diff options
Diffstat (limited to '3766-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 3766-h/3766-h.htm | 24410 |
1 files changed, 24410 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/3766-h/3766-h.htm b/3766-h/3766-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..01167c6 --- /dev/null +++ b/3766-h/3766-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,24410 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Coniston, by Winston Churchill + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Coniston, Complete, by Winston Churchill +[Author is the American Winston Churchill not the British] + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Coniston, Complete + +Author: Winston Churchill + +Release Date: October 6, 2006 [EBook #3766] +Last Updated: February 26, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONISTON, COMPLETE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <h1> + CONISTON + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Winston Churchill<br /> <br /> + </h2> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “We have been compelled to see what was weak in democracy as well as + what was strong. We have begun obscurely to recognize that things + do not go of themselves, and that popular government is not in + itself a panacea, is no better than any other form except as the + virtue and wisdom of the people make it so, and that when men + undertake to do their own kingship, they enter upon, the dangers and + responsibilities as well as the privileges of the function. Above + all, it looks as if we were on the way to be persuaded that no + government can be carried on by declamation.” + + —JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>CONISTON</b> </a><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>BOOK I</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> <b>BOOK 2.</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> <b>BOOK III</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> <b>BOOK IV</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> AFTERWORD </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + CONISTON + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK I + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + First I am to write a love-story of long ago, of a time some little while + after General Jackson had got into the White House and had shown the world + what a real democracy was. The Era of the first six Presidents had closed, + and a new Era had begun. I am speaking of political Eras. Certain + gentlemen, with a pious belief in democracy, but with a firmer + determination to get on top, arose,—and got in top. So many of these + gentlemen arose in the different states, and they were so clever, and they + found so many chinks in the Constitution to crawl through and steal the + people's chestnuts, that the Era may be called the Boss-Era. After the + Boss came along certain Things without souls, but of many minds, and found + more chinks in the Constitution: bigger chinks, for the Things were + bigger, and they stole more chestnuts. But I am getting far ahead of my + love-story—and of my book. + </p> + <p> + The reader is warned that this first love-story will, in a few chapters, + come to an end: and not to a happy end—otherwise there would be no + book. Lest he should throw the book away when he arrives at this page, it + is only fair to tell him that there is another and a much longer love + story later on, if he will only continue to read, in which, it is hoped, + he may not be disappointed. + </p> + <p> + The hills seem to leap up against the sky as I describe that region where + Cynthia Ware was born, and the very old country names help to summon up + the picture. Coniston Mountain, called by some the Blue Mountain, clad in + Hercynian forests, ten good miles in length, north and south, with its + notch road that winds over the saddle behind the withers of it. Coniston + Water, that oozes out from under the loam in a hundred places, on the + eastern slope, gathers into a rushing stream to cleave the very granite, + flows southward around the south end of Coniston Mountain, and having + turned the mills at Brampton, idles through meadows westward in its own + green valley until it comes to Harwich, where it works again and tumbles + into a river. Brampton and Harwich are rivals, but Coniston Water gives of + its power impartially to each. From the little farm clearings on the + western slope of Coniston Mountain you can sweep the broad valley of a + certain broad river where grew (and grow still) the giant pines that gave + many a mast to King George's navy as tribute for the land. And beyond that + river rises beautiful Farewell Mountain of many colors, now sapphire, now + amethyst, its crest rimmed about at evening with saffron flame; and, + beyond Farewell, the emerald billows of the western peaks catching the + level light. A dozen little brooks are born high among the western spruces + on Coniston to score deep, cool valleys in their way through Clovelly + township to the broad music of the water and fresh river-valleys full of + the music of the water and fresh with the odor of the ferns. + </p> + <p> + To this day the railroad has not reached Coniston Village—nay, nor + Coniston Flat, four miles nearer Brampton. The village lies on its own + little shelf under the forest-clad slope of the mountain, and in the midst + of its dozen houses is the green triangle where the militia used to drill + on June days. At one end of the triangle is the great pine mast that + graced no frigate of George's, but flew the stars and stripes on many a + liberty day. Across the road is Jonah Winch's store, with a platform so + high that a man may step off his horse directly on to it; with its + checker-paned windows, with its dark interior smelling of coffee and + apples and molasses, yes, and of Endea rum—for this was before the + days of the revivals. + </p> + <p> + How those checker-paned windows bring back the picture of that village + green! The meeting-house has them, lantern-like, wide and high, in three + sashes—white meeting-house, seat alike of government and religion, + with its terraced steeple, with its classic porches north and south. + Behind it is the long shed, and in front, rising out of the milkweed and + the flowering thistle, the horse block of the first meeting-house, where + many a pillion has left its burden in times bygone. Honest Jock Hallowell + built that second meeting-house—was, indeed, still building it at + the time of which we write. He had hewn every beam and king post in it, + and set every plate and slip. And Jock Hallowell is the man who, + unwittingly starts this chronicle. + </p> + <p> + At noon, on one of those madcap April days of that Coniston country, Jock + descended from his work on the steeple to perceive the ungainly figure of + Jethro Bass coming toward him across the green. Jethro was about thirty + years of age, and he wore a coonskin cap even in those days, and trousers + tacked into his boots. He carried his big head bent forward, a little to + one aide, and was not, at first sight, a prepossessing-looking person. As + our story largely concerns him and we must get started somehow, it may as + well be to fix a little attention on him. + </p> + <p> + “Heigho!” said Jock, rubbing his hands on his leather apron. + </p> + <p> + “H-how be you, Jock?” said Jethro, stopping. + </p> + <p> + “Heigho!” cried Jock, “what's this game of fox and geese you're a-playin' + among the farmers?” + </p> + <p> + “C-callate to git the steeple done before frost?” inquired Jethro, without + so much as a smile. “B-build it tight, Jock—b-build it tight.” + </p> + <p> + “Guess he'll build his'n tight, whatever it is,” said Jock, looking after + him as Jethro made his way to the little tannery near by. + </p> + <p> + Let it be known that there was such a thing as social rank in Coniston; + and something which, for the sake of an advantageous parallel, we may call + an Established Church. Coniston was a Congregational town still, and the + deacons and dignitaries of that church were likewise the pillars of the + state. Not many years before the time of which we write actual + disestablishment had occurred, when the town ceased—as a town—to + pay the salary of Priest Ware, as the minister was called. The father of + Jethro Bass, Nathan the currier, had once, in a youthful lapse, permitted + a Baptist preacher to immerse him in Coniston Water. This had been the + extent of Nathan's religion; Jethro had none at all, and was, for this and + other reasons, somewhere near the bottom of the social scale. + </p> + <p> + “Fox and geese!” repeated Jock, with his eyes still on Jethro's retreating + back. The builder of the meetinghouse rubbed a great, brown arm, scratched + his head, and turned and came face to face with Cynthia Ware, in a poke + bonnet. + </p> + <p> + Contrast is a favorite trick of authors, and no greater contrast is to be + had in Coniston than that between Cynthia Ware and Jethro Bass. In the + first place; Cynthia was the minister's daughter, and twenty-one. I can + summon her now under the great maples of the village street, a virginal + figure, gray eyes that kindled the face shaded by the poke bonnet, and up + you went above the clouds. + </p> + <p> + “What about fox and geese, Jock?” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro Bass,” said Jock, who, by reason of his ability, was a privileged + character. “Mark my words, Cynthy, Jethro Bass is an all-fired sight + smarter that folks in this town think he be. They don't take notice of + him, because he don't say much, and stutters. He hain't be'n eddicated a + great deal, but I wouldn't be afeard to warrant he'd make a racket in the + world some of these days.” + </p> + <p> + “Jock Hallowell!” cried Cynthia, the gray beginning to dance, “I suppose + you think Jethro's going to be President.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Jock, “you can laugh. Ever talked with Jethro?” + </p> + <p> + “I've hardly spoken two words to him in my life,” she replied. And it was + true, although the little white parsonage was scarce two hundred yards + from the tannery house. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro's never ailed much,” Jock remarked, having reference to Cynthia's + proclivities for visiting the sick. “I've seed a good many different men + in my time, and I tell you, Cynthia Ware, that Jethro's got a kind of + power you don't often come acrost. Folks don't suspicion it.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of herself, Cynthia was impressed by the ring of sincerity in the + builder's voice. Now that she thought of it, there was rugged power in + Jethro's face, especially when he took off the coonskin cap. She always + nodded a greeting when she saw him in the tannery yard or on the road, and + sometimes he nodded back, but oftener he had not appeared to see her. She + had thought this failure to nod stupidity, but it might after all be + abstraction. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think he has ability?” she asked, picking flowers from a + bunch of arbutus she held. + </p> + <p> + “He's rich, for one thing,” said Jock. He had not intended a dissertation + on Jethro Bass, but he felt bound to defend his statements. + </p> + <p> + “Rich!” + </p> + <p> + “Wal, he hain't poor. He's got as many as thirty mortgages round among the + farmers—some on land, and some on cattle.” + </p> + <p> + “How did he make the money?” demanded Cynthia, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Hides an' wool an' bark—turned 'em over an' swep' in. Gits a load, + and Lyman Hull drives him down to Boston with that six-hoss team. Lyman + gits drunk, Jethro keeps sober and saves.” + </p> + <p> + Jock began to fashion some wooden pegs with his adze, for nails were + scarce in those days. Still Cynthia lingered, picking flowers from the + bunch. + </p> + <p> + “What did you mean by 'fox and geese' Jock?” she said presently. + </p> + <p> + Jock laughed. He did not belong to the Establishment, but was a + Universalist; politically he admired General Jackson. “What'd you say if + Jethro was Chairman of the next Board of Selectmen?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + No wonder Cynthia gasped. Jethro Bass, Chairman of the Board, in the + honored seat of Deacon Moses Hatch, the perquisite of the church in + Coniston! The idea was heresy. As a matter of fact, Jock himself uttered + it as a playful exaggeration. Certain nonconformist farmers, of whom there + were not a few in the town, had come into Jonah Winch's store that + morning; and Jabez Miller, who lived on the north slope, had taken away + the breath of the orthodox by suggesting that Jethro Bass be nominated for + town office. Jock Hallowell had paused once or twice on his work on the + steeple to look across the tree-tops at Coniston shouldering the sky. He + had been putting two and two together, and now he was merely making five + out of it, instead of four. He remembered that Jethro Bass had for some + years been journeying through the town, baying his hides and wool, and + collecting the interest on his mortgages. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia would have liked to reprove Jock Hallowell, and tell him there + were some subjects which should not be joked about. Jethro Bass, Chairman + of the Board of Selectmen! + </p> + <p> + “Well, here comes, young Moses, I do believe,” said Jock, gathering his + pegs into his apron and preparing to ascend once more. “Callated he'd + spring up pretty soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Jock, you do talk foolishly for a man who is able to build a church,” + said Cynthia, as she walked away. The young Moses referred to was Moses + Hatch, Junior, son of the pillar of the Church and State, and it was an + open secret that he was madly in love with Cynthia. Let it be said of him + that he was a steady-going young man, and that he sighed for the moon. + </p> + <p> + “Moses,” said the girl, when they came in sight of the elms that, shaded + the gable of the parsonage, “what do you think of Jethro Bass?” + </p> + <p> + “Jethro Bass!” exclaimed honest Moses, “whatever put him into your head, + Cynthy?” Had she mentioned perhaps, any other young man in Coniston, Moses + would have been eaten with jealousy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Jock was joking about him. What do you think of him?” + </p> + <p> + “Never thought one way or t'other,” he answered. “Jethro never had much to + do with the boys. He's always in that tannery, or out buyin' of hides. He + does make a sharp bargain when he buys a hide. We always goes shares on + our'n.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia was not only the minister's daughter,—distinction enough,—her + reputation for learning was spread through the country roundabout, and at + the age of twenty she had had an offer to teach school in Harwich. Once a + week in summer she went to Brampton, to the Social library there, and sat + at the feet of that Miss Lucretia Penniman of whom Brampton has ever been + so proud—Lucretia Penniman, one of the first to sound the clarion + note for the intellectual independence of American women; who wrote the + “Hymn to Coniston”; who, to the awe of her townspeople, went out into the + great world and became editress of a famous woman's journal, and knew + Longfellow and Hawthorne and Bryant. Miss Lucretia it was who started the + Brampton Social Library, and filled it with such books as both sexes might + read with profit. Never was there a stricter index than hers. Cynthia, + Miss Lucretia loved, and the training of that mind was the pleasantest + task of her life. + </p> + <p> + Curiosity as a factor has never, perhaps, been given its proper weight by + philosophers. Besides being fatal to a certain domestic animal, as an + instigating force it has brought joy and sorrow into the lives of men and + women, and made and marred careers. And curiosity now laid hold of Cynthia + Ware. Why in the world she should ever have been curious about Jethro Bass + is a mystery to many, for the two of them were as far apart as the poles. + Cynthia, of all people, took to watching the tanner's son, and listening + to the brief colloquies he had with other men at Jonah Winch's store, when + she went there to buy things for the parsonage; and it seemed to her that + Jock had not been altogether wrong, and that there was in the man an + indefinable but very compelling force. And when a woman begins to admit + that a man has force, her curiosity usually increases. On one or two of + these occasions Cynthia had been startled to find his eyes fixed upon her, + and though the feeling she had was closely akin to fear, she found + something distinctly pleasurable in it. + </p> + <p> + May came, and the pools dried up, the orchards were pink and white, the + birches and the maples were all yellow-green on the mountain sides against + the dark pines, and Cynthia was driving the minister's gig to Brampton. + Ahead of her, in the canon made by the road between the great woods, + strode an uncouth but powerful figure—coonskin cap, homespun + breeches tucked into boots, and all. The gig slowed down, and Cynthia + began to tremble with that same delightful fear. She knew it must be + wicked, because she liked it so much. Unaccountable thing! She felt all + akin to the nature about her, and her blood was coursing as the sap rushes + through a tree. She would not speak to him; of that she was sure, and + equally sure that he would not speak to her. The horse was walking now, + and suddenly Jethro Bass faced around, and her heart stood still. + </p> + <p> + “H-how be you, Cynthy?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Jethro?” + </p> + <p> + A thrush in the woods began to sing a hymn, and they listened. After that + a silence, save for the notes of answering birds quickened by the song, + the minister's horse nibbling at the bushes. Cynthia herself could not + have explained why she lingered. Suddenly he shot a question at her. + </p> + <p> + “Where be you goin'?” + </p> + <p> + “To Brampton, to get Miss Lucretia to change this book,” and she held it + up from her lap. It was a very large book. + </p> + <p> + “Wh-what's it about,” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Napoleon Bonaparte.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was be?” + </p> + <p> + “He was a very strong man. He began life poor and unknown, and fought his + way upward until he conquered the world.” + </p> + <p> + “C-conquered the world, did you say? Conquered the world?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro pondered. + </p> + <p> + “Guess there's somethin' wrong about that book—somethin' wrong. + Conquer the United States?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia smiled. She herself did not realize that we were not a part of the + world, then. + </p> + <p> + “He conquered Europe; where all the kings and queens are, and became a + king himself—an emperor.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to-know!” said Jethro. “You said he was a poor boy?” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you read the book, Jethro?” Cynthia answered. “I am sure I can + get Miss Lucretia to let you have it.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know as I'd understand it,” he demurred. + </p> + <p> + “I'll try to explain what you don't understand,” said Cynthia, and her + heart gave a bound at the very idea. + </p> + <p> + “Will You?” he said, looking at her eagerly. “Will you? You mean it?