass now owned them, and without effort. Thedividends would do the work: would canvass the counties and persuade thisman and that with sufficient eloquence. By such tokens it will be seenthat Isaac D. Worthington is destined to become great, though thegreatness will be akin to that possessed by those gentlemen who in pastages had built castles across the highway between Venice and the NorthSea. All this was in store for Bob Worthington, if he could only bebrought to see it. These things would be given him, if he would butconfine his worship to the god of wealth. 

We are running ahead, however, of Bob's reflections in Mr. Merrill'sparlor in Mount Vernon Street, and the ceremony of showing him the citiesof his world from Brampton hill was yet to be gone through. Bob knew hisfather's plans only in a general way, but in the past week he had come toknow his father with a fair amount of thoroughness. If Isaac D. Worthington had but chosen a worldly wife, he might have had a moreworldly son. As it was, Bob's thoughts were a little bitter when Cynthiaspoke of his father, and he tried to think instead what his mother wouldhave him do. He could not, indeed, speak of Mr. Worthington'sshortcomings as he understood them, but he answered Cynthia vigorouslyenough--even if his words were not as serious as she desired. 

"I tell you I am old enough to judge for myself, Cynthia, " said he, "andI intend to judge for myself. I don't pretend to be a paragon of virtue, but I have a kind of a conscience which tells me when I am doing wrong, if I listen to it. I have not always listened to it. It tells me I'mdoing right now, and I mean to listen to it. "

Cynthia could not but think there was very little self-denial attached tothis. Men are not given largely to self-denial. 

"It is easy enough to listen to your conscience when you think it impelsyou to do that which you want to do, Bob, " she answered, laughing at hisargument in spite of herself. 

"Are you wicked?" he demanded abruptly. 

"Why, no, I don't think I am, " said Cynthia, taken aback. But shecorrected herself swiftly, perceiving his bent. "I should be doing wrongto let you come here. "

He ignored the qualification. 

"Are you vain and frivolous?"

She remembered that she had looked in the glass before she had come downto him, and bit her lip. 

"Are you given over to idle pursuits, to leading young men from theiroccupations and duties?"

"If you've come here to recite the Blue Laws, " said she, laughing again, "I have something better to do than to listen to them. "

"Cynthia, " he cried, "I'll tell you what you are. I'll draw yourcharacter for you, and then, if you can give me one good reason why Ishould not associate with you, I'll go away and never come back. "

"That's all very well, " said Cynthia, "but suppose I don't admit yourqualifications for drawing my character. And I don't admit them, not fora minute. "

"I will draw it, " said he, standing up in front of her. "Oh, confoundit!"

This exclamation, astonishing and out of place as it was, was caused by aring at the doorbell. The ring was followed by a whispering and gigglingin the hall, and then by the entrance of the Misses Merrill into theparlor. Curiosity had been too strong for them. Susan was human, and herewas the opportunity for a little revenge. In justice to her, she meantthe revenge to be very slight. 

"Well, Cynthia, you should have come to the concert, " she said; "it wasfine, wasn't it, Jane? Is this Mr. Worthington? How do you do. I'm MissSusan Merrill, and this is Miss Jane Merrill. " Susan only intended tostay a minute, but how was Bob to know that? She was tempted into stayinglonger. Bob lighted the gas, and she inspected him and approved. Herapproval increased when he began to talk to her in his bantering way, asif he had known her always. Then, when she was fully intending to go, herose to take his leave. 

"I'm awfully glad to have met you at last, " he said to Susan, "I've heardso much about you. " His leave-taking of Jane was less effusive, and thenhe turned to Cynthia and took her hand. "I'm going to Brampton onFriday, " he said, "for the holidays. I wish you were going. "

"We couldn't think of letting her go, Mr. Worthington, " cried Susan, forthe thought of the hills had made Cynthia incapable of answering. "We'reonly to have her for one short winter, you know. "

"Yes, I know, " said Mr. Worthington, gravely. "I'll see old Ephraim, andtell him you're well, and what a marvel of learning, you've become. And--and I'll go to Coniston if that will please you. "

"Oh, no, Bob, you mustn't do anything of the kind, " answered Cynthia, trying to keep back the tears. "I--I write to Uncle Jethro very often. Good-by. I hope you will enjoy your holidays. "

"I'm coming to see you the minute I get back and tell you all abouteverybody, " said he. 

How was she to forbid him to come before Susan and Jane! She could onlybe silent. 

"Do come, Mr. Worthington, " said Susan, warmly, wondering at Cynthia'scoldness and, indeed, misinterpreting it. "I am sure she will be glad tosee you. And we shall always make you welcome, at any rate. "

As soon as he was out of the door, Susan became very repentant, andslipped her hand about Cynthia's waist. 

"We shouldn't have come in at all if we had known he would go so soon, indeed we shouldn't, Cynthia. " And seeing that Cynthia was still silent, she added: "I wouldn't do such a mean thing, Cynthia, I really wouldn't. Won't you believe me and forgive me?"

Cynthia scarcely heard her at first. She was thinking of Conistonmountain, and how the sun had just set behind it. The mountain would beultramarine against the white fields, and the snow on the hill pasturesto the east stained red as with wine. What would she not have given to begoing back to-morrow--yes, with Bob. She confessed--though startled bythe very boldness of the thought--that she would like to be going therewith Bob. Susan's appeal brought her back to Boston and the gas-litparlor. 

"Forgive you, Susan! There's nothing to forgive. I wanted him to go. "

"You wanted him to go?" repeated Susan, amazed. She may be pardoned ifshe did not believe this, but a glance at Cynthia's face scarcely left aroom for doubt. "Cynthia Wetherell, you're the strangest girl I've everknown in all my life. If I had a--a friend" (Susan had another word onher tongue) "if I had such a friend as Mr. Worthington, I shouldn't be ina hurry to let him leave me. Of course, " she added, "I shouldn't let himknow it. "

Cynthia's heart was very heavy during the next few days, heavier by farthan her friends in Mount Vernon Street imagined. They had grown to loveher almost as one of themselves, and because of the sympathy which comesof such love they guessed that her thoughts would be turning homeward atChristmastide. At school she had listened, perforce, to the festivalplans of thirty girls of her own age; to accounts of the probablepresents they were to receive, the cost of some of which would support afamily in Coniston for several months; to arrangements for visits, duringwhich there were to be theatre-parties and dances and other gaieties. Cynthia could not help wondering, as she listened in silence to thistalk, whether Uncle Jethro had done wisely in sending her to MissSadler's; whether she would not have been far happier if she had neverknown about such things. 

Then came the last day of school, which began with leave-takings andembraces. There were not many who embraced Cynthia, though, had she knownit, this was largely her own fault. Poor Cynthia! how was she to know it?Many more of them than she imagined would have liked to embrace her hadthey believed that the embrace would be returned. Secretly they had grownto admire this strange, dark girl, who was too proud to bend for the goodopinion of any one--even of Miss Sally Broke. Once during the termCynthia had held some of them--in the hollow of her hand, and hadincurred the severe displeasure of Miss Sadler by refusing to tell whatshe knew of certain mischief-makers. 

Now, Miss Sadler was going about among them in the school parlor sayinggood-by, sending particular remembrance to such of the fathers andmothers as she thought worthy of that honor; kissing some, shaking, handswith all. It was then that a dramatic incident occurred--dramatic for agirls' school, at least. Cynthia deliberately turned her back on MissSadler and looked out of the window. The chatter in the room was hushed, and for a moment a dangerous wrath flamed in Miss Sadler's eyes. Then shepassed on with a smile, to send most particular messages to the mother ofMiss Isabel Burrage. 

Some few moments afterward Cynthia felt a touch on her arm, and turned tofind herself confronted by Miss Sally Broke. Unfortunately there is notmuch room for Miss Broke in this story, although she may appear inanother one yet to be written. She was extremely good-looking, with realgolden hair and mischievous blue eyes. She was, in brief, the leader ofMiss Sadler's school. 

"Cynthia, " she said, "I was rude to you when you first came here, and I'msorry for it. I want to beg your pardon. " And she held out her hand. 

There was a moment's suspense for those watching to see if Cynthia wouldtake it. She did take it. 

"I'm sorry, too, " said Cynthia, simply, "I couldn't see what I'd done tooffend you. Perhaps you'll explain now. "

Miss Broke blushed violently, and for an instant looked decidedlyuncomfortable. Then she burst into laughter, --merry, irresistiblelaughter that carried all before it. 

"I was a snob, that's all, " said she, "just a plain, low down snob. Youdon't understand what that means, because you're not one. " (Cynthia didunderstand, ) "But I like you, and I want you to be my friend. Perhapswhen I get to know you better, you will come home with me sometime for avisit. "

Go home with her for a visit to that house in Washington Square with thepicture gallery!

"I want to say that I'd give my head to have been able to turn my back onMiss Sadler as you did, " continued Miss Broke; "if you ever want afriend, remember Sally Broke. "

Some of Cynthia's trouble, at least, was mitigated by this episode; andMiss Broke having led the way, Miss Broke's followers came shyly, one byone, with proffers of friendship. To the good-hearted Merrill girls thewalk home that day was a kind of a triumphal march, a victory over MissSadler and a vindication of their friend. Mrs. Merrill, when she heard ofit, could not find it in her heart to reprove Cynthia. Miss Sadler hadgot her just deserts. But Miss Sadler was not a person who was likely toforget such an incident. Indeed, Mrs. Merrill half expected to receive anote before the holidays ended that Cynthia's presence was no longerdesired at the school. No such note came, however. 

If one had to be away from home on Christmas, there could surely be nobetter place to spend that day than in the Merrill household. Cynthiaremembers still, when that blessed season comes around, how each memberof the family vied with the others to make her happy; how they showeredpresents on her, and how they strove to include her in the laughter andjokes at the big family dinner. Mr. Merrill's brother was there with hiswife, and Mrs. Merrill's aunt and her husband, and two broods of cousins. It may be well to mention that the Merrill relations, like Sally Broke, had overcome their dislike for Cynthia. 