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” she answered, and blushed, not knowing why. “I-I must be + going,” and she gathered up the reins. + </p> + <p> + “When will you give it to me?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll stop at the tannery when I come back from Brampton,” she said, and + drove on. Once she gave a fleeting glance over her shoulder, and he was + still standing where she had left him. + </p> + <p> + When she returned, in the yellow afternoon light that flowed over wood and + pasture, he came out of the tannery door. Jake Wheeler or Speedy Bates, + the journeyman tailoress, from whom little escaped, could not have said it + was by design—thought nothing, indeed, of that part of it. + </p> + <p> + “As I live!” cried Speedy from the window to Aunt Lucy Prescott in the + bed, “if Cynthy ain't givin' him a book as big as the Bible!” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Lucy hoped, first, that it was the Bible, and second, that Jethro + would read it. Aunt Lucy, and Established Church Coniston in general, + believed in snatching brands from the burning, and who so deft as Cynthia + at this kind of snatching! So Cynthia herself was a hypocrite for once, + and did not know it. At that time Jethro's sins were mostly of omission. + As far as rum was concerned, he was a creature after Aunt Lucy's own + heart, for he never touched it: true, gaunt Deacon Ira Perkins, + tithing-man, had once chided him for breaking the Sabbath—shooting + at a fox. + </p> + <p> + To return to the book. As long as he lived, Jethro looked back to the joy + of the monumental task of mastering its contents. In his mind, Napoleon + became a rough Yankee general; of the cities, villages, and fortress he + formed as accurate a picture as a resident of Venice from Marco Polo's + account of Tartary. Jethro had learned to read, after a fashion, to write, + add, multiply, and divide. He knew that George Washington and certain + barefooted companions had forced a proud Britain to her knees, and much of + the warring in the book took color from Captain Timothy Prescott's stories + of General Stark and his campaigns, heard at Jonah Winch's store. What + Paris looked like, or Berlin, or the Hospice of St. Bernard—though + imaged by a winter Coniston—troubled Jethro not at all; the thing + that stuck in his mind was that Napoleon—for a considerable time, at + least—compelled men to do his bidding. Constitutions crumble before + the Strong. Not that Jethro philosophized about constitutions. Existing + conditions presented themselves, and it occurred to him that there were + crevices in the town system, and ways into power through the crevices for + men clever enough to find them. + </p> + <p> + A week later, and in these same great woods on the way to Brampton, + Cynthia overtook him once more. It was characteristic of him that he + plunged at once into the subject uppermost in his mind. + </p> + <p> + “Not a very big place, this Corsica—not a very big place.” + </p> + <p> + “A little island in the Mediterranean,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Hum. Country folks, the Bonapartes—country folks?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you might call them so,” she said. “They were poor, and lived + out of the world.” + </p> + <p> + “He was a smart man. But he found things goin' his way. Didn't have to + move 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at first;” she admitted; “but he had to move mountains later. How far + have you read?” + </p> + <p> + “One thing that helped him,” said Jethro, in indirect answer to this + question, “he got a smart woman for his wife—a smart woman.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia looked down at the reins in her lap, and she felt again that + wicked stirring within her,—incredible stirring of minister's + daughter for tanner's son. Coniston believes, and always will believe, + that the social bars are strong enough. So Cynthia looked down at the + reins. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Josephine!” she said, “I always wish he had not cast her off.” + </p> + <p> + “C-cast her off?” said Jethro. “Cast her off! Why did he do that?” + </p> + <p> + “After a while, when he got to be Emperor, he needed a wife who would be + more useful to him. Josephine had become a drag. He cared more about + getting on in the world than he did about his wife.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro looked away contemplatively. + </p> + <p> + “Wa-wahn't the woman to blame any?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Read the book, and you'll see,” retorted Cynthia, flicking her horse, + which started at all gaits down the road. Jethro stood in his tracks, + staring, but this time he did not see her face above the hood of the gig. + Presently he trudged on, head downward, pondering upon another problem + than Napoleon's. Cynthia, at length, arrived in Brampton Street, in a + humor that puzzled the good Miss Lucretia sorely. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + The sun had dropped behind the mountain, leaving Coniston in amethystine + shadow, and the last bee had flown homeward from the apple blossoms in + front of Aunt Lucy Prescott's window, before Cynthia returned. Aunt Lucy + was Cynthia's grandmother, and eighty-nine years of age. Still she sat in + her window beside the lilac bush, lost in memories of a stout, rosy lass + who had followed a stalwart husband up a broad river into the wilderness + some seventy years agone in Indian days—Weathersfield Massacre days. + That lass was Aunt Lucy herself, and in just such a May had Timothy's axe + rung through the Coniston forest and reared the log cabin, where six of + her children were born. Likewise in review passed the lonely months when + Timothy was fighting behind his rugged General Stark for that privilege + more desirable to his kind than life—self government. Timothy + Prescott would pull the forelock to no man, would have such God-fearing + persons as he chose make his laws for him. + </p> + <p> + Honest Captain Timothy and his Stark heroes, Aunt Lucy and her memories, + have long gone to rest. Little did they dream of the nation we have lived + to see, straining at her constitution like a great ship at anchor in a + gale, with funnels belching forth smoke, and a new race of men thronging + her decks for the mastery. Coniston is there still behind its mountain, + with its rusty firelocks and its hillside graves. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia, driving back from Brampton in the gig, smiled at Aunt Lucy in the + window, but she did not so much as glance at the tannery house farther on. + The tannery house, be it known, was the cottage where Jethro dwelt, and + which had belonged to Nathan, his father; and the tannery sheds were at + some distance behind it, nearer Coniston Water. Cynthia did not glance at + the tannery house, for a wave of orthodox indignation had swept over her: + at any rate, we may call it so. In other words, she was angry with + herself: pitied and scorned herself, if the truth be told, for her actions—an + inevitable mood. + </p> + <p> + In front of the minister's barn under the elms on the hill Cynthia pulled + the harness from the tired horse with an energy that betokened activity of + mind. She was not one who shrank from self-knowledge, and the question put + itself to her, “Whither was this matter tending?” The fire that is in + strong men has ever been a lure to women; and many, meaning to play with + it, have been burnt thereby since the world began. But to turn the fire to + some use, to make the world better for it or stranger for it, that were an + achievement indeed! The horse munching his hay, Cynthia lingered as the + light fainted above the ridge, with the thought that this might be woman's + province, and Miss Lucretia Penniman might go on leading her women + regiments to no avail. Nevertheless she was angry with Jethro, not because + of what he had said, but because of what he was. + </p> + <p> + The next day is Sunday, and there is mild excitement in Coniston. For + Jethro Bass, still with the coonskin cap, but in a brass-buttoned coat + secretly purchased in Brampton, appeared at meeting! It made no difference + that he entered quietly, and sat in the rear slip, orthodox Coniston knew + that he was behind them: good Mr. Ware knew it, and changed a little his + prayers and sermon: Cynthia knew it, grew hot and cold by turns under her + poke bonnet. Was he not her brand, and would she not get the credit of + snatching him? How willingly, then, would she have given up that credit to + the many who coveted it—if it were a credit. Was Jethro at meeting + for any religious purpose? + </p> + <p> + Jethro's importance to Coniston lay in his soul, and that soul was + numbered at present ninety and ninth. When the meeting was over, Aunt Lucy + Prescott hobbled out at an amazing pace to advise him to read chapter + seven of Matthew, but he had vanished: via the horse sheds; if she had + known it, and along Coniston Water to the house by the tannery, where he + drew breath in a state of mind not to be depicted. He had gazed at the + back of Cynthia's poke bonnet for two hours, but he had an uneasy feeling + that he would have to pay a price. + </p> + <p> + The price was paid, in part, during the next six days. To do Jethro's + importance absolute justice, he did inspire fear among his contemporaries, + and young men and women did not say much to his face; what they did say + gave them little satisfaction. Grim Deacon Ira stopped him as he was going + to buy hides, and would have prayed over him if Jethro had waited; dear + Aunt Lucy did pray, but in private. In six days orthodox Coniston came to + the conclusion that this ninety and ninth soul were better left to her who + had snatched it, Cynthia Ware. + </p> + <p> + As for Cynthia, nothing was farther from her mind. Unchristian as was the + thought, if this thing she had awakened could only have been put back to + sleep again, she would have thought herself happy. But would she have been + happy? When Moses Hatch congratulated her, with more humor than sincerity, + he received the greatest scare of his life. Yet in those days she welcomed + Moses's society as she never had before; and Coniston, including Moses + himself, began thinking of a wedding. + </p> + <p> + Another Saturday came, and no Cynthia went to Brampton. Jethro may or may + not have been on the road. Sunday, and there was Jethro on the back seat + in the meetinghouse: Sunday noon, over his frugal dinner, the minister + mildly remonstrates with Cynthia for neglecting one who has shown signs of + grace, citing certain failures of others of his congregation: Cynthia + turns scarlet, leaving the minister puzzled and a little uneasy: Monday, + Miss Lucretia Penniman, alarmed, comes to Coniston to inquire after + Cynthia's health: Cynthia drives back with her as far as Four Corners, + talking literature and the advancement of woman; returns on foot, thinking + of something else, when she discerns a figure seated on a log by the + roadside, bent as in meditation. There was no going back the thing to do + was to come on, as unconcernedly as possible, not noticing anything,—which + Cynthia did, not without a little inward palpitating and curiosity, for + which she hated herself and looked the sterner. The figure unfolded + itself, like a Jack from a box. + </p> + <p> + “You say the woman wahn't any to blame—wahn't any to blame?” + </p> + <p> + The poke bonnet turned away. The shoulders under it began to shake, and + presently the astonished Jethro heard what seemed to be faint peals of + laughter. Suddenly she turned around to him, all trace of laughter gone. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you read the book?” + </p> + <p> + “So I am,” said Jethro, “so I am. Hain't come to this casting-off yet.” + </p> + <p> + “And you didn't look ahead to find out?” This with scorn. + </p> + <p> + “Never heard of readin' a book in that fashion. I'll come to it in time—g-guess + it won't run away.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia stared at him, perhaps with a new interest at this plodding + determination. She was not quite sure that she ought to stand talking to + him a third time in these woods, especially if the subject of conversation + were not, as Coniston thought, the salvation of his soul. But she stayed. + Here was a woman who could be dealt with by no known rules, who did not + even deign to notice a week of marked coldness. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro,” she said, with a terrifying sternness, “I am going to ask you a + question, and you must answer me truthfully.” + </p> + <p> + “G-guess I won't find any trouble about that,” said Jethro, apparently not + in the least terrified. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to tell me why you are going to meeting.” + </p> + <p> + “To see you,” said Jethro, promptly, “to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know that that is wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “H-hadn't thought much about it,” answered Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you should think about it. People don't go to meeting to—to + look at other people.” + </p> + <p> + “Thought they did,” said Jethro. “W-why do they wear their best clothes—why + do they wear their best clothes?” + </p> + <p> + “To honor God,” said Cynthia, with a shade lacking in the conviction, for + she added hurriedly: “It isn't right for you to go to church to see—anybody. + You go there to hear the Scriptures expounded, and to have your sins + forgiven. Because I lent you that book, and you come to meeting, people + think I'm converting you.” + </p> + <p> + “So you be,” replied Jethro, and this time it was he who smiled, “so you + be.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia turned away, her lips pressed together: How to deal with such a + man! Wondrous notes broke on the stillness, the thrush was singing his + hymn again, only now it seemed a paean. High in the azure a hawk wheeled, + and floated. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't you see I was very angry with you?” + </p> + <p> + “S-saw you was goin' with Moses Hatch more than common.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia drew breath sharply. This was audacity—and yet she liked it. + </p> + <p> + “I am very fond of Moses,” she said quickly. + </p> + <p> + “You always was charitable, Cynthy,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't I been charitable to you?” she retorted. + </p> + <p> + “G-guess it has be'n charity,” said Jethro. He looked down at her + solemnly, thoughtfully, no trace of anger in his face, turned, and without + another word strode off in the direction of Coniston Flat. + </p> + <p> + He left a tumultuous Cynthia, amazement and repentance struggling with + anger, which forbade her calling him back: pride in her answering to pride + in him, and she rejoicing fiercely that he had pride. Had he but known it, + every step he took away from her that evening was a step in advance, and + she gloried in the fact that he did not once look back. As she walked + toward Coniston, the thought came to her that she was rid of the thing she + had stirred up, perhaps forever, and the thrush burst into his song once + more. + </p> + <p> + That night, after Cynthia's candle had gone out, when the minister sat on + his doorsteps looking at the glory of the moon on the mountain forest, he + was startled by the sight of a figure slowly climbing toward him up the + slope. A second glance told him that it was Jethro's. Vaguely troubled, he + watched his approach; for good Priest Ware, while able to obey one-half + the scriptural injunction, had not the wisdom of the serpent, and women, + as typified by Cynthia, were a continual puzzle to him. That very evening, + Moses Hatch had called, had been received with more favor than usual, and + suddenly packed off about his business. Seated in the moonlight, the + minister wondered vaguely whether Jethro Bass were troubling the girl. And + now Jethro stood before him, holding out a book. Rising, Mr. Ware bade him + good evening, mildly and cordially. + </p> + <p> + “C-come to leave this book for Cynthy,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ware took it, mechanically. + </p> + <p> + “Have you finished it?” he asked kindly. + </p> + <p> + “All I want,” replied Jethro, “all I want.” + </p> + <p> + He turned, and went down the slope. Twice the words rose to the minister's + lips to call him back, and were suppressed. Yet what to say to him if he + came? Mr. Ware sat down again, sadly wondering why Jethro Bass should be + so difficult to talk to. + </p> + <p> + The parsonage was of only one story, with a steep, sloping roof. On the + left of the doorway was Cynthia's room, and the minister imagined he heard + a faint, rustling noise at her window. Presently he arose, barred the + door; could be heard moving around in his room for a while, and after that + all was silence save for the mournful crying of a whippoorwill in the + woods. Then a door opened softly, a white vision stole into the little + entry lighted by the fan-window, above, seized the book and stole back. + Had the minister been a prying man about his household, he would have + noticed next day that Cynthia's candle was burned down to the socket. He + saw nothing of the kind: he saw, in fact, that his daughter flitted about + the house singing, and he went out into the sun to drop potatoes. + </p> + <p> + No sooner had he reached the barn than this singing ceased. But how was + Mr. Ware to know that? + </p> + <p> + Twice Cynthia, during the week that followed, got halfway down the slope + of the parsonage hill, the book under her arm, on her way to the tannery; + twice went back, tears of humiliation and self-pity in her eyes at the + thought that she should make advances to a man, and that man the tanner's + son. Her household work done, a longing for further motion seized her, and + she walked out under the maples of the village street. Let it be + understood that Coniston was a village, by courtesy, and its shaded road a + street. Suddenly, there was the tannery, Jethro standing in front of it, + contemplative. Did he see her? Would he come to her? Cynthia, seized by a + panic of shame, flew into Aunt Lucy Prescott's, sat through half an hour + of torture while Aunt Lucy talked of redemption of sinners, during ten + minutes of which Jethro stood, still contemplative. What tumult was in his + breast, or whether there was any tumult, Cynthia knew not. He went into + the tannery again, and though she saw him twice later in the week, he gave + no sign of seeing her. + </p> + <p> + On Saturday Cynthia bought a new bonnet in Brampton; Sunday morning put it + on, suddenly remembered that one went to church to honor God, and wore her + old one; walked to meeting in a flutter of expectancy not to be denied, + and would have looked around had that not been a cardinal sin in Coniston. + No Jethro! General opinion (had she waited to hear it among the horse + sheds or on the green), that Jethro's soul had slid back into the murky + regions, from which it were folly for even Cynthia to try to drag it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + To prove that Jethro's soul had not slid back into the murky regions, and + that it was still indulging in flights, it is necessary to follow him (for + a very short space) to Boston. Jethro himself went in Lyman Hull's + six-horse team with a load of his own merchandise—hides that he had + tanned, and other country produce. And they did not go by the way of Truro + Pass to the Capital, but took the state turnpike over the ranges, where + you can see for miles and miles and miles on a clear summer day across the + trembling floors of the forest tops to lonely sentinel mountains fourscore + miles away. + </p> + <p> + No one takes the state turnpike nowadays except crazy tourists who are + willing to risk their necks and their horses' legs for the sake of + scenery. The tough little Morgans of that time, which kept their feet like + cats, have all but disappeared, but there were places on that road where + Lyman Hull put the shoes under his wheels for four miles at a stretch. He + was not a companion many people would have chosen with whom to enjoy the + beauties of such a trip, and nearly everybody in Coniston was afraid of + him. Jethro Bass would sit silent on the seat for hours and—it is a + fact to be noted that when he told Lyman to do a thing, Lyman did it; not, + perhaps, without cursing and grumbling. Lyman was a profane and wicked man—drover, + farmer, trader, anything. He had a cider mill on his farm on the south + slopes of Coniston which Mr. Ware had mentioned in his sermons, and which + was the resort of the ungodly. The cider was not so good as Squire + Northcutt's, but cheaper. Jethro was not afraid of Lyman, and he had a + mortgage on the six-horse team, and on the farm and the cider mill. + </p> + <p> + After six days, Jethro and Lyman drove over Charlestown bridge and into + the crooked streets of Boston, and at length arrived at a drover's hotel, + or lodging-house that did not, we may be sure, front on Mount Vernon + Street or face the Mall. Lyman proceeded to get drunk, and Jethro to sell + the hides and other merchandise which Lyman had hauled for him. + </p> + <p> + There was a young man in Boston, when Jethro arrived in Lyman Hull's team, + named William Wetherell. By extraordinary circumstances he and another + connected with him are to take no small part in this story, which is a + sufficient excuse for his introduction. His father had been a prosperous + Portsmouth merchant in the West India trade, a man of many attainments, + who had failed and died of a broken heart; and William, at two and twenty, + was a clerk in the little jewellery shop of Mr. Judson in Cornhill. + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell had literary aspirations, and sat from morning till + night behind the counter, reading and dreaming: dreaming that he was to be + an Irving or a Walter Scott, and yet the sum total of his works in after + years consisted of some letters to the Newcastle Guardian, and a beginning + of the Town History of Coniston! + </p> + <p> + William had a contempt for the awkward young countryman who suddenly + loomed up before him that summer's morning across the counter. But a + moment before the clerk had been in a place where he would fain have + lingered—a city where blue waters flow swiftly between white palaces + toward the sunrise. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And I have fitted up some chambers there + Looking toward the golden Eastern air, + And level with the living winds, which flow + Like waves above the living waves below.” + </pre> + <p> + Little did William Wetherell guess, when he glanced up at the intruder, + that he was looking upon one of the forces of his own life! The countryman + wore a blue swallow tail coat (fashioned by the hand of Speedy Bates), a + neck-cloth, a coonskin cap, and his trousers were tucked into rawhide + boots. He did not seem a promising customer for expensive jewellery, and + the literary clerk did not rise, but merely closed his book with his thumb + in it. + </p> + <p> + “S-sell things here,” asked the countryman, “s-sell things here?” + </p> + <p> + “Occasionally, when folks have money to buy them.” + </p> + <p> + “My name's Jethro Bass,” said the countryman, “Jethro Bass from Coniston. + Ever hear of Coniston?” + </p> + <p> + Young Mr. Wetherell never had, but many years afterward he remembered his + name, heaven knows why. Jethro Bass! Perhaps it had a strange ring to it. + </p> + <p> + “F-folks told me to be careful,” was Jethro's next remark. He did not look + at the clerk, but kept his eyes fixed on the things within the counter. + </p> + <p> + “Somebody ought to have come with you,” said the clerk, with a smile of + superiority. + </p> + <p> + “D-don't know much about city ways.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the clerk, beginning to be amused, “a man has to keep his + wits about him.” + </p> + <p> + Even then Jethro spared him a look, but continued to study the contents of + the case. + </p> + <p> + “What can I do for you, Mr. Bass? We have some really good things here. + For example, this Swiss watch, which I will sell you cheap, for one + hundred and fifty dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “One hundred and fifty dollars—er—one hundred and fifty?” + </p> + <p> + Wetherell nodded. Still the countryman did not look up. + </p> + <p> + “F-folks told me to be careful,” he repeated without a smile. He was + looking at the lockets, and finally pointed a large finger at one of them—the + most expensive, by the way. “W-what d'ye get for that?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty dollars,” the clerk promptly replied. Thirty was nearer the price, + but what did it matter. + </p> + <p> + “H-how much for that?” he said, pointing to another. The clerk told him. + He inquired about them all, deliberately repeating the sums, considering + with so well-feigned an air of a purchaser that Mr. Wetherell began to + take a real joy in the situation. For trade was slack in August, and + diversion scarce. Finally he commanded that the case be put on the top of + the counter, and Wetherell humored him. Whereupon he picked up the locket + he had first chosen. It looked very delicate in his huge, rough hand, and + Wetherell was surprised that the eyes of Mr. Bass had been caught by the + most expensive, for it was far from being the showiest. + </p> + <p> + “T-twenty dollars?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “We may as well call it that,” laughed Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “It's not too good for Cynthy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing's too good for Cynthy,” answered Mr. Wetherell, mockingly, little + knowing how he might come to mean it. + </p> + <p> + Jethro Bass paid no attention to this speech. Pulling a great cowhide + wallet from his pocket, still holding the locket in his hand, to the + amazement of the clerk he counted out twenty dollars and laid them down. + </p> + <p> + “G-guess I'll take that one, g-guess I'll take that one,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Then he looked at Mr. Wetherell for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “Hold!” cried the clerk, more alarmed than he cared to show, “that's not + the price. Did you think I could sell it for that price?” + </p> + <p> + “W-wahn't that the price you fixed?” + </p> + <p> + “You simpleton!” retorted Wetherell, with a conviction now that he was + calling him the wrong name. “Give me back the locket, and you shall have + your money, again.” + </p> + <p> + “W-wahn't that the price you fixed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but—” + </p> + <p> + “G-guess I'll keep the locket—g-guess I'll keep the locket.” + </p> + <p> + Wetherell looked at him aghast, and there was no doubt about his + determination. With a sinking heart the clerk realized that he should have + to make good to Mr. Judson the seven odd dollars of difference, and then + he lost his head. Slipping round the counter to the door of the shop, he + turned the key, thrust it in his pocket, and faced Mr. Bass again—from + behind the counter. + </p> + <p> + “You don't leave this shop,” cried the clerk, “until you give me back that + locket.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro Bass turned. A bench ran along the farther wall, and there he + planted himself without a word, while the clerk stared at him,—with + what feelings of uneasiness I shall not attempt to describe,—for the + customer was plainly determined to wait until hunger should drive one of + them forth. The minutes passed, and Wetherell began to hate him. Then some + one tried the door, peered in through the glass, perceived Jethro, shook + the knob, knocked violently, all to no purpose. Jethro seemed lost in a + reverie. + </p> + <p> + “This has gone far enough,” said the clerk, trying to keep his voice from + shaking “it is beyond a joke. Give me back the locket.” And he tendered + Jethro the money again. + </p> + <p> + “W-wahn't that the price you fixed?” asked Jethro, innocently. + </p> + <p> + Wetherell choked. The man outside shook the door again, and people on the + sidewalk stopped, and presently against the window panes a sea of curious + faces gazed in upon them. Mr. Bass's thoughts apparently were fixed on + Eternity—he looked neither at the people nor at Wetherell. And then, + the crowd parting as for one in authority, as in a bad dream the clerk saw + his employer, Mr. Judson, courteously pushing away the customer at the + door who would not be denied. Another moment, and Mr. Judson had gained + admittance with his private key, and stood on the threshold staring at + clerk and customer. Jethro gave no sign that the situation had changed. + </p> + <p> + “William,” said Mr. Judson, in a dangerously quiet voice, “perhaps you can + explain this extraordinary state of affairs.” + </p> + <p> + “I can, sir,” William cried. “This gentleman” (the word stuck in his + throat), “this gentleman came in here to examine lockets which I had no + reason to believe he would buy. I admit my fault, sir. He asked the price + of the most expensive, and I told him twenty dollars, merely for a jest, + sir.” William hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Mr. Judson. + </p> + <p> + “After pricing every locket in the case, he seized the first one, handed + me twenty dollars, and now refuses to give it up, although he knows the + price is twenty-seven.” + </p> + <p> + “Then?” + </p> + <p> + “Then I locked the door, sir. He sat down there, and hasn't moved since.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Judson looked again at Mr. Bass; this time with unmistakable interest. + The other customer began to laugh, and the crowd was pressing in, and Mr. + Judson turned and shut the door in their faces. All this time Mr. Bass had + not moved, not so much as to lift his head or shift one of his great + cowhide boots. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” demanded Mr. Judson, “what have you to say?” + </p> + <p> + “N-nothin'. G-guess I'll keep the locket. I've, paid for it—I've + paid for it.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are aware, my friend,” said Mr. Judson, “that my clerk has given + you the wrong price?” + </p> + <p> + “Guess that's his lookout.” He still sat there, doggedly unconcerned. + </p> + <p> + A bull would have seemed more at home in a china shop than Jethro Bass in + a jewellery store. But Mr. Judson himself was a man out of the ordinary, + and instead of getting angry he began to be more interested. + </p> + <p> + “Took you for a greenhorn, did he?” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “F-folks told me to be careful—to be careful,” said Mr. Bass. + </p> + <p> + Then Mr. Judson laughed. It was all the more disconcerting to William + Wetherell, because his employer laughed rarely. He laid his hand on + Jethro's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “He might have spared himself the trouble, my young friend,” he said. “You + didn't expect to find a greenhorn behind a jewellery counter, did you?” + </p> + <p> + “S-surprised me some,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Judson laughed again, all the while looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to let you keep the locket,” he said, “because it will teach + my greenhorn a lesson. William, do you hear that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” William said, and his face was very red. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bass rose solemnly, apparently unmoved by his triumph in a somewhat + remarkable transaction, and William long remembered how he towered over + all of them. He held the locket out to Mr. Judson, who stared at it, + astonished. + </p> + <p> + “What's this?” said that gentleman; “you don't want it?” + </p> + <p> + “Guess I'll have it marked,” said Jethro, “ef it don't cost extry.” + </p> + <p> + “Marked!” gasped Mr. Judson, “marked!” + </p> + <p> + “Ef it don't cost extry,” Jethro repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll—” exclaimed Mr. Judson, and suddenly recalled the fact + that he was a church member. “What inscription do you wish put into it?” + he asked, recovering himself with an effort. + </p> + <p> + Jethro thrust his hand into his pocket, and again the cowhide wallet came + out. He tendered Mr. Judson a somewhat soiled piece of paper, and Mr. + Judson read:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Cynthy, from Jethro” + </pre> + <p> + “Cynthy,” Mr. Judson repeated, in a tremulous voice, “Cynthy, not + Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + “H-how is it written,” said Jethro, leaning over it, “h-how is it + written?” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthy,” answered Mr. Judson, involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + “Then make it Cynthy—make it Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthy it shall be,” said Mr. Judson, with conviction. + </p> + <p> + “When'll you have it done?” + </p> + <p> + “To-night,” replied Mr. Judson, with a twinkle in his eye, “to-night, as a + special favor.” + </p> + <p> + “What time—w-what time?” + </p> + <p> + “Seven o'clock, sir. May I send it to your hotel? The Tremont House, I + suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “I-I'll call,” said Jethro, so solemnly that Mr. Judson kept his laughter + until he was gone. + </p> + <p> + From the door they watched him silently as he strode across the street and + turned the corner. Then Mr. Judson turned. “That man will make his mark, + William,” he said; and added thoughtfully, “but whether for good or evil, + I know not.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + What Cynthia may have thought or felt during Jethro's absence in Boston, + and for some months thereafter, she kept to herself. Honest Moses Hatch + pursued his courting untroubled, and never knew that he had a rival. Moses + would as soon have questioned the seasons or the weather as Cynthia's + changes of moods,—which were indeed the weather for him, and when + storms came he sat with his back to them, waiting for the sunshine. He had + long ceased proposing marriage, in the firm belief that Cynthia would set + the day in her own good time. Thereby he was saved much suffering. + </p> + <p> + The summer flew on apace, for Coniston. Fragrant hay was cut on hillsides + won from rock and forest, and Coniston Water sang a gentler melody—save + when the clouds floated among the spruces on the mountain and the rain + beat on the shingles. During the still days before the turn of the year,—days + of bending fruit boughs, crab-apples glistening red in the soft sunlight,—rumor + came from Brampton to wrinkle the forehead of Moses Hatch as he worked + among his father's orchards. + </p> + <p> + The rumor was of a Mr. Isaac Dudley Worthington, a name destined to make + much rumor before it was to be carved on the marble. Isaac D. Worthington, + indeed, might by a stretch of the imagination be called the pioneer of all + the genus to be known in the future as City Folks, who were, two + generations later, to invade the country like a devouring army of locusts. + </p> + <p> + At that time a stranger in Brampton was enough to set the town agog. But a + young man of three and twenty, with an independent income of four hundred + dollars a year!—or any income at all not derived from his own labor—was + unheard of. It is said that when the stage from over Truro Gap arrived in + Brampton Street a hundred eyes gazed at him unseen, from various ambushes, + and followed him up the walk to Silas Wheelock's, where he was to board. + In half an hour Brampton knew the essentials of Isaac Worthington's story, + and Sam Price was on his way with it to Coniston for distribution at Jonah + Winch's store. + </p> + <p> + Young Mr. Worthington was from Boston—no less; slim, pale, medium + height, but with an alert look, and a high-bridged nose. But his clothes! + Sam Price's vocabulary was insufficient here, they were cut in such a way, + and Mr. Worthington was downright distinguished-looking under his gray + beaver. Why had he come to Brampton? demanded Deacon Ira Perkins. Sam had + saved this for the last. Young Mr. Worthington was threatened with + consumption, and had been sent to live with his distant relative, Silas + Wheelock. + </p> + <p> + The presence of a gentleman of leisure—although threatened with + consumption—became an all-absorbing topic in two villages and three + hamlets, and more than one swain, hitherto successful, felt the wind blow + colder. But in a fortnight it was known that a petticoat did not make + Isaac Worthington even turn his head. Curiosity centred on Silas + Wheelock's barn, where Mr. Worthington had fitted up a shop, and, + presently various strange models of contrivances began to take shape + there. What these were, Silas himself knew not; and the gentleman of + leisure was, alas! close-mouthed. When he was not sawing and hammering and + planing, he took long walks up and down Coniston Water, and was surprised + deep in thought at several places. + </p> + <p> + Nathan Bass's story-and-a-half house, devoid of paint, faced the road, and + behind it was the shed, or barn, that served as the tannery, and between + the tannery and Coniston Water were the vats. The rain flew in silvery + spray, and the drops shone like jewels on the coat of a young man who + stood looking in at the tannery door. Young Jake Wheeler, son of the + village spendthrift, was driving a lean white horse round in a ring: to + the horse was attached a beam, and on the beam a huge round stone rolled + on a circular oak platform. Jethro Bass, who was engaged in pushing + hemlock bark under the stone to be crushed, straightened. Of the three, + the horse had seen the visitor first, and stopped in his tracks. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro!” whispered Jake, tingling with an excitement that was but + natural. Jethro had begun to sweep the finer pieces of bark toward the + centre. “It's the city man, walked up here from Brampton.” + </p> + <p> + It was indeed Mr. Worthington, slightly more sunburned and less + citified-looking than on his arrival, and he wore a woollen cap of + Brampton make. Even then, despite his wavy hair and delicate appearance, + Isaac Worthington had the hawk-like look which became famous in later + years, and at length he approached Jethro and fixed his eye upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Kind of slow work, isn't it?” remarked Mr. Worthington. + </p> + <p> + The white horse was the only one to break the silence that followed, by + sneezing with all his might. + </p> + <p> + “How is the tannery business in these parts?” essayed Mr. Worthington + again. + </p> + <p> + “Thinkin' of it?” said Jethro. “T-thinkin' of it, be you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Mr. Worthington, hastily. “If I were,” he added, “I'd put + in new machinery. That horse and stone is primitive.” + </p> + <p> + “What kind of machinery would you put in?” asked Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” answered Worthington, “that will interest you. All New Englanders + are naturally progressive, I take it.” + </p> + <p> + “W-what was it you took?” + </p> + <p> + “I was merely remarking on the enterprise of New Englanders,” said + Worthington, flushing. “On my journey up here, beside the Merrimac, I had + the opportunity to inspect the new steam-boiler, the falling-mill, the + splitting machine, and other remarkable improvements. In fact, these + suggested one or two little things to me, which might be of interest to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Jethro, “they might, and then again they mightn't. Guess it + depends.” + </p> + <p> + “Depends!” exclaimed the man of leisure, “depends on what?” + </p> + <p> + “H-how much you know about it.” + </p> + <p> + Young Mr. Worthington, instead of being justly indignant, laughed and + settled himself comfortably on a pile of bark. He thought Jethro a + character, and he was not mistaken. On the other hand, Mr. Worthington + displayed a knowledge of the falling-mill and splitting-machine and the + process of tanneries in general that was surprising. Jethro, had Mr. + Worthington but known it, was more interested in animate machines: more + interested in Mr. Worthington than the falling-mill or, indeed, the + tannery business. + </p> + <p> + At length the visitor fell silent, his sense of superiority suddenly gone. + Others had had this same feeling with Jethro, even the minister; but the + man of leisure (who was nothing of the sort) merely felt a kind of + bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “Callatin' to live in Brampton—be you?” asked Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “I am living there now.” + </p> + <p> + “C-callatin' to set up a mill some day?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington fairly leaped off the bark pile. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you say that?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “G-guesswork,” said Jethro, starting to shovel again, “g-guesswork.” + </p> + <p> + To take a walk in the wild, to come upon a bumpkin in cowhide boots + crushing bark, to have him read within twenty minutes a cherished and + well-hidden ambition which Brampton had not discovered in a month (and did + not discover for many years) was sufficiently startling. Well might Mr. + Worthington tremble for his other ambitions, and they were many. + </p> + <p> + Jethro stepped out, passing Mr. Worthington as though he had already + forgotten that gentleman's existence, and seized an armful of bark that + lay under cover of a lean-to. Just then, heralded by a brightening of the + western sky, a girl appeared down the road, her head bent a little as in + thought, and if she saw the group by the tannery house she gave no sign. + Two of them stared at her—Jake Wheeler and Mr. Worthington. Suddenly + Jake, implike, turned and stared at Worthington. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthy Ware, the minister's daughter,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't I seen her in Brampton?” inquired Mr. Worthington, little + thinking of the consequences of the question. + </p> + <p> + “Guess you have,” answered Jake. “Cynthy goes to the Social Library, to + git books. She knows more'n the minister himself, a sight more.” + </p> + <p> + “Where does the minister live?” asked Mr. Worthington. + </p> + <p> + Jake pulled him by the sleeve toward the road, and pointed to the low + gable of the little parsonage under the elms on the hill beyond the + meeting-house. The visitor gave a short glance at it, swung around and + gave a longer glance at the figure disappearing in the other direction. He + did not suspect that Jake was what is now called a news agency. Then Mr. + Worthington turned to Jethro, who was stooping over the bark. + </p> + <p> + “If you come to Brampton, call and see me,” he said. “You'll find me at + Silas Wheelock's.” + </p> + <p> + He got no answer, but apparently expected none, and he started off down + the Brampton road in the direction Cynthia had taken. + </p> + <p> + “That makes another,” said Jake, significantly, “and Speedy Bates says he + never looks at wimmen. Godfrey, I wish I could see Moses now.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington had not been quite ingenuous with Jake. To tell the truth, + he had made the acquaintance of the Social Library and Miss Lucretia, and + that lady had sung the praises of her favorite. Once out of sight of + Jethro, Mr. Worthington quickened his steps, passed the store, where he + was remarked by two of Jonah's customers, and his blood leaped when he saw + the girl in front of him, walking faster now. Yes, it is a fact that Isaac + Worthington's blood once leaped. He kept on, but when near her had a spasm + of fright to make his teeth fairly chatter, and than another spasm + followed, for Cynthia had turned around. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do Mr. Worthington?” she said, dropping him a little courtesy. + Mr. Worthington stopped in his tracks, and it was some time before he + remembered to take off his woollen cap and sweep the mud with it. + </p> + <p> + “You know my name!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “It is known from Tarleton Four Corners to Harwich,” said Cynthia, “all + that distance. To tell the truth,” she added, “those are the boundaries of + my world.” And Mr. Worthington being still silent, “How do you like being + a big frog in a little pond?” + </p> + <p> + “If it were your pond, Miss Cynthia,” he responded gallantly, “I should be + content to be a little frog.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you?” she said; “I don't believe you.” + </p> + <p> + This was not subtle flattery, but the truth—Mr. Worthington would + never be content to be a little anything. So he had been judged twice in + an afternoon, once by Jethro and again by Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you believe me?” he asked ecstatically. + </p> + <p> + “A woman's instinct, Mr. Worthington, has very little reason in it.” + </p> + <p> + “I hear, Miss Cynthia,” he said gallantly, “that your instinct is + fortified by learning, since Miss Penniman tells me that you are quite + capable of taking a school in Boston.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I should be doubly sure of your character,” she retorted with a + twinkle. + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell my fortune?” he said gayly. + </p> + <p> + “Not on such a slight acquaintance,” she replied. “Good-by, Mr. + Worthington.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall see you in Brampton,” he cried, “I—I have seen you in + Brampton.” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer this confession, but left him, and presently + disappeared beyond the triangle of the green, while Mr. Worthington + pursued his way to Brampton by the road,—his thoughts that evening + not on waterfalls or machinery. As for Cynthia's conduct, I do not defend + or explain it, for I have found out that the best and wisest of women can + at times be coquettish. + </p> + <p> + It was that meeting which shook the serenity of poor Moses, and he learned + of it when he went to Jonah Winch's store an hour later. An hour later, + indeed, Coniston was discussing the man of leisure in a new light. It was + possible that Cynthia might take him, and Deacon Ira Perkins made a note + the next time he went to Brampton to question Silas Wheelock on Mr. + Worthington's origin, habits, and orthodoxy. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia troubled herself very little about any of these. Scarcely any + purpose in the world is single, but she had had a purpose in talking to + Mr. Worthington, besides the pleasure it gave her. And the next Saturday, + when she rode off to Brampton, some one looked through the cracks in the + tannery shed and saw that she wore her new bonnet. + </p> + <p> + There is scarcely a pleasanter place in the world than Brampton Street on + a summer's day. Down the length of it runs a wide green, shaded by + spreading trees, and on either side, tree-shaded, too, and each in its own + little plot, gabled houses of that simple, graceful architecture of our + forefathers. Some of these had fluted pilasters and cornices, the envy of + many a modern architect, and fan-shaped windows in dormer and doorway. And + there was the church, then new, that still stands to the glory of its + builders; with terraced steeple and pillared porch and the widest of + checker-paned sashes to let in the light on high-backed pews and gallery. + </p> + <p> + The celebrated Social Library, halfway up the street, occupied part of + Miss Lucretia's little house; or, it might better be said, Miss Lucretia + boarded with the Social Library. There Cynthia hitched her horse, gave + greeting to Mr. Ezra Graves and others who paused, and, before she was + fairly in the door, was clasped in Miss Lucretia's arms. There were new + books to be discussed, arrived by the stage the day before; but scarce + half an hour had passed before Cynthia started guiltily at a timid knock, + and Miss Lucretia rose briskly. + </p> + <p> + “It must be Ezra Graves come for the Gibbon,” she said. “He's early.” And + she went to the door. Cynthia thought it was not Ezra. Then came Miss + Lucretia's voice from the entry:— + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mr. Worthington! Have you read the Last of the Mohicans already?” + </p> + <p> + There he stood, indeed, the man of leisure, and to-day he wore his beaver + hat. No, he had not yet read the 'Last of the Mohicans.' There were things + in it that Mr. Worthington would like to discuss with Miss Penniman. Was + it not a social library? At this juncture there came a giggle from within + that made him turn scarlet, and he scarcely heard Miss Lucretia offering + to discuss the whole range of letters. Enter Mr. Worthington, bows + profoundly to Miss Lucretia's guest, his beaver in his hand, and the + discussion begins, Cynthia taking no part in it. Strangely enough, Mr. + Worthington's remarks on American Indians are not only intelligent, but + interesting. The clock strikes four, Miss Lucretia starts up, suddenly + remembering that she has promised to read to an invalid, and with many + regrets from Mr. Worthington, she departs. Then he sits down again, + twirling his beaver, while Cynthia looks at him in quiet amusement. + </p> + <p> + “I shall walk to Coniston again, next week,” he announced. + </p> + <p> + “What an energetic man!” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “I want to have my fortune told.” + </p> + <p> + “I hear that you walk a great deal,” she remarked, “up and down Coniston + Water. I shall begin to think you romantic, Mr. Worthington—perhaps + a poet.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't walk up and down Coniston Water for that reason,” he answered + earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “Might I be so bold as to ask the reason?” she ventured. + </p> + <p> + Great men have their weaknesses. And many, close-mouthed with their own + sex, will tell their cherished hopes to a woman, if their interests are + engaged. With a bas-relief of Isaac Worthington in the town library to-day + (his own library), and a full-length portrait of him in the capitol of the + state, who shall deny this title to greatness? + </p> + <p> + He leaned a little toward her, his face illumined by his subject, which + was himself. + </p> + <p> + “I will confide in you,” he said, “that some day I shall build here in + Brampton a woollen mill which will be the best of its kind. If I gain + money, it will not be to hoard it or to waste it. I shall try to make the + town better for it, and the state, and I shall try to elevate my + neighbors.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia could not deny that these were laudable ambitions. + </p> + <p> + “Something tells me,” he continued, “that I shall succeed. And that is why + I walk on Coniston Water—to choose the best site for a dam.” + </p> + <p> + “I am honored by your secret, but I feel that the responsibility you + repose in me is too great,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I can think of none in whom I would rather confide,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “And am I the only one in all Brampton, Harwich, and Coniston who knows + this?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington laughed. + </p> + <p> + “The only one of importance,” he answered. “This week, when I went to + Coniston, I had a strange experience. I left the brook at a tannery, and a + most singular fellow was in the shed shovelling bark. I tried to get him + to talk, and told him about some new tanning machinery I had seen. + Suddenly he turned on me and asked me if I was 'callatin' to set up a + mill.' He gave me a queer feeling. Do you have many such odd characters in + Coniston, Miss Cynthia? You're not going?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia had risen, and all of the laugher was gone from her eyes. What had + happened to make her grow suddenly grave, Isaac Worthington never knew. + </p> + <p> + “I have to get my father's supper,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He, too, rose, puzzled and disconcerted at this change in her. + </p> + <p> + “And may I not come to Coniston?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “My father and I should be glad to see you, Mr. Worthington,” she + answered. + </p> + <p> + He untied her horse and essayed one more topic. + </p> + <p> + “You are taking a very big book,” he said. “May I look at the title?” + </p> + <p> + She showed it to him in silence. It was the “Life of Napoleon Bonaparte.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + Isaac Worthington came to Coniston not once, but many times, before the + snow fell; and afterward, too, in Silas Wheelock's yellow sleigh through + the great drifts under the pines, the chestnut Morgan trotting to one side + in the tracks. On one of these excursions he fell in with that singular + character of a bumpkin who had interested him on his first visit, in + coonskin cap and overcoat and mittens. Jethro Bass was plodding in the + same direction, and Isaac Worthington, out of the goodness of his heart, + invited him into the sleigh. He was scarcely prepared for the bumpkin's + curt refusal, but put it down to native boorishness, and thought no more + about it then. + </p> + <p> + What troubled Mr. Worthington infinitely more was the progress of his + suit; for it had become a snit, though progress is a wrong word to use in + connection with it. So far had he got,—not a great distance,—and + then came to what he at length discovered was a wall, and apparently + impenetrable. He was not even allowed to look over it. Cynthia was kind, + engaging; even mirthful, at times, save when he approached it; and he + became convinced that a certain sorrow lay in the forbidden ground. The + nearest he had come to it was when he mentioned again, by accident, that + life of Napoleon. + </p> + <p> + That Cynthia would accept him, nobody doubted for an instant. It would be + madness not to. He was orthodox, so Deacon Ira had discovered, of good + habits, and there was the princely four hundred a year—almost a + minister's salary! Little people guessed that there was no love-making—only + endless discussions of books beside the great centre chimney, and + discussions of Isaac Worthington's career. + </p> + <p> + It is a fact—for future consideration—that Isaac Worthington + proposed to Cynthia Ware, although neither Speedy Bates nor Deacon Ira + Perkins heard him do so. It had been very carefully prepared, that speech, + and was a model of proposals for the rising young men of all time. Mr. + Worthington preferred to offer himself for what he was going to be—not + for what he was. He tendered to Cynthia a note for a large amount, payable + in some twenty years, with interest. The astonishing thing to record is + that in twenty years he could have more than paid the note, although he + could not have foreseen at that time the Worthington Free Library and the + Truro Railroad, and the stained-glass window in the church and the great + marble monument on the hill—to another woman. All of these things, + and more, Cynthia might have had if she had only accepted that promise to + pay! But she did not accept it. He was a trifle more robust than when he + came to Brampton in the summer, but perhaps she doubted his promise to + pay. + </p> + <p> + It may have been guessed, although the language we have used has been + purposely delicate, that Cynthia was already in love with—somebody + else. Shame of shames and horror of horrors—with Jethro Bass! With + Strength, in the crudest form in which it is created, perhaps, but yet + with Strength. The strength might gradually and eventually be refined. + Such was her hope, when she had any. It is hard, looking back upon that + virginal and cultured Cynthia, to be convinced that she could have loved + passionately, and such a man! But love she did, and passionately, too, and + hated herself for it, and prayed and struggled to cast out what she + believed, at times, to be a devil. + </p> + <p> + The ancient allegory of Cupid and the arrows has never been improved upon: + of Cupid, who should never in the world have been trusted with a weapon, + who defies all game laws, who shoots people in the bushes and innocent + bystanders generally, the weak and the helpless and the strong and + self-confident! There is no more reason in it than that. He shot Cynthia + Ware, and what she suffered in secret Coniston never guessed. What + parallels in history shall I quote to bring home the enormity of such a + mesalliance? Orthodox Coniston would have gone into sackcloth and ashes,—was + soon to go into these, anyway. + </p> + <p> + I am not trying to keep the lovers apart for any mere purposes of fiction,—this + is a true chronicle, and they stayed apart most of that winter. Jethro + went about his daily tasks, which were now become manifold, and he wore + the locket on its little chain himself. He did not think that Cynthia + loved him—yet, but he had the effrontery to believe that she might, + some day; and he was content to wait. He saw that she avoided him, and he + was too proud to go to the parsonage and so incur ridicule and contempt. + </p> + <p> + Jethro was content to wait. That is a clew to his character throughout his + life. He would wait for his love, he would wait for his hate: he had + waited ten years before putting into practice the first step of a little + scheme which he had been gradually developing during that time, for which + he had been amassing money, and the life of Napoleon Bonaparte, by the + way, had given him some valuable ideas. Jethro, as well as Isaac D. + Worthington, had ambitions, although no one in Coniston had hitherto + guessed them except Jock Hallowell—and Cynthia Ware, after her + curiosity had been aroused. + </p> + <p> + Even as Isaac D. Worthington did not dream of the Truro Railroad and of an + era in the haze of futurity, it did not occur to Jethro Bass that his + ambitions tended to the making of another era that was at hand. Makers of + eras are too busy thinking about themselves and like immediate matters to + worry about history. Jethro never heard the expression about “cracks in + the Constitution,” and would not have known what it meant,—he merely + had the desire to get on top. But with Established Church Coniston tight + in the saddle (in the person of Moses Hatch, Senior), how was he to do it? + </p> + <p> + As the winter wore on, and March town meeting approached, strange rumors + of a Democratic ticket began to drift into Jonah Winch's store,—a + Democratic ticket headed by Fletcher Bartlett, of all men, as chairman of + the board. Moses laughed when he first heard of it, for Fletcher was an + easy-going farmer of the Methodist persuasion who was always in debt, and + the other members of the ticket, so far as Moses could learn of it—were + remarkable neither for orthodoxy or solidity. The rumors persisted, and + still Moses laughed, for the senior selectman was a big man with flesh on + him, who could laugh with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “Moses,” said Deacon Lysander Richardson as they stood on the platform of + the store one sunny Saturday in February, “somebody's put Fletcher up to + this. He hain't got sense enough to act that independent all by himself.” + </p> + <p> + “You be always croakin', Lysander,” answered Moses. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia Ware, who had come to the store for buttons for Speedy Bates, who + was making a new coat for the minister, heard these remarks, and stood + thoughtfully staring at the blue coat-tails of the elders. A brass button + was gone from Deacon Lysander's, and she wanted to sew it on. Suddenly she + looked up, and saw Jock Hallowell standing beside her. Jock winked—and + Cynthia blushed and hurried homeward without a word. She remembered, + vividly enough, what Jack had told her the spring before, and several + times during the week that followed she thought of waylaying him and + asking what he knew. But she could not summon the courage. As a matter of + fact, Jock knew nothing, but he had a theory. He was a strange man, Jock, + who whistled all day on roof and steeple and meddled with nobody's + business, as a rule. What had impelled him to talk to Cynthia in the way + he had must remain a mystery. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the disquieting rumors continued to come in. Jabez Miller, on + the north slope, had told Samuel Todd, who told Ephraim Williams, that he + was going to vote for Fletcher. Moses Hatch hitched up his team and went + out to see Jabez, spent an hour in general conversation, and then plumped + the question, taking, as he said, that means of finding out. Jabez hemmed + and hawed, said his farm was mortgaged; spoke at some length about the + American citizen, however humble, having a right to vote as he chose. A + most unusual line for Jabez, and the whole matter very mysterious and not + a little ominous. Moses drove homeward that sparkling day, shutting his + eyes to the glare of the ice crystals on the pines, and thinking + profoundly. He made other excursions, enough to satisfy himself that this + disease, so new and unheard of (the right of the unfit to hold office), + actually existed. Where the germ began that caused it, Moses knew no + better than the deacon, since those who were suspected of leanings toward + Fletcher Bartlett were strangely secretive. The practical result of Moses' + profound thought was a meeting, in his own house, without respect to + party, Democrats and Whigs alike, opened by a prayer from the minister + himself. The meeting, after a futile session, broke up dismally. Sedition + and conspiracy existed; a chief offender and master mind there was, + somewhere. But who was he? + </p> + <p> + Good Mr. Ware went home, troubled in spirit, shaking his head. He had a + cold, and was not so strong as he used to be, and should not have gone to + the meeting at all. At supper, Cynthia listened with her eyes on her plate + while he told her of the affair. + </p> + <p> + “Somebody's behind this, Cynthia,” he said. “It's the most astonishing + thing in my experience that we cannot discover who has incited them. All + the unattached people in the town seem to have been organized.” Mr. Ware + was wont to speak with moderation even at his own table. He said + unattached—not ungodly. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia kept her eyes on her plate, but she felt as though her body were + afire. Little did the minister imagine, as he went off to write his + sermon, that his daughter might have given him the clew to the mystery. + Yes, Cynthia guessed; and she could not read that evening because of the + tumult of her thoughts. What was her duty in the matter? To tell her + father her suspicions? They were only suspicions, after all, and she could + make no accusations. And Jethro! Although she condemned him, there was + something in the situation that appealed to a most reprehensible sense of + humor. Cynthia caught herself smiling once or twice, and knew that it was + wicked. She excused Jethro, and told herself that, with his lack of + training, he could know no better. Then an idea came to her, and the very + boldness of it made her grow hot again. She would appeal to him tell him + that that power he had over other men could be put to better and finer + uses. She would appeal to him, and he would abandon the matter. That the + man loved her with the whole of his rude strength she was sure, and that + knowledge had been the only salve to her shame. + </p> + <p> + So far we have only suspicions ourselves; and, strange to relate, if we go + around Coniston with Jethro behind his little red Morgan, we shall come + back with nothing but—suspicions. They will amount to convictions, + yet we cannot prove them. The reader very naturally demands some specific + information—how did Jethro do it? I confess that I can only indicate + in a very general way: I can prove nothing. Nobody ever could prove + anything against Jethro Bass. Bring the following evidence before any + grand jury in the country, and see if they don't throw it out of court. + </p> + <p> + Jethro in the course of his weekly round of strictly business visits + throughout the town, drives into Samuel Todd's farmyard, and hitches on + the sunny side of the red barns. The town of Coniston, it must be + explained for the benefit of those who do not understand the word “town” + in the New England senses was a tract of country about ten miles by ten, + the most thickly settled portion of which was the village of Coniston, + consisting of twelve houses. Jethro drives into the barnyard, and Samuel + Todd comes out. He is a little man, and has a habit of rubbing the sharp + ridge of his nose. + </p> + <p> + “How be you, Jethro?” says Samuel. “Killed the brindle Thursday. Finest + hide you ever seed.” + </p> + <p> + “G-goin' to town meetin' Tuesday—g-goin' to town meetin' Tuesday—Sam'l?” + says Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “I was callatin' to, Jethro.” + </p> + <p> + “Democrat—hain't ye—Democrat?” + </p> + <p> + “Callate to be.” + </p> + <p> + “How much store do ye set by that hide?” + </p> + <p> + Samuel rubs his nose. Then he names a price that the hide might fetch, + under favorable circumstances, in Boston—Jethro does not wince. + </p> + <p> + “Who d'ye callate to vote for, Sam'l?” + </p> + <p> + Samuel rubs his nose. + </p> + <p> + “Heerd they was a-goin' to put up Fletcher and Amos Cuthbert, an' Sam + Price for Moderator.” (What a convenient word is they when used + politically!) “Hain't made up my mind, clear,” says Samuel. + </p> + <p> + “C-comin' by the tannery after town meetin'?” inquired Jethro, casually. + </p> + <p> + “Don't know but what I kin.” + </p> + <p> + “F-fetch the hide—f-fetch the hide.” + </p> + <p> + And Jethro drives off, with Samuel looking after him, rubbing his nose. + “No bill,” says the jury—if you can get Samuel into court. But you + can't. Even Moses Hatch can get nothing out of Samuel, who then talks + Jacksonian principles and the nights of an American citizen. + </p> + <p> + Let us pursue this matter a little farther, and form a committee of + investigation. Where did Mr. Todd learn anything about Jacksonian + principles? From Mr. Samuel Price, whom they have spoken of for Moderator. + And where did Mr. Price learn of these principles? Any one in Coniston + will tell you that Mr. Price makes a specialty of orators and oratory; and + will hold forth at the drop of a hat in Jonah Winch's store or anywhere + else. Who is Mr. Price? He is a tall, sallow young man of eight and + twenty, with a wedge-shaped face, a bachelor and a Methodist, who farms in + a small way on the southern slope, and saves his money. He has become + almost insupportable since they have named him for Moderator. + </p> + <p> + Get Mr. Sam Price into court. Here is a man who assuredly knows who they + are: if we are, not much mistaken, he is their mouthpiece. Get, an eel + into court. There is only one man in town who can hold an eel, and he + isn't on the jury. Mr. Price will talk plentifully, in his nasal way; but + he won't tell you anything. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Price has been nominated to fill Deacon Lysander Richardson's shoes in + the following manner: One day in the late autumn a man in a coonskin cap + stops beside Mr. Price's woodpile, where Mr. Price has been chopping wood, + pausing occasionally to stare off through the purple haze at the south + shoulder of Coniston Mountain. + </p> + <p> + “How be you, Jethro?” says Mr. Price, nasally. + </p> + <p> + “D-Democrats are talkin' some of namin' you Moderator next meetin',” says + the man in the coonskin cap. + </p> + <p> + “Want to know!” ejaculates Mr. Price, dropping the axe and straightening + up in amazement. For Mr. Price's ambition soared no higher, and he had + made no secret of it. “Wal! Whar'd you hear that, Jethro?” + </p> + <p> + “H-heerd it round—some. D-Democrat—hain't you—Democrat?” + </p> + <p> + “Always callate to be.” + </p> + <p> + “J-Jacksonian Democrat?” + </p> + <p> + “Guess I be.” + </p> + <p> + Silence for a while, that Mr. Price may feel the gavel in his hand, which + he does. + </p> + <p> + “Know somewhat about Jacksonian principles, don't ye—know somewhat?” + </p> + <p> + “Callate to,” says Mr. Price, proudly. + </p> + <p> + “T-talk 'em up, Sam—t-talk 'em up. C-canvass, Sam.” + </p> + <p> + With these words of brotherly advice Mr. Bass went off down the road, and + Mr. Price chopped no more wood that night; but repeated to himself many + times in his nasal voice, “I want to know!” In the course of the next few + weeks various gentlemen mentioned to Mr. Price that he had been spoken of + for Moderator, and he became acquainted with the names of the other + candidates on the same mysterious ticket who were mentioned. Whereupon he + girded up his loins and went forth and preached the word of Jacksonian + Democracy in all the farmhouses roundabout, with such effect that Samuel + Todd and others were able to talk with some fluency about the rights of + American citizens. + </p> + <p> + Question before the Committee, undisposed of: Who nominated Samuel Price + for Moderator? Samuel Price gives the evidence, tells the court he does + not know, and is duly cautioned and excused. + </p> + <p> + Let us call, next, Mr. Eben Williams, if we can. Moses Hatch, Senior, has + already interrogated him with all the authority of the law and the church, + for Mr. Williams is orthodox, though the deacons have to remind him of his + duty once in a while. Eben is timid, and replies to us, as to Moses, that + he has heard of the Democratic ticket, and callates that Fletcher + Bartlett, who has always been the leader of the Democratic party, has + named the ticket. He did not mention Jethro Bass to Deacon Hatch. Why + should he? What has Jethro Bass got to do with politics? + </p> + <p> + Eben lives on a southern spur, next to Amos Cuthbert, where you can look + off for forty miles across the billowy mountains of the west. From no spot + in Coniston town is the sunset so fine on distant Farewell Mountain, and + Eben's sheep feed on pastures where only mountain-bred sheep can cling and + thrive. Coniston, be it known, at this time is one of the famous wool + towns of New England: before the industry went West, with other + industries. But Eben Williams's sheep do not wholly belong to him they are + mortgaged—and Eben's farm is mortgaged. + </p> + <p> + Jethro Bass—Eben testifies to us—is in the habit of visiting + him once a month, perhaps, when he goes to Amos Cuthbert's. Just friendly + calls. Is it not a fact that Jethro Bass holds his mortgage? Yes, for + eight hundred dollars. How long has he held that mortgage? About a year + and a half. Has the interest been paid promptly? Well, the fact is that + Eben hasn't paid any interest yet. + </p> + <p> + Now let us take the concrete incident. Before that hypocritical thaw early + in February, Jethro called upon Amos Cuthbert—not so surly then as + he has since become—and talked about buying his wool when it should + be duly cut, and permitted Amos to talk about the position of second + selectman, for which some person or persons unknown to the jury had + nominated him. On his way down to the Four Corners, Jethro had merely + pulled up his sleigh before Eben Williams's house, which stood behind a + huge snow bank and practically on the road. Eben appeared at the door, a + little dishevelled in hair and beard, for he had been sleeping. + </p> + <p> + “How be you, Jethro?” he said nervously. Jethro nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Weather looks a mite soft.” + </p> + <p> + No answer. + </p> + <p> + “About that interest,” said Eben, plunging into the dread subject, “don't + know as I'm ready this month after all.” + </p> + <p> + “G-goin' to town meetin', Eben?” + </p> + <p> + “Wahn't callatin' to,” answered Eben. + </p> + <p> + “G-goin' to town meetin', Eben?” + </p> + <p> + Eben, puzzled and dismayed, ran his hand through his hair. + </p> + <p> + “Wahn't callatin' to—but I kin—I kin.” + </p> + <p> + “D-Democrat—hain't ye—D-Democrat?” + </p> + <p> + “I kin be,” said Eben. Then he looked at Jethro and added in a startled + voice, “Don't know but what I be—Yes, I guess I be.” + </p> + <p> + “H-heerd the ticket?” + </p> + <p> + Yes, Eben had heard the ticket. What man had not. Some one has been most + industrious, and most disinterested, in distributing that ticket. + </p> + <p> + “Hain't a mite of hurry about the interest right now—right now,” + said Jethro. “M-may be along the third week in March—may be—c-can + t tell.” + </p> + <p> + And Jethro clucked to his horse, and drove away. Eben Williams went back + into his house and sat down with his head in his hands. In about two + hours, when his wife called him to fetch water, he set down the pail on + the snow and stared across the next ridge at the eastern horizon, + whitening after the sunset. + </p> + <p> + The third week in March was the week after town meeting! + </p> + <p> + “M-may be—c-can't tell,” repeated Eben to himself, unconsciously + imitating Jethro's stutter. “Godfrey, I'll hev to git that ticket straight + from Amos.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, we may have our suspicions. But how can we get a bill on this + evidence? There are some thirty other individuals in Coniston whose + mortgages Jethro holds, from a horse to a house and farm. It is not likely + that they will tell Beacon Hatch, or us; that they are going to town + meeting and vote for that fatherless ticket because Jethro Bass wishes + them to do so. And Jethro has never said that he wishes them to. If so, + where are your witnesses? Have we not come back to our starting-point, + even as Moses Hatch drove around in a circle.. And we have the advantage + over Moses, for we suspect somebody, and he did not know whom to suspect. + Certainly not Jethro Bass, the man that lived under his nose and never + said anything—and had no right to. Jethro Bass had never taken any + active part in politics, though some folks had heard, in his rounds on + business, that he had discussed them, and had spread the news of the + infamous ticket without a parent. So much was spoken of at the meeting + over which Priest Ware prayed. It was even declared that, being a + Democrat, Jethro might have influenced some of those under obligations to + him. Sam Price was at last fixed upon as the malefactor, though people + agreed that they had not given him credit for so much sense, and + Jacksonian principles became as much abhorred by the orthodox as the + spotted fever. + </p> + <p> + We can call a host of other witnesses if we like, among them cranky, + happy-go-lucky Fletcher Bartlett, who has led forlorn hopes in former + years. Court proceedings make tiresome reading, and if those who have been + over ours have not arrived at some notion of the simple and innocent + method of the new Era of politics note dawning—they never will. + Nothing proved. But here is part of the ticket which nobody started:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + For + + SENIOR SELECTMAN, FLETCHER BARTLETT. + + (Farm and buildings on Thousand Acre Hill mortgaged to Jethro + Bass.) + + SECOND SELECTMAN, AMOS CUTHBERT. + + (Farm and buildings on Town's End Ridge mortgaged to Jethro + Bass.) + + THIRD SELECTMAN, CHESTER PERKINS. + + (Sop of some kind to the Established Church party. Horse and + cow mortgaged to Jethro Bass, though his father, the tithing-man, +doesn't know it.) + + MODERATOR, SAMUEL PRICE. + + (Natural ambition—dove of oratory and Jacksonian principles.) + + etc., etc. +</pre> + <p> + The notes are mine, not Moses's. Strange that they didn't occur to Moses. + What a wealthy man has our hero become at thirty-one! Jethro Bass was rich + beyond the dreams of avarice—for Coniston. Truth compels me to admit + that the sum total of all his mortgages did not amount to nine thousand + “dollars”; but that was a large sum of money for Coniston in those days, + and even now. Nathan Bass had been a saving man, and had left to his son + one-half of this fortune. If thrift and the ability to gain wealth be + qualities for a hero, Jethro had them—in those days. + </p> + <p> + The Sunday before March meeting, it blew bitter cold, and Priest Ware, + preaching in mittens, denounced sedition in general. Underneath him, on + the first landing of the high pulpit, the deacons sat with knitted brows, + and the key-note from Isaiah Prescott's pitch pipe sounded like mournful + echo of the mournful wind without. + </p> + <p> + Monday was ushered in with that sleet storm to which the almanacs still + refer, and another scarcely less important event occurred that day which + we shall have to pass by for the present; on Tuesday, the sleet still + raging, came the historic town meeting. Deacon Moses Hatch, his chores + done and his breakfast and prayers completed, fought his way with his head + down through a white waste to the meeting-house door, and unlocked it, and + shivered as he made the fire. It was certainly not good election weather, + thought Moses, and others of the orthodox persuasion, high in office, were + of the same opinion as they stood with parted coat tails before the stove. + Whoever had stirred up and organized the hordes, whoever was the author of + that ticket of the discontented, had not counted upon the sleet. + Heaven-sent sleet, said Deacon Ira Perkins, and would not speak to his son + Chester, who sat down just then in one of the rear slips. Chester had + become an agitator, a Jacksonian Democrat, and an outcast, to be prayed + for but not spoken to. + </p> + <p> + We shall leave them their peace of mind for half an hour more, those + stanch old deacons and selectmen, who did their duty by their + fellow-citizens as they saw it and took no man's bidding. They could not + see the trackless roads over the hills, now becoming tracked, and the bent + figures driving doggedly against the storm, each impelled by a motive: + each motive strengthened by a master mind until it had become imperative. + Some, like Eben Williams behind his rickety horse, came through fear; + others through ambition; others were actuated by both; and still others + were stung by the pain of the sleet to a still greater jealousy and envy, + and the remembrance of those who had been in power. I must not omit the + conscientious Jacksonians who were misguided enough to believe in such a + ticket. + </p> + <p> + The sheds were not large enough to hold the teams that day. Jethro's barn + and tannery were full, and many other barns in the village. And now the + peace of mind of the orthodox is a thing of the past. Deacon Lysander + Richardson, the moderator, sits aghast in his high place as they come + trooping in, men who have not been to town meeting for ten years. Deacon + Lysander, with his white band of whiskers that goes around his neck like a + sixteenth-century ruff under his chin, will soon be a memory. Now enters + one, if Deacon Lysander had known it symbolic of the new Era. One who, + though his large head is bent, towers over most of the men who make way + for him in the aisle, nodding but not speaking, and takes his place in the + chair under the platform on the right of the meeting-pause under one of + the high, three-part windows. That chair was always his in future years, + and there he sat afterward, silent, apparently taking no part. But not a + man dropped a ballot into the box whom Jethro Bass did not see and mark. + </p> + <p> + And now, when the meeting-house is crowded as it has never been before, + when Jonah Winch has arranged his dinner booth in the corner, Deacon + Lysander raps for order and the minister prays. They proceed, first, to + elect a representative to the General Court. The Jacksonians do not + contest that seat,—this year,—and Isaiah Prescott, fourteenth + child of Timothy, the Stark hero, father of a young Ephraim whom we shall + hear from later, is elected. And now! Now for a sensation, now for + disorder and misrule! + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” says Deacon Lysander, “you will prepare your ballots for the + choice of the first Selectman.” + </p> + <p> + The Whigs have theirs written out, Deacon Moses Hatch. But who has written + out these others that are being so assiduously passed around? Sam Price, + perhaps, for he is passing them most assiduously. And what name is written + on them? Fletcher Bartlett, of course; that was on the ticket. Somebody is + tricked again. That is not the name on the ticket. Look over Sara Price's + shoulder and you will see the name—Jethro Bass. + </p> + <p> + It bursts from the lips of Fletcher Bartlett himself—of Fletcher, + inflammable as gunpowder. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, I withdraw as your candidate, and nominate a better and an + abler man,—Jethro Bass.” + </p> + <p> + “Jethro Bass for Chairman of the Selectmen!” + </p> + <p> + The cry is taken up all over the meeting-house, and rises high above the + hiss of the sleet on the great windows. Somebody's got on the stove, to + add to the confusion and horror. The only man in the whole place who is + not excited is Jethro Bass himself, who sits in his chair regardless of + those pressing around him. Many years afterward he confessed to some one + that he was surprised—and this is true. Fletcher Bartlett had + surprised and tricked him, but was forgiven. Forty men are howling at the + moderator, who is pounding on the table with a blacksmith's blows. Squire + Asa Northcutt, with his arms fanning like a windmill from the edge of the + platform, at length shouts down everybody else—down to a hum. Some + listen to him: hear the words “infamous outrage”—“if Jethro Bass is + elected Selectman, Coniston will never be able to hold up her head among + her sister towns for very shame.” (Momentary blank, for somebody has got + on the stove again, a scuffle going on there.) “I see it all now,” says + the Squire—(marvel of perspicacity!) “Jethro Bass has debased and + debauched this town—” (blank again, and the squire points a finger + of rage and scorn at the unmoved offender in the chair) “he has bought and + intimidated men to do his bidding. He has sinned against heaven, and + against the spirit of that most immortal of documents—” (Blank + again. Most unfortunate blank, for this is becoming oratory, but somebody + from below has seized the squire by the leg.) Squire Northcutt is too + dignified and elderly a person to descend to rough and tumble, but he did + get his leg liberated and kicked Fletcher Bartlett in the face. Oh, + Coniston, that such scenes should take place in your town meeting! By this + time another is orating, Mr. Sam Price, Jackson Democrat. There was no + shorthand reporter in Coniston in those days, and it is just as well, + perhaps, that the accusations and recriminations should sink into + oblivion. + </p> + <p> + At last, by mighty efforts of the peace loving in both parties, something + like order is restored, the ballots are in the box, and Deacon Lysander is + counting them: not like another moderator I have heard of, who spilled the + votes on the floor until his own man was elected. No. Had they registered + his own death sentence, the deacon would have counted them straight, and + needed no town clerk to verify his figures. But when he came to pronounce + the vote, shame and sorrow and mortification overcame him. Coniston, his + native town, which he had served and revered, was dishonored, and it was + for him, Lysander Richardson, to proclaim her disgrace. The deacon choked, + and tears of bitterness stood in his eyes, and there came a silence only + broken by the surging of the sleet as he rapped on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Seventy-five votes have been cast for Jethro Bass—sixty-three for + Moses Hatch. Necessary for a choice, seventy—and Jethro Bass is + elected senior Selectman.” + </p> + <p> + The deacon sat down, and men say that a great sob shook him, while + Jacksonian Democracy went wild—not looking into future years to see + what they were going wild about. Jethro Bass Chairman of the Board of + Selectmen, in the honored place of Deacon Moses Hatch! Bourbon royalists + never looked with greater abhorrence on the Corsican adventurer and + usurper of the throne than did the orthodox in Coniston on this tanner, + who had earned no right to aspire to any distinction, and who by his wiles + had acquired the highest office in the town government. Fletcher Bartlett + in, as a leader of the irresponsible opposition, would have been calamity + enough. But Jethro Bass! + </p> + <p> + This man whom they had despised was the master mind who had organized and + marshalled the loose vote, was the author of that ticket, who sat in his + corner unmoved alike by the congratulations of his friends and the + maledictions of his enemies; who rose to take his oath of office as + unconcerned as though the house were empty, albeit Deacon Lysander could + scarcely get the words out. And then Jethro sat down again in his chair—not + to leave it for six and thirty years. From this time forth that chair + became a seat of power, and of dominion over a state. + </p> + <p> + Thus it was that Jock Hallowell's prophecy, so lightly uttered, came to + pass. + </p> + <p> + How the remainder of that Jacksonian ticket was elected, down to the very + hog-reeves, and amid what turmoil of the Democracy and bitterness of + spirit of the orthodox, I need not recount. There is no moral to the + story, alas—it was one of those things which inscrutable heaven + permitted to be done. After that dark town-meeting day some of those stern + old fathers became broken men, and it is said in Coniston that this + calamity to righteous government, and not the storm, gave to Priest Ware + his death-stroke. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + And now we must go back for a chapter—a very short chapter—to + the day before that town meeting which had so momentous an influence upon + the history of Coniston and of the state. That Monday, too, it will be + remembered, dawned in storm, the sleet hissing in the wide throats of the + centre-chimneys, and bearing down great boughs of trees until they broke + in agony. Dusk came early, and howling darkness that hid a muffled figure + on the ice-bound road staring at the yellow cracks in the tannery door. + Presently the figure crossed the yard; the door, flying open, released a + shaft of light that shot across the white ground, revealed a face beneath + a hood to him who stood within. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro!” + </p> + <p> + She darted swiftly past him, seizing the door and drawing it closed after + her. A lantern hung on the central post and flung its rays upon his face. + Her own, mercifully, was in the shadow, and burning now with a shame that + was insupportable. Now that she was there, beside him, her strength failed + her, and her courage—courage that she had been storing for this + dread undertaking throughout the whole of that dreadful day. Now that she + was there, she would have given her life to have been able to retrace her + steps, to lose herself in the wild, dark places of the mountain. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthy!” His voice betrayed the passion which her presence had quickened. + </p> + <p> + The words she would have spoken would not come. She could think of nothing + but that she was alone with him, and in bodily terror of him. She turned + to the door again, to grasp the wooden latch; but he barred the way, and + she fell back. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go,” she cried. “I did not mean to come. Do you hear?—let me + go!” + </p> + <p> + To her amazement he stepped aside—a most unaccountable action for + him. More unaccountable still, she did not move, now that she was free, + but stood poised for flight, held by she knew not what. + </p> + <p> + “G-go if you've a mind to, Cynthy—if you've a mind to.” + </p> + <p> + “I've come to say something to you,” she faltered. It was not, at all the + way she had pictured herself as saying it. + </p> + <p> + “H-haven't took' Moses—have you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she cried, “do you think I came here to speak of such a thing as + that?” + </p> + <p> + “H-haven't took—Moses, have you?” + </p> + <p> + She was trembling, and yet she could almost have smiled at this + well-remembered trick of pertinacity. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, and immediately hated herself for answering him. + </p> + <p> + “H-haven't took that Worthington cuss?” + </p> + <p> + He was jealous! + </p> + <p> + “I didn't come to discuss Mr. Worthington,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Folks say it's only a matter of time,” said he. “Made up your mind to + take him, Cynthy? M-made up your mind?” + </p> + <p> + “You've no right to talk to me in this way,” she said, and added, the + words seeming to slip of themselves from her lips, “Why do you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I'm—interested,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't shown it,” she flashed back, forgetting the place, and the + storm, and her errand even, forgetting that Jake Wheeler, or any one in + Coniston, might come and surprise her there. + </p> + <p> + He took a step toward her, and she retreated. The light struck her face, + and he bent over her as though searching it for a sign. The cape on her + shoulders rose and fell as she breathed. + </p> + <p> + “'Twahn't charity, Cynthy—was it? 'Twahn't charity?” + </p> + <p> + “It was you who called it such,” she answered, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + A sleet-charged gust hurled itself against the door, and the lantern + flickered. + </p> + <p> + “Wahn't it charity.” + </p> + <p> + “It was friendship, Jethro. You ought to have known that, and you should + not have brought back the book.” + </p> + <p> + “Friendship,” he repeated, “y-you said friendship?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “M-meant friendship?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cynthia, but more faintly, and yet with a certain delicious + fright as she glanced at him shyly. Surely there had never been a stranger + man! Now he was apparently in a revery. + </p> + <p> + “G-guess it's because I'm not good enough to be anything more,” he + remarked suddenly. “Is that it?” + </p> + <p> + “You have not tried even to be a friend,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “H-how about Worthington?” he persisted. “Just friends with him?” + </p> + <p> + “I won't talk about Mr. Worthington,” cried Cynthia, desperately, and + retreated toward the lantern again. + </p> + <p> + “J-just friends with Worthington?” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” she asked, her words barely heard above the gust, “why do you want + to know?” + </p> + <p> + He came after her. It was as if she had summoned some unseen, + uncontrollable power, only to be appalled by it, and the mountain-storm + without seemed the symbol of it. His very voice seemed to partake of its + strength. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthy,” he said, “if you'd took him, I'd have killed him. Cynthy, I love + you—I want you to be my woman—” + </p> + <p> + “Your woman!” + </p> + <p> + He caught her, struggling wildly, terror-stricken, in his arms, beat down + her hands, flung back her hood, and kissed her forehead—her hair, + blown by the wind—her lips. In that moment she felt the mystery of + heaven and hell, of all kinds of power. In that moment she was like a seed + flying in the storm above the mountain spruces whither, she knew not, + cared not. There was one thought that drifted across the chaos like a blue + light of the spirit: Could she control the storm? Could she say whither + the winds might blow, where the seed might be planted? Then she found + herself listening, struggling no longer, for he held her powerless. + Strangest of all, most hopeful of all, his own mind was working, though + his soul rocked with passion. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthy—ever since we stopped that day on the road in Northcutt's + woods, I've thought of nothin' but to marry you—m-marry you. Then + you give me that book—I hain't had much education, but it come + across me if you was to help me that way—And when I seed you with + Worthington, I could have killed him easy as breakin' bark.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Jethro.” + </p> + <p> + She struggled free and leaped away from him, panting, while he tore open + his coat and drew forth something which gleamed in the lantern's rays—a + silver locket. Cynthia scarcely saw it. Her blood was throbbing in her + temples, she could not reason, but she knew that the appeal for the sake + of which she had stooped must be delivered now. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro,” she said, “do you know why I came here—why I came to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said. “No. W—wanted me, didn't you? Wanted me—I + wanted you, Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + “I would never have come to you for that,” she cried, “never!” + </p> + <p> + “L-love me, Cynthy—love me, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + How could he ask, seeing that she had been in his arms, and had not fled? + And yet she must go through with what she had come to do, at any cost. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro, I have come to speak to you about the town meeting tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + He halted as though he had been struck, his hand tightening over the + locket. + </p> + <p> + “T-town meetin'?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. All this new organization is your doing,” she cried. “Do you think + that I am foolish enough to believe that Fletcher Bartlett or Sam Price + planned this thing? No, Jethro. I know who has done it, and I could have + told them if they had asked me.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her, and the light of a new admiration was in his eye. + </p> + <p> + “Knowed it—did you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, a little defiantly, “I did.” + </p> + <p> + “H-how'd you know it—how'd you know it, Cynthy?” How did she know + it, indeed? + </p> + <p> + “I guessed it,” said Cynthia, desperately, “knowing you, I guessed it.” + </p> + <p> + “A-always thought you was smart, Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, did you do this thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Th-thought you knowed it—th-thought you knowed.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe that these men are doing your bidding.” + </p> + <p> + “Hain't you guessin' a little mite too much; Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “Jethro,” she said, “you told me just now that—that you loved me. + Don't touch me!” she cried, when he would have taken her in his arms + again. “If you love me, you will tell me why you have done such a thing.” + </p> + <p> + What instinct there was in the man which forbade him speaking out to her, + I know not. I do believe that he would have confessed, if he could. Isaac + Worthington had been impelled to reveal his plans and aspirations, but + Jethro Bass was as powerless in this supreme moment of his life as was + Coniston Mountain to move the granite on which it stood. Cynthia's heart + sank, and a note of passionate appeal came into her voice. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Jethro!” she cried, “this is not the way to use your power, to compel + men like Eben Williams and Samuel Todd and—and Lyman Hull, who is a + drunkard and a vagabond, to come in and vote for those who are not fit to + hold office.” She was using the minister's own arguments. “We have always + had clean men, and honorable and good men.” + </p> + <p> + He did not speak, but dropped his hands to his sides. His thoughts were + not to be fathomed, yet Cynthia took the movement for silent confession,—which + it was not, and stood appalled at the very magnitude of his + accomplishment, astonished at the secrecy he had maintained. She had heard + that his name had been mentioned in the meeting at the house of Moses + Hatch as having taken part in the matter, and she guessed something of + certain of his methods. But she had felt his force, and knew that this was + not the only secret of his power. + </p> + <p> + What might he not aspire to, if properly guided? No, she did not believe + him to be, unscrupulous—but merely ignorant: a man who was capable + of such love as she felt was in him, a man whom she could love, could not + mean to be unscrupulous. Defence of him leaped to her own lips. + </p> + <p> + “You did not know what you were doing,” she said. “I was sure of it, or I + would not have come to you. Oh, Jethro! you must stop it—you must + prevent this election.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes met his, her own pleading, and the very wind without seemed to + pause for his answer. But what she asked was impossible. That wind which + he himself had loosed, which was to topple over institutions, was rising, + and he could no more have stopped it then than he could have hushed the + storm. + </p> + <p> + “You will not do what I ask—now?” she said, very slowly. Then her + voice failed her, she drew her hands together, and it was as if her heart + had ceased to beat. Sorrow and anger and fierce shame overwhelmed her, and + she turned from him in silence and went to the door. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthy,” he cried hoarsely, “Cynthy!” + </p> + <p> + “You must never speak to me again,” she said, and was gone into the storm. + </p> + <p> + Yes, she had failed. But she did not know that she had left something + behind which he treasured as long as he lived. + </p> + <p> + In the spring, when the new leaves were green on the slopes of Coniston, + Priest Ware ended a life of faithful service. The high pulpit, taken from + the old meeting house, and the cricket on which he used to stand and the + Bible from which he used to preach have remained objects of veneration in + Coniston to this day. A fortnight later many tearful faces gazed after the + Truro coach as it galloped out of Brampton in a cloud of dust, and one + there was watching unseen from the spruces on the hill, who saw within it + a girl dressed in black, dry-eyed, staring from the window. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + Out of the stump of a blasted tree in the Coniston woods a flower will + sometimes grow, and even so the story which I have now to tell springs + from the love of Cynthia Ware and Jethro Bass. The flower, when it came to + bloom, was fair in life, and I hope that in these pages it will not lose + too much of its beauty and sweetness. + </p> + <p> + For a little while we are going to gallop through the years as before we + have ambled through the days, although the reader's breath may be taken + away in the process. How Cynthia Ware went over the Truro Pass to Boston, + and how she became a teacher in a high school there;—largely through + the kindness of that Miss Lucretia Penniman of whom we have spoken, who + wrote in Cynthia's behalf to certain friends she had in that city; how she + met one William Wetherell, no longer a clerk in Mr. Judson's jewellery + shop, but a newspaper man with I know not what ambitions—and + limitations in strength of body and will; how, many, many years afterward, + she nursed him tenderly through a sickness and—married him, is all + told in a paragraph. Marry him she did, to take care of him, and told him + so. She made no secret of the maternal in this love. + </p> + <p> + One evening, the summer after their marriage, they were walking in the + Mall under the great elms that border the Common on the Tremont Street + side. They often used to wander there, talking of the books he was to + write when strength should come and a little leisure, and sometimes their + glances would linger longingly on Colonnade Row that Bulfinch built across + the way, where dwelt the rich and powerful of the city—and yet he + would not have exchanged their lot for his. Could he have earned with his + own hands such a house, and sit Cynthia there in glory, what happiness! + But, I stray. + </p> + <p> + They were walking in the twilight, for the sun had sunk all red in the + marshes of the Charles, when there chanced along a certain Mr. Judson, a + jeweller, taking the air likewise. So there came into Wetherell's mind + that amusing adventure with the country lad and the locket. His name, by + reason of some strange quality in it, he had never forgotten, and suddenly + he recalled that the place the countryman had come from was Coniston. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” said her husband, when Mr. Judson was gone, “did you know any + one in Coniston named Jethro Bass?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer him. And, thinking she had not heard, he spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you ask?” she said, in a low tone, without looking at him. + </p> + <p> + He told her the story. Not until the end of it did the significance of the + name engraved come to him—Cynthy. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthy, from Jethro.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, it might have been you!” he said jestingly. “Was he an admirer of + yours, Cynthia, that strange, uncouth countryman? Did he give you the + locket?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered, “he never did.” + </p> + <p> + Wetherell glanced at her in surprise, and saw that her lip was quivering, + that tears were on her lashes. She laid her hand on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “William,” she said, drawing him to a bench, “come, let us sit down, and I + will tell you the story of Jethro Bass. We have been happy together, you + and I, for I have found peace with you. I have tried to be honest with + you, William, and I will always be so. I told you before we were married + that I loved another man. I have tried to forget him, but as God is my + judge, I cannot. I believe I shall love him until I die.” + </p> + <p> + They sat in the summer twilight, until darkness fell, and the lights + gleamed through the leaves, and a deep, cool breath coming up from the sea + stirred the leaves above their heads. That she should have loved Jethro + seemed as strange to her as to him, and yet Wetherell was to feel the + irresistible force of him. Hers was not a love that she chose, or would + have chosen, but something elemental that cried out from the man to her, + and drew her. Something that had in it now, as of yore, much of pain and + even terror, but drew her. Strangest of all was that William Wetherell + understood and was not jealous of this thing: which leads us to believe + that some essence of virility was lacking in him, some substance that + makes the fighters and conquerors in this world. In such mood he listened + to the story of Jethro Bass. + </p> + <p> + “My dear husband,” said Cynthia, when she had finished, her hand + tightening over his, “I have never told you this for fear that it might + trouble you as it has troubled me. I have found in your love sanctuary; + and all that remains of myself I have given to you.” + </p> + <p> + “You have found a weakling to protect, and an invalid to nurse,” he + answered. “To have your compassion, Cynthia, is all I crave.” + </p> + <p> + So they lived through the happiest and swiftest years of his life, working + side by side, sharing this strange secret between them. And after that + night Cynthia talked to him often of Coniston, until he came to know the + mountain that lay along the western sky, and the sweet hillsides by + Coniston Water under the blue haze of autumn, aye, and clothed in the + colors of spring, the bright blossoms of thorn and apple against the + tender green of the woods and fields. So he grew to love the simple people + there, but little did he foresee that he was to end his life among them! + </p> + <p> + But so it came to pass, she was taken from him, who had been the one joy + and inspiration of his weary days, and he was driven, wandering, into + unfrequented streets that he might not recall, the places where she had + once trod, and through the wakeful nights her voice haunted him,—its + laughter, its sweet notes of seriousness; little ways and manners of her + look came to twist his heart, and he prayed God to take him, too, until it + seemed that Cynthia frowned upon him for his weakness. One mild Sunday + afternoon, he took little Cynthia by the hand and led her, toddling, out + into the sunny Common, where he used to walk with her mother, and the + infant prattle seemed to bring—at last a strange peace to his + storm-tossed soul. + </p> + <p> + For many years these Sunday walks in the Common were Wetherell's greatest + pleasure and solace, and it seemed as though little Cynthia had come into + the world with an instinct, as it were, of her mission that lent to her + infant words a sweet gravity and weight. Many people used to stop and + speak to the child, among them a great physician whom they grew to know. + He was, there every Sunday, and at length it came to be a habit with him + to sit down on the bench and take Cynthia on his knee, and his stern face + would soften as he talked to her. + </p> + <p> + One Sunday when Cynthia was eight years old he missed them, and the next, + and at dusk he strode into their little lodging behind the hill and up to + the bedside. He glanced at Wetherell, patting Cynthia on the head the + while, and bade her cheerily to go out of the room. But she held tight + hold of her father's hand and looked up at the doctor bravely. + </p> + <p> + “I am taking care of my father,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “So you shall, little woman,” he answered. “I would that we had such + nurses as you at the hospital. Why didn't you send for me at once?” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Bless her good sense;” said the doctor; “she has more than you, + Wetherell. Why didn't you take her advice? If your father does not do as I + tell him, he will be a very sick man indeed. He must go into the country + and stay there.” + </p> + <p> + “But I must live, Doctor,” said William Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + The doctor looked at Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “You will not live if you stay here,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Then he will go,” said Cynthia, so quietly that he gave her another look, + strange and tender and comprehending. He, sat and talked of many things: + of the great war that was agonizing the nation; of the strong man who, + harassed and suffering himself, was striving to guide it, likening Lincoln + unto a physician. So the doctor was wont to take the minds of patients + from themselves. And before he left he gave poor Wetherell a fortnight to + decide. + </p> + <p> + As he lay on his back in that room among the chimney tops trying vainly to + solve the problem of how he was to earn his salt in the country, a visitor + was climbing the last steep flight of stairs. That visitor was none other + than Sergeant Ephraim Prescott, son of Isaiah of the pitch-pipe, and own + cousin of Cynthia Ware's. Sergeant Ephraim was just home from the war and + still clad in blue, and he walked with a slight limp by reason of a bullet + he had got in the Wilderness, and he had such an honest, genial face that + little Cynthia was on his knee in a moment. + </p> + <p> + “How be you, Will? Kind of poorly, I callate. So Cynthy's b'en took,” he + said sadly. “Always thought a sight of Cynthy. Little Cynthy favors her + some. Yes, thought I'd drop in and see how you be on my way home.” + </p> + <p> + Sergeant Ephraim had much to say about the great war, and about Coniston. + True to the instincts of the blood of the Stark hero, he had left the + plough and the furrow' at the first call, forty years of age though he + was. But it had been otherwise with many in Coniston and Brampton and + Harwich. Some of these, when the drafting came, had fled in bands to the + mountain and defied capture. Mr. Dudley Worthington, now a mill owner, had + found a substitute; Heth Sutton of Clovelly had been drafted and had + driven over the mountain to implore Jethro Bass abjectly to get him out of + it. In short, many funny things had happened—funny things to + Sergeant Ephraim, but not at all to William Wetherell, who sympathized + with Heth in his panic. + </p> + <p> + “So Jethro Bass has become a great man,” said Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “Great!” Ephraim ejaculated. “Guess he's the biggest man in the state + to-day. Queer how he got his power began twenty-four years ago when I + wahn't but twenty. I call that town meetin' to mind as if 'twas yesterday + never was such an upset. Jethro's be'n first Selectman ever sense, though + he turned Republican in '60. Old folks don't fancy Jethro's kind of + politics much, but times change. Jethro saved my life, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Saved your life!” exclaimed Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “Got me a furlough,” said Ephraim. “Guess I would have died in the + hospital if he hadn't got it so all-fired quick, and he druv down to + Brampton to fetch me back. You'd have thought I was General Grant the way + folks treated me.” + </p> + <p> + “You went back to the war after your leg healed?” Wetherell asked, in + wondering admiration of the man's courage. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Ephraim, simply, “the other boys was gettin' full of bullets + and dysentery, and it didn't seem just right. The leg troubles me some on + wet days, but not to amount to much. You hain't thinkin' of dyin' + yourself, be ye, William?” + </p> + <p> + William was thinking very seriously of it, but it was Cynthia who spoke, + and startled them both. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor says he will die if he doesn't go to the country.” + </p> + <p> + “Somethin' like consumption, William?” asked Ephraim. + </p> + <p> + “So the doctor said.” + </p> + <p> + “So I callated,” said Ephraim. “Come back to Coniston with me; there + hain't a healthier place in New England.” + </p> + <p> + “How could I support myself in Coniston?” Wetherell asked. + </p> + <p> + Ephraim ruminated. Suddenly he stuck his hand into the bosom of his blue + coat, and his face lighted and even gushed as he drew out a crumpled + letter. + </p> + <p> + “It don't take much gumption to run a store, does it, William? Guess you + could run a store, couldn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I would try anything,” said Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Ephraim' “there's the store at Coniston. With folks goin' + West, and all that, nobody seems to want it much.” He looked at the + letter. “Lem Hallowell' says there hain't nobody to take it.” + </p> + <p> + “Jonah Winch's!” exclaimed Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “Jonah made it go, but that was before all this hullabaloo about + Temperance Cadets and what not. Jonah sold good rum, but now you can't get + nothin' in Coniston but hard cider and potato whiskey. Still, it's the + place for somebody without much get-up,” and he eyed his cousin by + marriage. “Better come and try it, William.” + </p> + <p> + So much for dreams! Instead of a successor to Irving and Emerson, William + Wetherell became a successor to Jonah Winch. + </p> + <p> + That journey to Coniston was full of wonder to Cynthia, and of wonder and + sadness to Wetherell, for it was the way his other Cynthia had come to + Boston. From the state capital the railroad followed the same deep valley + as the old coach road, but ended at Truro, and then they took stage over + Truro Pass for Brampton, where honest Ephraim awaited them and their + slender luggage with a team. Brampton, with its wide-shadowed green, and + terrace-steepled church; home once of the Social Library and Lucretia + Penniman, now famous; home now of Isaac Dudley Worthington, whose great + mills the stage driver had pointed out to them on Coniston Water as they + entered the town. + </p> + <p> + Then came a drive through the cool evening to Coniston, Ephraim showing + them landmarks. There was Deacon Lysander's house, where little Rias + Richardson lived now; and on that slope and hidden in its forest nook, + among the birches and briers, the little schoolhouse where Cynthia had + learned to spell; here, where the road made an aisle in the woods, she had + met Jethro. The choir of the birds was singing an evening anthem now as + then, to the lower notes of Coniston Water, and the moist, hothouse + fragrance of the ferns rose from the deep places. + </p> + <p> + At last they came suddenly upon the little hamlet of Coniston itself. + There was the flagpole and the triangular green, scene of many a muster; + Jonah Winch's store, with its horse block and checker-paned windows, just + as Jonah had left it; Nathan Bass's tannery shed, now weather-stained and + neglected, for Jethro lived on Thousand Acre Hill now; the Prescott house, + home of the Stark hero, where Ephraim lived, “innocent of paint” (as one + of Coniston's sons has put it), “innocent of paint as a Coniston maiden's + face”; the white meeting-house, where Priest Ware had preached—and + the parsonage. Cynthia and Wetherell loitered in front of it, while the + blue shadow of the mountain deepened into night, until Mr. Satterlee, the + minister, found them there, and they went in and stood reverently in the + little chamber on the right of the door, which had been Cynthia's. + </p> + <p> + Long Wetherell lay awake that night, in his room at the gable-end over the + store, listening to the rustling of the great oak beside the windows, to + the whippoorwills calling across Coniston Water. But at last a peace + descended upon him, and he slept: yes, and awoke with the same sense of + peace at little Cynthia's touch, to go out into the cool morning, when the + mountain side was in myriad sheens of green under the rising sun. Behind + the store was an old-fashioned garden, set about by a neat stone wall, + hidden here and there by the masses of lilac and currant bushes, and at + the south of it was a great rose-covered boulder of granite. And beyond, + through the foliage of the willows and the low apple trees which Jonah + Winch had set out, Coniston Water gleamed and tumbled. Under an arching + elm near the house was the well, stone-rimmed, with its long pole and + crotch, and bucket all green with the damp moss which clung to it. + </p> + <p> + Ephraim Prescott had been right when he had declared that it did not take + much gumption to keep store in Coniston. William Wetherell merely assumed + certain obligations at the Brampton bank, and Lem Hallowell, Jock's son, + who now drove the Brampton stage, brought the goods to the door. Little + Rias Richardson was willing to come in, and help move the barrels, and on + such occasions wore carpet slippers to save his shoes. William still had + time for his books; in that Coniston air he began to feel stronger, and to + wonder whether he might not be a Washington Irving yet. And yet he had one + worry and one fear, and both of these concerned one man,—Jethro + Bass. Him, by her own confession, Cynthia Ware had loved to her dying day, + hating herself for it: and he, William Wetherell, had married this woman + whom Jethro had loved so violently, and must always love—so + Wetherell thought: that was the worry. How would Jethro treat him? that + was the fear. William Wetherell was not the most courageous man in the + world. + </p> + <p> + Jethro Bass had not been in Coniston since William's arrival. No need to + ask where he was. Jake Wheeler, Jethro's lieutenant in Coniston, gave + William a glowing account of that Throne Room in the Pelican Hotel at the + capital, from whence Jethro ruled the state during the sessions of the + General Court. This legislature sat to him as a sort of advisory committee + of three hundred and fifty: an expensive advisory committee to the people, + relic of an obsolete form of government. Many stories of the now + all-powerful Jethro William heard from the little coterie which made their + headquarters in his store—stories of how those methods of which we + have read were gradually spread over other towns and other counties. Not + that Jethro held mortgages in these towns and counties, but the local + lieutenants did, and bowed to him as an overlord. There were funny + stories, and grim stories of vengeance which William Wetherell heard and + trembled at. Might not Jethro wish to take vengeance upon him? + </p> + <p> + One story he did not hear, because no one in Coniston knew it. No one knew + that Cynthia Ware and Jethro Bass had ever loved each other. + </p> + <p> + At last, toward the end of June, it was noised about that the great man + was coming home for a few days. One beautiful afternoon William Wetherell + stood on the platform of the store, looking off at Coniston, talking to + Moses Hatch—young Moses, who is father of six children now and has + forgotten Cynthia Ware. Old Moses sleeps on the hillside, let us hope in + the peace of the orthodox and the righteous. A cloud of dust arose above + the road to the southward, and out of it came a country wagon drawn by a + fat horse, and in the wagon the strangest couple Wetherell had ever seen. + The little woman who sat retiringly at one end of the seat was all in + brilliant colors from bonnet to flounce, like a paroquet, red and green + predominating. The man, big in build, large-headed, wore an old-fashioned + blue swallow-tailed coat with brass buttons, a stock, and coonskin hat, + though it was summer, and the thumping of William Wetherell's heart told + him that this was Jethro Bass. He nodded briefly at Moses Hatch, who + greeted him with genial obsequiousness. + </p> + <p> + “Legislatur' through?” shouted Moses. + </p> + <p> + The great man shook his head and drove on. + </p> + <p> + “Has Jethro Bass ever been a member of the Legislature?” asked the + storekeeper, for the sake of something to say. + </p> + <p> + “Never would take any office but Chairman of the Selectmen,” answered + Moses, who apparently bore no ill will for his father's sake. “Jethro kind + of fathers the Legislatur', I guess, though I don't take much stock in + politics. Goes down sessions to see that they don't get too gumptious and + kick off the swaddlin' clothes.” + </p> + <p> + “And—was that his wife?” Wetherell asked, hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Listy, they call her. Nobody ever knew how he come to marry her. + Jethro went up to Wisdom once, in the centre of the state, and come back + with her. Funny place to bring a wife from—Wisdom! Funnier place to + bring Listy from. He loads her down with them ribbons and gewgaws—all + the shades of the rainbow! Says he wants her to be the best-dressed woman + in the state. Callate she is,” added Moses, with conviction. “Listy's a + fine woman, but all she knows is enough to say, 'Yes, Jethro,' and 'No, + Jethro.'