There were eatables from Coniston on that board. A turkey sent by Jethrofor which, Mr. Merrill declared, the table would have to be strengthened;a saddle of venison--Lem Hallowell having shot a deer on the mountain twoSundays before; and mince-meat made by Amanda Hatch herself. Otherpresents had come to Cynthia from the hills: a gorgeous copy of Mr. Longfellow's poems from Cousin Ephraim, and a gold locket from UncleJethro. This locket was the precise counterpart (had she but known it) ofa silver one bought at Mr. Judson's shop many years before, though theinscription "Cynthy, from Uncle Jethro, " was within. Into the other sideexactly fitted that daguerreotype of her mother which her father hadgiven her when he died. The locket had a gold chain with a clasp, andCynthia wore it hidden beneath her gown-too intimate a possession to beshown. 

There was still another and very mysterious present, this being a hugebox of roses, addressed to Miss Cynthia Wetherell, which was delivered onChristmas morning. If there had been a card, Susan Merrill wouldcertainly have found it. There was no card. There was much pretendedspeculation on the part of the Merrill girls as to the sender, slyreference to Cynthia's heightened color, and several attempts to pin onher dress a bunch of the flowers, and Susan declared that one of themwould look stunning in her hair. They were put on the dining-room tablein the centre of the wreath of holly, and under the mistletoe which hungfrom the chandelier. Whether Cynthia surreptitiously stole one has neverbeen discovered. 

So Christmas came and went: not altogether unhappily, deferring for a dayat least the knotty problems of life. Although Cynthia accepted thepresent of the roses with such magnificent unconcern, and would not makeso much as a guess as to who sent them, Mr. Robert Worthington wasfrequently in her thoughts. He had declared his intention of coming toMount Vernon Street as soon as the holidays ended, and had been cordiallyinvited by Susan to do so. Cynthia took the trouble to procure a Harvardcatalogue from the library, and discovered that he had many holidays yetto spend. She determined to write another letter, which he would find inhis rooms when he returned. Just what terrible prohibitory terms she wasto employ in that letter Cynthia could not decide in a moment, nor yet ina day, or a week. She went so far as to make several drafts, some ofwhich she destroyed for the fault of leniency, and others for that ofseverity. What was she to say to him? She had expended her arguments tono avail. She could wound him, indeed, and at length made up her mindthat this was the only resource left her, although she would therebywound herself more deeply. When she had arrived at this decision, thereremained still more than a week in which to compose the letter. 

On the morning after New Year's, when the family were assembled aroundthe breakfast table, Mrs. Merrill remarked that her husband wasneglecting a custom which had been his for many years. 

"Didn't the newspaper come, Stephen?" she asked. 

Mr. Merrill had read it. 

"Read it!" repeated his wife, in surprise, "you haven't been down longenough to read a column. "

"It was full of trash, " said Mr. Merrill, lightly, and began on his usualjokes with the girls. But Mrs. Merrill was troubled. She thought hisjokes not as hearty as they were wont to be, and disquieting surmises ofbusiness worries filled her mind. The fact that he beckoned her into hiswriting room as soon as breakfast was over did not tend to allay hersuspicions. He closed and locked the door after her, and taking the paperfrom a drawer in his desk bade her read a certain article in it. 

The article was an arraignment of Jethro Bass--and a terrible arraignmentindeed. Step by step it traced his career from the beginning, showingfirst of all how he had debauched his own town of Coniston; how, enlarging on the same methods, he had gradually extended his grip overthe county and finally over the state; how he had bought and sold men forhis own power and profit, deceived those who had trusted in him, corrupted governors and legislators, congressmen and senators, and evenjustices of the courts: how he had trafficked ruthlessly in theenterprises of the people. Instance upon instance was given, and men ofhigh prominence from whom he had received bribes were named, not theleast important of these being the Honorable Alva Hopkins of Gosport. 

Mrs. Merrill looked up from the paper in dismay. 

"It's copied from the Newcastle Guardian, " she said, for lack ofimmediate power to comment. "Isn't the Guardian the chief paper in thatstate?"

"Yes, Worthington's bought it, and he instigated the article, of course. I've been afraid of this for a long time, Carry, " said Mr. Merrill, pacing up and down. "There's a bigger fight than they've ever had comingon up there, and this is the first gun. Worthington, with Duncan behindhim, is trying to get possession of and consolidate all the railroads inthe western part of that state. If he succeeds, it will mean the end ofJethro's power. But he won't succeed. "

"Stephen, " said his wife, "do you mean to say that Jethro Bass will tryto defeat this consolidation simply to keep his power?"

"Well, my dear, " answered Mr. Merrill, still pacing, "two wrongs don'tmake a right, I admit. I've known these things a long time, and I'vethought about them a good deal. But I've had to run along with the tide, or give place to another man who would; and--and starve. "

Mrs. Merrill's eyes slowly filled with tears. 

"Stephen, " she began, "do you mean to say--?" There she stopped, utterlyunable to speak. He ceased his pacing and sat down beside her and tookher hand. 

"Yes, my dear, I mean to say I've submitted to these things. God knowswhether I've been right or wrong, but I have. I've often thought I'd behappier if I resigned my office as president of my road and became aclerk in a store. I don't attempt to excuse myself, Carry, but my sin hasbeen in holding on to my post. As long as I remain president I have tocope with things as I find them. "

Mr. Merrill spoke thickly, for the sight of his wife's tears wrung hisheart. 

"Stephen, " she said, "when we were first married and you were a districtsuperintendent, you used to tell me everything. "

Stephen Merrill was a man, and a good man, as men go. How was he to tellher the degrees by which he had been led into his present situation? Howwas he to explain that these degrees had been so gradual that hisconscience had had but a passing wrench here and there? Politics beingwhat they were, progress and protection had to be obtained in accordancewith them, and there was a duty to the holders of bonds and stocks. 

His wife had a question on her lips, a question for which she had tosummon all her courage. She chose that form for it which would hurt himleast. 

"Mr. Worthington is going to try to change these things?"

Mr. Merrill roused himself at the words, and his eyes flashed. He becamea different man. 

"Change them!" he cried bitterly, "change them for the worse, if he can. He will try to wrest the power from Jethro Bass. I don't defend him. Idon't defend myself. But I like Jethro Bass. I won't deny it. He's human, and I like him, and whatever they say about him I know that he's been atrue friend to me. And I tell you as I hope for happiness here andhereafter, that if Worthington succeeds in what he is trying to do, ifthe railroads win in this fight, there will be no mercy for the people ofthat state. I'm a railroad man myself, though I have no interest in thisaffair. My turn may come later. Will come later, I suppose. Isaac D. Worthington has a very little heart or soul or mercy himself; but thecorporation which he means to set up will have none at all. It will grindthe people and debase them and clog their progress a hundred times morethan Jethro Bass has done. Mark my words, Carry. I'm running ahead of thetimes a little, but I can see it all as clearly as if it existed now. "

Mrs. Merrill went about her duties that morning with a heavy heart, andmore than once she paused to wipe away a tear that would have fallen onthe linen she was sorting. At eleven o'clock the doorbell rang, and Ellenappeared at the entrance to the linen closet with a card in her hand. Mrs. Merrill looked at it with a, flurry of surprise. It read:--

 MISS LUCRETIA PENNIMAN

 The Woman's Hour

CHAPTER X

It was certainly affinity that led Miss Lucretia to choose the rosewoodsofa of a bygone age, which was covered with horsehair. Miss Lucretia'sfeatures seemed to be constructed on a larger and more generous principlethan those of women are nowadays. Her face was longer. With her curls andher bonnet and her bombazine, --which she wore in all seasons, --she was incomplete harmony with the sofa. She had thrown aside the storm cloakwhich had become so familiar to pedestrians in certain parts of Boston. 

"My dear Miss Penniman, " said Mrs. Merrill, "I am delighted and honored. I scarcely hoped for such a pleasure. I have so long admired you and yourwork, and I have heard Cynthia speak of you so kindly. "

"It is very good of you to say so, Mrs. Merrill" answered Miss Lucretia, in her full, deep voice. It was by no means an unpleasant voice. Shesettled herself, though she sat quite upright, in the geometrical centreof the horsehair sofa, and cleared her throat. "To be quite honest withyou, Mrs. Merrill, " she continued, "I came upon particular errand, thoughI believe it would not be a perversion of the truth if I were to add thatI have had for a month past every intention of paying you a friendlycall. "

Good Mrs. Merrill's breath was a little taken away by this extremelyscrupulous speech. She also began to feel a misgiving about the cause ofthe visit, but she managed to say something polite in reply. 

"I have come about Cynthia, " announced Miss Lucretia, without furtherpreliminaries. 

"About Cynthia?" faltered Mrs. Merrill. 

Miss Lucretia opened a reticule at her waist and drew forth a newspaperclipping, which she unfolded and handed to Mrs. Merrill. 

"Have you seen this?" she demanded. 

Mrs. Merrill took it, although she guessed very well what it was, glancedat it with a shudder, and handed it back. 

"Yes, I have read it, " she said. 

"I have come to ask you, Mrs. Merrill" said Miss Lucretia, "if it istrue. "

Here was a question, indeed, for the poor lady to answer! But Mrs. Merrill was no coward. 

"It is partly true, I believe. "

"Partly?" said Miss Lucretia, sharply. 

"Yes, partly, " said Mrs. Merrill, rousing herself for the trial; "I havenever yet seen a newspaper article which was wholly true. "

"That is because newspapers are not edited by women, " observed MissLucretia. "What I wish you to tell me, Mrs. Merrill, is this: how much ofthat article is true, and how much of it is false?"

"Really, Miss Penniman, " replied Mrs. Merrill, with spirit, "I don't seewhy you should expect me to know. "

"A woman should take an intelligent interest in her husband's affairs, Mrs. Merrill. I have long advocated it as an entering wedge. "

"An entering wedge!" exclaimed Mrs. Merrill, who had never read a page ofthe Woman's Hour. 

"Yes. Your husband is the president of a railroad, I believe, which islargely in that state. I should like to ask him whether these statementsare true in the main. Whether this Jethro Bass is the kind of man theydeclare him to be. "

Mrs. Merrill was in a worse quandary than ever. Her own spirits were nonetoo good, and Miss Lucretia's eye, in its search for truth, seemed topierce into her very soul. There was no evading that eye. But Mrs. Merrill did what few people would have had the courage or good sense todo. 

"That is a political article, Miss Penniman, " she said, "inspired by abitter enemy of Jethro Bass, Mr, Worthington, who has bought thenewspaper from which it was copied. For that reason, I was right insaying that it is partly true. You nor I, Miss Penniman, must not be thejudges of any man or woman, for we know nothing of their problems ortemptations. God will judge them. We can only say that they have actedrightly or wrongly according to the light that is in us. You will find itdifficult to get a judgment of Jethro Bass that is not a partisanjudgment, and yet I believe that that article is in the main a history ofthe life of Jethro Bass. A partisan history, but still a history. He hasunquestionably committed many of the acts of which he is accused. "

Here was talk to make the author of the "Hymn to Coniston" sit up, if shehadn't been sitting up already. 

"And don't you condemn him for those acts?" she gasped. 

"Ah, " said Mrs. Merrill, thinking of her own husband. Yesterday she wouldcertainly have condemned. Jethro Bass. But now! "I do not condemnanybody, Miss Penniman. "

Miss Lucretia thought this extraordinary, to say the least. 

"I will put the question in another way, Mrs. Merrill, " said she. "Do youthink this Jethro Bass a proper guardian for Cynthia Wetherell?"

To her amazement Mrs. Merrill did not give her an instantaneous answer tothis question. Mrs. Merrill was thinking of Jethro's love for the girl, manifold evidences of which she had seen, and her heart was filled with amelting pity. It was such a love, Mrs. Merrill knew, as is not given tomany here below. And there was Cynthia's love for him. Mrs. Merrill hadsuffered that morning thinking of this tragedy also. 

"I do not think he is a proper guardian for her, Miss Penniman. "

It was then that the tears came to Mrs. Merrill's eyes for there is alimit to all human endurance. The sight of these caused a remarkablechange in Miss Lucretia, and she leaned forward and seized Mrs. Merrill'sarm. 

"My dear, " she cried, "my dear, what are we to do? Cynthia can't go backto that man. She loves him, I know, she loves him as few girls arecapable of loving. But when she, finds out what he is! When she finds outhow he got the money to support her father!" Miss Lucretia fumbled in herreticule and drew forth a handkerchief and brushed her own eyes--eyeswhich a moment ago were so piercing. "I have seen many young women, " shecontinued; "but I have known very few who were made of as fine a fibreand who have such principles as Cynthia Wetherell. "

"That is very true, " assented Mrs. Merrill too much cast down to beamazed by this revelation of Miss Lucretia's weakness. 

"But what are we to do?" insisted that lady; "who is to tell her what heis? How is it to be kept from her, indeed?"

"Yes, " said Mrs. Merrill, "there will be more, articles. Mr. Merrill saysso. It seems there is to be a great political struggle in that state. "

"Precisely, " said Miss Lucretia, sadly. "And whoever tells the girl willforfeit her friendship. I--I am very fond of her, " and here she appliedagain to the reticule. 

"Whom would she believe?" asked Mrs. Merrill, whose estimation of MissLucretia was increasing by leaps and bounds. 

"Precisely, " agreed Miss Lucretia. "But she must hear about it sometime. "

"Wouldn't it be better to let her hear?" suggested Mrs. Merrill; "wecannot very well soften that shock: I talked the matter over a littlewith Mr. Merrill, and he thinks that we must take time over it, MissPenniman. Whatever we do, we must not act hastily. "

"Well, " said Miss Lucretia, "as I said, I am very fond of the girl, and Iam willing to do my duty, whatever it may be. And I also wished to say, Mrs. Merrill, that I have thought about another matter very carefully. Iam willing to provide for the girl. I am getting too old to live alone. Iam getting too old, indeed, to do my work properly, as I used to do it. Ishould like to have her to live with me. "

"She has become as one of my own daughters, " said Mrs. Merrill. Yet sheknew that this offer of Miss Lucretia's was not one to be lightly setaside, and that it might eventually be the best solution of the problem. After some further earnest discussion it was agreed between them that thematter was, if possible, to be kept from Cynthia for the present, andwhen Miss Lucretia departed Mrs. Merrill promised her an early return ofher call. 

Mrs. Merrill had another talk with her husband, which lasted far into thenight. This talk was about Cynthia alone, and the sorrow which threatenedher. These good people knew that it would be no light thing to break thefaith of such as she, and they made her troubles their own. 

Cynthia little guessed as she exchanged raillery with Mr. Merrill thenext morning that he had risen fifteen minutes earlier than usual tosearch his newspaper through. He would read no more at breakfast, so hedeclared in answer to his daughters' comments; it was a bad habit whichdid not agree with his digestion. It was something new for Mr. Merrill tohave trouble with his digestion. 

There was another and scarcely less serious phase of the situation whichMr. And Mrs. Merrill had yet to discuss between them--a phase of whichMiss Lucretia Penniman knew nothing. 

The day before Miss Sadler's school was to reopen nearly a week beforethe Harvard term was to commence--a raging, wet snowstorm came chargingin from the Atlantic. Snow had no terrors for a Coniston person, andCynthia had been for her walk. Returning about five o'clock, she wassurprised to have the door opened for her by Susan herself. 

"What a picture you are in those furs!" she cried, with an intentionwhich for the moment was lost upon Cynthia. "I thought you would nevercome. You must have walked to Dedham this time. Who do you think is here?Mr. Worthington. "

"Mr. Worthington!"

"I have been trying to entertain him, but I am afraid I have been a verypoor substitute. However, I have persuaded him to stay for supper. "

"It needed but little persuasion, " said Bob, appearing in the doorway. All the snowstorms of the wide Atlantic could not have brought such colorto her cheeks. Cynthia, for all her confusion at the meeting, had notlost her faculty of observation. He seemed to have changed again, evenduring the brief time he had been absent. His tone was grave. 

"He needs to be cheered up, Cynthia, " Susan went on, as though readingher thoughts. "I have done my best, without success. He won't confess tome that he has come back to make up some of his courses. I don't mindowning that I've got to finish a theme to be handed in tomorrow. "

With these words Susan departed, and left them standing in the halltogether. Bob took hold of Cynthia's jacket and helped her off with it. He could read neither pleasure nor displeasure in her face, though hesearched it anxiously enough. It was she who led the way into the parlorand seated herself, as before, on one of the uncompromising, straight-backed chairs. Whatever inward tremors the surprise of thisvisit had given her, she looked at him clearly and steadily, completelymistress of herself, as ever. 

"I thought your holidays did not end until next week, " she said. 

"They do not. "

"Then why are you here?"

"Because I could not stay away, Cynthia, " he answered. It was not themanner in which he would have said it a month ago. There was a note ofintense earnestness in his voice--now, and to it she could make no lightreply. Confronted again with an unexpected situation, she could notdecide at once upon a line of action. 

"When did you leave Brampton?" she asked, to gain time. But with thewords her thoughts flew to the hill country. 

"This morning, " he said, "on the early train. They have three feet ofsnow up there. " He, too, seemed glad of a respite from something. "They're having a great fuss in Brampton about a new teacher for thevillage school. Miss Goddard has got married. Did you know Miss Goddard, the lanky one with the glasses?"

"Yes, " said Cynthia, beginning to be amused at the turn the conversationwas taking. 

"Well, they can't find anybody smart enough to replace Miss Goddard. OldEzra Graves, who's on the prudential committee, told Ephraim they oughtto get you. I was in the post-office when they were talking about it. Just see what a reputation for learning you have in Brampton!"

Cynthia was plainly pleased by the compliment. 

"How is Cousin Eph?" she asked. 

"Happy as a lark, " said Bob, "the greatest living authority in NewEngland on the Civil War. He's made the post-office the most popularsocial club I ever saw. If anybody's missing in Brampton, you can nearlyalways find them in the post-office. But I smiled at the notion of yourbeing a school ma'am. "

"I don't see anything so funny about it, " replied Cynthia, smiling too. "Why shouldn't I be? I should like it. "

"You were made for something different, " he answered quietly. 

It was a subject she did not choose to discuss with him, and dropped herlashes before the plainly spoken admiration in his eyes. So a silencefell between them, broken only by the ticking of the agate clock on themantel and the music of sleigh-bells in a distant street. Presently thesleigh-bells died away, and it seemed to Cynthia that the sound of herown heartbeats must be louder than the ticking of the clock. Her tact hadsuddenly deserted her; without reason, and she did not dare to glanceagain at Bob as he sat under the lamp. That minute--for it was a fullminute--was charged with a presage which she could not grasp. Cynthia'sinstincts were very keen. She understood, of course, that he had cutshort his holiday to come to see her, and she might have dealt with himhad that been all. But--through that sixth sense with which some womenare endowed--she knew that something troubled him. He, too, had never yetbeen at a loss for words. 

The silence forced him to speak first, and he tried to restore the lighttone to the conversation. 

"Cousin Ephraim gave me a piece of news, " he said. "Ezra Graves got it, too. He told us you were down in Boston at a fashionable school. CousinEphraim knows a thing or two. He says he always callated you were cut outfor a fine lady. "

"Bob, " said Cynthia, nerving herself for the ordeal, "did you tell CousinEphraim you had seen me?"

"I told him and Ezra that I had been a constant and welcome visitor atthis house. "

"Did, you tell your father that you had seen me?"

This was too serious a question to avoid. 

"No, I did not. There was no reason why I should have. "

"There was every reason, " said Cynthia, "and you know it. Did you tellhim why you came to Boston to-day?"

"No. "

"Why does he think you came?"

"He doesn't think anything about it, " said Bob. "He went off to Chicagoyesterday to attend a meeting of the board of directors of a westernrailroad. "

"And so, " she said reproachfully, "you slipped off as soon as his backwas turned. I would not have believed that of you, Bob. Do you think thatwas fair to him or me?"

Bob Worthington sprang to his feet and stood over her. She had spoken toa boy, but she had aroused a man, and she felt an amazing thrill at theresult. The muscles in his face tightened, and deepened the lines abouthis mouth, and a fire was lighted about his eyes. 

"Cynthia, " he said slowly, "even you shall not speak to me like that. IfI had believed it were right, if I had believed that it would have doneany good to you or me, I should have told my father the moment I got toBrampton. In affairs of this kind--in a matter of so much importance inmy life, " he continued, choosing his words carefully, "I am likely toknow whether I am doing right or wrong. If my mother were alive, I amsure that she would approve of this--this friendship. "

Having got so far, he paused. Cynthia felt that she was trembling, asthough the force and feeling that was in him had charged her also. 

"I did not intend to come so soon, " he went on, "but--I had a reason forcoming. I knew that you did not want me. "

"You know that that is not true, Bob, " she faltered. His next wordsbrought her to her feet. 

"Cynthia, " he said, in a voice shaken by the intensity of his passion, "Icame because I love you better than all the world--because I always willlove you so. I came to protect you, and care for you whatever happens. Idid not mean to tell you so, now. But it cannot matter, Cynthia!"

He seized her, roughly indeed, in his arms, but his very roughness was aproof of the intensity of his love. For an instant she lay palpitatingagainst him, and as long as he lives he will remember the first exquisitetouch of her firm but supple figure and the marvellous communion of herlips. A current from the great store that was in her, pent up and allunknown, ran through him, and then she had struggled out of his arms andfled, leaving him standing alone in the parlor. 

It is true that such things happen, and no man or woman may foretell theday or the hour thereof. Cynthia fled up the stairs, miraculouslyarriving unnoticed at her own room, and locked the door and flung herselfon the bed. 

Tears came--tears of shame, of joy, of sorrow, of rejoicing, of regret;tears that burned, and yet relieved her, tears that pained while theycomforted. Had she sinned beyond the pardon of heaven, or had shecommitted a supreme act of right? One moment she gloried in it, and thenext upbraided herself bitterly. Her heart beat with tumult, and againseemed to stop. Such, though the words but faintly describe them, wereher feelings, for thoughts were still to emerge out of chaos. Love comeslike a flame to few women, but so it came to Cynthia Wetherell, andburned out for a while all reason. 

Only for a while. Generations which had practised self-restraint werestrong in her--generations accustomed, too, to thinking out, so far as inthem lay, the logical consequences of their acts; generations ashamed ofthese very instants when nature has chosen to take command. After a timehad passed, during which the world might have shuffled from its course, Cynthia sat up in the darkness. How was she ever to face the light again?Reason had returned. 

So she sat for another space, and thought of what she had done--thoughtwith a surprising calmness now which astonished her. Then she thought ofwhat she would do, for there was an ordeal still to be gone through. Although she shrank from it, she no longer lacked the courage to endureit. Certain facts began to stand out clearly from the confusion. Theleast important and most immediate of these was that she would have toface him, and incidentally face the world in the shape of the Merrillfamily, at supper. She rose mechanically and lighted the gas and bathedher face and changed her gown. Then she heard Susan's voice at the door. 

"Cynthia, what in the world are you doing?"

Cynthia opened the door and the sisters entered. Was it possible thatthey did not read her terrible secret in her face? Apparently not. Susanwas busy commenting on the qualities and peculiarities of Mr. RobertWorthington, and showering upon Cynthia a hundred questions which sheanswered she knew not how; but neither Susan nor Jane, wonderful as itmay seem, betrayed any suspicion. Did he send the flowers? Cynthia hadnot asked him. Did he want to know whether she read the newspapers? Hehad asked Susan that, before Cynthia came. Susan was ready to repeat thewhole of her conversation with him. Why did he seem so particular aboutnewspapers? Had he notions that girls ought not to read them?

The significance of Bob's remarks about newspapers was lost upon Cynthiathen. Not till afterward did she think of them, or connect them with hisunexpected visit. Then the supper bell rang, and they went downstairs. 

The reader will be spared Mr. Worthington's feelings after Cynthia lefthim, although they were intense enough, and absorbing and far-reachingenough. He sat down on a chair and buried his head in his hands. Hisimpulse had been to leave the house and return again on the morrow, buthe remembered that he had been asked to stay for supper, and that such aproceeding would cause comment. At length he got up and stood before thefire, his thoughts still above the clouds, and it was thus that Mr. Merrill found him when he entered. 

"Good evening, " said that gentleman, genially, not knowing in the leastwho Bob was, but prepossessed in his favor by the way he came forward andshook his hand and looked him clearly in the eye. 

"I'm Robert Worthington, Mr. Merrill" said he. 

"Eh!" Mr. Merrill gasped, "eh! Oh, certainly, how do you do, Mr. Worthington?" Mr. Merrill would have been polite to a tax collector or asheriff. He separated the office from the man, which ought not always tobe done. "I'm glad to see you, Mr. Worthington. Well, well, bad storm, isn't it? I had an idea the college didn't open until next week. "

"Mr. Worthington's going to stay for supper, Papa, " said Susan, entering. 

"Good!" cried Mr. Merrill. "Capital! You won't miss the old folks aftersupper, will you, girls? Your mother wants me to go to a whist party. "

"It can't be helped, Carry, " said Mr. Merrill to his wife, as they walkedup the hill to a neighbor's that evening. 

"He's in love with Cynthia, " said Mrs. Merrill, somewhat sadly; "it's asplain as the nose on your face, Stephen. "

"That isn't very plain. Suppose he is! You can dam a mountain stream, butyou can't prevent it reaching the sea, as we used to say when I was a boyin Edmundton. I like Bob, " said Mr. Merrill, with his usual weakness forChristian names, "and he isn't any more like Dudley Worthington than Iam. If you were to ask me, I'd say he couldn't do a better thing thanmarry Cynthia. "

"Stephen!" exclaimed Mrs. Merrill. But in her heart she thought so, too. "What will Mr. Worthington say when he hears the young man has beencoming to our house to see her?"

Mr. Merrill had been thinking of that very thing, but with more amusementthan concern. 

To return to Mr. Merrill's house, the three girls and the one young manwere seated around the fire, and their talk, Merrill as it had begun, wasbecoming minute by minute more stilted. This was largely the fault ofSusan, who would not be happy until she had taken Jane upstairs and leftMr. Worthington and Cynthia together. This matter had been arrangedbetween the sisters before supper. Susan found her opening at last, andupbraided Jane for her unfinished theme; Jane, having learned her lessonwell, accused Susan. But Cynthia, who saw through the ruse, declared thatboth themes were finished. Susan, naturally indignant at suchingratitude, denied this. The manoeuvre, in short, was executed veryclumsily and very obviously, but executed nevertheless--the sistersmarching out of the room under a fire of protests. The reader, too, willno doubt think it a very obvious manoeuvre, but some things are managedbadly in life as well as in books. 

Cynthia and Bob were left alone: left, moreover, in mortal terror of eachother. It is comparatively easy to open the door of a room and rush intoa lady's arms if the lady be willing and alone. But to be abandoned, asSusan had abandoned them, and with such obvious intent, creates quite adifferent atmosphere. Bob had dared to hope for such an opportunity: hadmade up his mind during supper, while striving to be agreeable, just whathe would do if the opportunity came. Instead, all he could do was to sitfoolishly in his chair and look at the coals, not so much as venturing toturn his head until the sound of footsteps had died away on the upperfloors. It was Cynthia who broke the silence and took command--a verydifferent Cynthia from the girl who had thrown herself on the bed notthree hours before. She did not look at him, but stared withdetermination into the fire. 

"Bob, you must go, " she said. 

"Go!" he cried. Her voice loosed the fetters of his passion, and he daredto seize the band that lay on the arm of her chair. She did not resistthis. 

"Yes, you must go. You should not have stayed for supper. "

"Cynthia, " he said, "how can I leave you? I will not leave you. "

"But you can and must, " she replied. 

"Why?" he asked, looking at her in dismay. 

"You know the reason, " she answered. 

"Know it?" he cried. "I know why I should stay. I know that I love youwith my whole heart and soul. I know that I love you as few men have everloved--and that you are the one woman among millions who can inspire sucha love. "

"No, Bob, no, " she said, striving hard to keep her head, withdrawing herhand that it might not betray the treason of her lips. Aware, strange asit may seem, of the absurdity of the source of what she was to say, for atrace of a smile was about her mouth as she gazed at the coals. "You willget over this. You are not yet out of college, and many such fancieshappen there. "

For the moment he was incapable of speaking, incapable of finding ananswer sufficiently emphatic. How was he to tell her of the rocks uponwhich his love was built?

How was he to declare that the very perils which threatened her had madea man of him, with all of a man's yearning to share these perils andshield her from them? How was he to speak at all of those perils? He didnot declaim, yet when he spoke, an enduring sincerity which she could notdeny was in his voice. 

"You know in your heart that what you say is not true, Cynthia. Whateverhappens, I shall always love you. "

Whatever happens: She shuddered at the words, reminding her as they didof all her vague misgivings and fears. 

"Whatever happens!" she found herself repeating them involuntarily. 

"Yes, whatever happens I will love you truly and faithfully. I will neverdesert you, never deny you, as long as I live. And you love me, Cynthia, "he cried, "you love me, I know it. "

"No, no, " she answered, her breath coming fast. He was on his feet now, dangerously near her, and she rose swiftly to avoid him. 

She turned her head, that he might not read the denial in her eyes; andyet had to look at him again, for he was coming toward her quickly. "Don't touch me, " she said, "don't touch me. "

He stopped, and looked at her so pitifully that she could scarce keepback her tears. 

"You do love me, " he repeated. 

So they stood for a moment, while Cynthia made a supreme effort to speakcalmly. 

"Listen, Bob, " she said at last, "if you ever wish to see me again, youmust do as I say. You must write to your father, and tell him what youhave done and--and what you wish to do. You may come to me and tell mehis answer, but you must not come to me before. " She would have saidmore, but her strength was almost gone. Yes, and more would have implieda promise or a concession. She would not bind herself even by a hint. Butof this she was sure: that she would not be the means of wrecking hisopportunities. "And now--you must go. "

He stayed where he was, though his blood leaped within him, hisadmiration and respect for the girl outran his passion. RobertWorthington was a gentleman. 

"I will do as you say, Cynthia, " he answered, "but I am doing it for you. Whatever my father's reply may be will not change my love or myintentions. For I am determined that you shall be my wife. "

With these words, and one long, lingering look, he turned and left her. He had lacked the courage to speak of his father's bitterness andanimosity. Who will blame him? Cynthia thought none the less of him fornot telling her. There was, indeed, no need now to describe DudleyWorthington's feelings. 

When the door had closed she stoke to the window, and listened to hisfootfalls in the snow until she heard them no more.