—Guess that's all Jethro wants in a wife; but he certainly + is good to her.” + </p> + <p> + “And why has he come back before the Legislature's over?” said Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “Cuttin' of his farms. Always comes back hayin' time. That's the way + Jethro spends the money he makes in politics, and he hain't no more of a + farmer than—” Moses looked at Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “Than I'm a storekeeper,” said the latter, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Than I'm a lawyer,” said Moses, politely. + </p> + <p> + They were interrupted at this moment by the appearance of Jake Wheeler and + Sam Price, who came gaping out of the darkness of the store. + </p> + <p> + “Was that Jethro, Mose?” demanded Jake. “Guess we'll go along up and see + if there's any orders.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose the humblest of God's critturs has their uses,” Moses remarked + contemplatively, as he watched the retreating figures of Sam and Jake. + “Leastwise that's Jethro's philosophy. When you come to know him, you'll + notice how much those fellers walk like him. Never seed a man who had so + many imitators. Some of,'em's took to talkie' like him, even to + stutterin'. Bijah Bixby, over to Clovelly, comes pretty nigh it, too.” + </p> + <p> + Moses loaded his sugar and beans into his wagon, and drove off. + </p> + <p> + An air of suppressed excitement seemed to pervade those who came that + afternoon to the store to trade and talk—mostly to talk. After such + purchases as they could remember were made, they lingered on the barrels + and on the stoop, in the hope of seeing Jethro, whose habit; it was, + apparently, to come down and dispense such news as he thought fit for + circulation. That Wetherell shared this excitement, too, he could not + deny, but for a different cause. At last, when the shadows of the big + trees had crept across the green, he came, the customers flocking to the + porch to greet him, Wetherell standing curiously behind them in the door. + Heedless of the dust, he strode down the road with the awkward gait that + was all his own, kicking up his heels behind. And behind him, heels + kicking up likewise, followed Jake and Sam, Jethro apparently oblivious of + their presence. A modest silence was maintained from the stoop, broken at + length by Lem Hallowell, who (men said) was an exact reproduction of Jock, + the meeting-house builder. Lem alone was not abashed in the presence of + greatness. + </p> + <p> + “How be you, Jethro?” he said heartily. “Air the Legislatur' behavin' + themselves?” + </p> + <p> + “B-bout as common,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Surely nothing very profound in this remark, but received as though it + were Solomon's. + </p> + <p> + Be prepared for a change in Jethro, after the galloping years. He is now + fifty-seven, but he might be any age. He is still smooth-shaven, his skin + is clear, and his eye is bright, for he lives largely on bread and milk, + and eschews stimulants. But the lines in his face have deepened and his + big features seem to have grown bigger. + </p> + <p> + “Who be you thinkin' of for next governor, Jethro?” queries Rias + Richardson, timidly. + </p> + <p> + “They say Alvy Hopkins of Gosport is willin' to pay for it,” said Chester + Perkins, sarcastically. Chester; we fear, is a born agitator, fated to + remain always in opposition. He is still a Democrat, and Jethro, as is + well known, has extended the mortgage so as to include Chester's farm. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't give a Red Brook Seedling for Alvy,” ejaculated the nasal Mr. + Price. + </p> + <p> + “D-don't like Red Brook Seedlings, Sam? D-don't like 'em?” said Jethro. He + had parted his blue coat tails and seated himself on the stoop, his long + legs hanging over it. + </p> + <p> + “Never seed a man who had a good word to say for 'em,” said Mr. Price, + with less conviction. + </p> + <p> + “Done well on mine,” said Jethro, “d-done well. I was satisfied with my + Red Brook Seedlings.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Price's sallow face looked as if he would have contradicted another + man. + </p> + <p> + “How was that, Jethro?” piped up Jake Wheeler, voicing the general desire. + </p> + <p> + Jethro looked off into the blue space beyond the mountain line. + </p> + <p> + “G-got mine when they first come round—seed cost me considerable. + Raised more than a hundred bushels L-Listy put some of 'em on the table—t-then + gave some to my old hoss Tom. Tom said: 'Hain't I always been a good + beast, Jethro? Hain't I carried you faithful, summer and winter, for a + good many years? And now you give me Red Brook Seedlings?'” + </p> + <p> + Here everybody laughed, and stopped abruptly, for Jethro still looked + contemplative. + </p> + <p> + “Give some of 'em to the hogs. W-wouldn't touch 'em. H-had over a hundred + bushels on hand—n-new variety. W-what's that feller's name down to + Ayer, Massachusetts, deals in all kinds of seeds? Ellett—that's it. + Wrote to Ellet, said I had a hundred bushels of Red Brooks to sell, as + fine a lookin' potato as I had in my cellar. Made up my mind to take what + he offered, if it was only five cents. He wrote back a dollar a bushel. + I-I was always satisfied with my Red Brook Seedlings, Sam. But I never + raised any more—n-never raised any more.” + </p> + <p> + Uproarious laughter greeted the end of this story, and continued in fits + as some humorous point recurred to one or the other of the listeners. + William Wetherell perceived that the conversation, for the moment at + least, was safely away from politics, and in that dubious state where it + was difficult to reopen. This was perhaps what Jethro wanted. Even Jake + Wheeler was tongue-tied, and Jethro appeared to be lost in reflection. + </p> + <p> + At this instant a diversion occurred—a trifling diversion, so it + seemed at the time. Around the corner of the store, her cheeks flushed and + her dark hair flying, ran little Cynthia, her hands, browned already by + the Coniston sun, filled with wild strawberries. + </p> + <p> + “See what I've found, Daddy!” she cried, “see what I've found!” + </p> + <p> + Jethro Bass started, and flung back his head like a man who has heard a + voice from another world, and then he looked at the child with a kind of + stupefaction. The cry, died on Cynthia's lips, and she stopped, gazing up + at him with wonder in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “F-found strawberries?” said Jethro, at last. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered. She was very grave and serious now, as was her manner + in dealing with people. + </p> + <p> + “S-show 'em to me,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia went to him, without embarrassment, and put her hand on his knee. + Not once had he taken his eyes from her face. He put out his own hand with + an awkward, shy movement, picked a strawberry from her fingers, and thrust + it in his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Mm,” said Jethro, gravely. “Er—what's your name, little gal—what's + your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause. + </p> + <p> + “Er—er—Cynthia?” he said at length, “Cynthia?” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + “Er-er, Cynthia—not Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” she said again. + </p> + <p> + He bent over her and lowered his voice. + </p> + <p> + “M-may I call you Cynthy—Cynthy?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Y-yes,” answered Cynthia, looking up to her father and then glancing + shyly at Jethro. + </p> + <p> + His eyes were on the mountain, and he seemed to have forgotten her until + she reached out to him, timidly, another strawberry. He seized her little + hand instead and held it between his own—much to the astonishment of + his friends. + </p> + <p> + “Whose little gal be you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Dad's.” + </p> + <p> + “She's Will Wetherell's daughter,” said Lem Hallowell. “He's took on the + store. Will,” he added, turning to Wetherell, “let me make you acquainted + with Jethro Bass.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro rose slowly, and towered above Wetherell on the stoop. There was an + inscrutable look in his black eyes, as of one who sees without being seen. + Did he know who William Wetherell was? If so, he gave no sign, and took + Wetherell's hand limply. + </p> + <p> + “Will's kinder hipped on book-l'arnin',” Lemuel continued kindly. “Come + here to keep store for his health. Guess you may have heerd, Jethro, that + Will married Cynthy Ware. You call Cynthy to mind, don't ye?” + </p> + <p> + Jethro Bass dropped Wetherell's hand, but answered nothing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + A week passed, and Jethro did not appear in the village, report having it + that he was cutting his farms on Thousand Acre Hill. When Jethro was + farming,—so it was said,—he would not stop to talk politics + even with the President of the United States were that dignitary to lean + over his pasture fence and beckon to him. On a sultry Friday morning, when + William Wetherell was seated at Jonah Winch's desk in the cool recesses of + the store slowly and painfully going over certain troublesome accounts + which seemed hopeless, he was thrown into a panic by the sight of one + staring at him from the far side of a counter. History sometimes reverses + itself. + </p> + <p> + “What can I do for you—Mr. Bass?” asked the storekeeper, rather + weakly. + </p> + <p> + “Just stepped in—stepped in,” he answered. “W-where's Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “She was in the garden—shall I get her?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, parting his coat tails and seating himself on the counter. + “Go on figurin', don't mind me.” + </p> + <p> + The thing was manifestly impossible. Perhaps Wetherell indicated as much + by his answer. + </p> + <p> + “Like storekeepin'?” Jethro asked presently, perceiving that he did not + continue his work. + </p> + <p> + “A man must live, Mr. Bass,” said Wetherell; “I had to leave the city for + my health. I began life keeping store,” he added, “but I little thought I + should end it so.” + </p> + <p> + “Given to book-l'arnin' then, wahn't you?” Jethro remarked. He did not + smile, but stared at the square of light that was the doorway, “Judson's + jewellery store, wahn't it? Judson's?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Judson's,” Wetherell answered, as soon as he recovered from his + amazement. There was no telling from Jethro's manner whether he were enemy + or friend; whether he bore the storekeeper a grudge for having attained to + a happiness that had not been his. + </p> + <p> + “Hain't made a great deal out of life, hev you? N-not a great deal?” + Jethro observed at last. + </p> + <p> + Wetherell flushed, although Jethro had merely stated a truth which had + often occurred to the storekeeper himself. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't given to all of us to find Rome in brick and leave it in + marble,” he replied a little sadly. + </p> + <p> + Jethro Bass looked at him quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Er-what's that?” he demanded. “F-found Rome in brick, left it in marble. + Fine thought.” He ruminated a little. “Never writ anything—did you—never + writ anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing worth publishing,” answered poor William Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “J-just dreamed'—dreamed and kept store. S—something to have + dreamed—eh—something to have dreamed?” + </p> + <p> + Wetherell forgot his uneasiness in the unexpected turn the conversation + had taken. It seemed very strange to him that he was at last face to face + again wish the man whom Cynthia Ware had never been able to drive from her + heart. Would, he mention her? Had he continued to love her, in spite of + the woman he had married and adorned? Wetherell asked himself these + questions before he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “It is more to have accomplished,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “S-something to have dreamed,” repeated Jethro, rising slowly from the + counter. He went toward the doorway that led into the garden, and there he + halted and stood listening. + </p> + <p> + “C-Cynthy!” he said, “C-Cynthy!” + </p> + <p> + Wetherell dropped his pen at the sound of the name on Jethro's lips. But + it was little Cynthia he was calling little Cynthia in the garden. The + child came at his voice, and stood looking up at him silently. + </p> + <p> + “H-how old be you, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “Nine,” answered Cynthia, promptly. + </p> + <p> + “L-like the country, Cynthy—like the country better than the city?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “And country folks? L—like country folks better than city folks?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know many city folks,” said Cynthia. “I liked the old doctor who + sent Daddy up here ever so much, and I liked Mrs. Darwin.” + </p> + <p> + “Mis' Darwin?” + </p> + <p> + “She kept the house we lived in. She used to give me cookies,” said + Cynthia, “and bread to feed the pigeons.” + </p> + <p> + “Pigeons? F-folks keep pigeons in the city?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Cynthia, laughing at such an idea; “the pigeons came on the + roof under our window, and they used to fly right up on the window-sill + and feed out of my hand. They kept me company while Daddy, was away, + working. On Sundays we used to go into the Common and feed them, before + Daddy got sick. The Common was something like the country, only not half + as nice.” + </p> + <p> + “C-couldn't pick flowers in the Common and go barefoot—e—couldn't + go barefoot, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Cynthia, laughing again at his sober face. + </p> + <p> + “C-couldn't dig up the Common and plant flowers—could you?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you couldn't.” + </p> + <p> + “P-plant 'em out there?” asked Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” cried Cynthia; “I'll show you.” She hesitated a moment, and + then thrust her hand into his. “Do you want to see?” + </p> + <p> + “Guess I do,” said he, energetically, and she led him into the garden, + pointing out with pride the rows of sweet peas and pansies, which she had + made herself. Impelled by a strange curiosity, William Wetherell went to + the door and watched them. There was a look on the face of Jethro Bass + that was new to it as he listened to the child talk of the wondrous things + around them that summer's day,—the flowers and the bees and the + brook (they must go down and stand on the brink of it), and the songs of + the vireo and the hermit thrush. + </p> + <p> + “Hain't lonely here, Cynthy—hain't lonely here?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Not in the country,” said Cynthia. Suddenly she lifted her eyes to his + with a questioning look. “Are you lonely, sometimes?” + </p> + <p> + He did not answer at once. + </p> + <p> + “Not with you, Cynthy—not with you.” + </p> + <p> + By all of which it will be seen that the acquaintance was progressing. + They sat down for a while on the old millstone that formed the step, and + there discussed Cynthia's tastes. She was too old for dolls, Jethro + supposed. Yes, Cynthia was too old for dolls. She did not say so, but the + only doll she had ever owned had become insipid when the delight of such a + reality as taking care of a helpless father had been thrust upon her. + Books, suggested Jethro. Books she had known from her earliest infancy: + they had been piled around that bedroom over the roof. Books and book lore + and the command of the English tongue were William Wetherell's only + legacies to his daughter, and many an evening that spring she had read him + to sleep from classic volumes of prose and poetry I hesitate to name, for + fear you will think her precocious. They went across the green to Cousin + Ephraim Prescott's harness shop, where Jethro had tied his horse, and it + was settled that Cynthia liked books. + </p> + <p> + On the morning following this extraordinary conversation, Jethro Bass and + his wife departed for the state capital. Listy was bedecked in amazing + greens and yellows, and Jethro drove, looking neither to the right nor + left, his coat tails hanging down behind the seat, the reins lying slack + across the plump quarters of his horse—the same fat Tom who, by the + way, had so indignantly spurned the Iced Brook Seedlings. And Jake Wheeler + went along to bring back the team from Brampton. To such base uses are + political lieutenants sometimes put, although fate would have told you it + was an honor, and he came back to the store that evening fairly bristling + with political secrets which he could not be induced to impart. + </p> + <p> + One evening a fortnight later, while the lieutenant was holding forth in + commendably general terms on the politics of the state to a speechless if + not wholly admiring audience, a bomb burst in their midst. William + Wetherell did not know that it was a periodical bomb, like those flung at + regular intervals from the Union mortars into Vicksburg. These bombs, at + any rate, never failed to cause consternation and fright in Coniston, + although they never did any harm. One thing noticeable, they were always + fired in Jethro's absence. And the bombardier was always Chester Perkins, + son of the most unbending and rigorous of tithing-men, but Chester + resembled his father in no particular save that he, too, was a deacon and + a pillar of the church. Deacon Ira had been tall and gaunt and sunken and + uncommunicative. Chester was stout, and said to perspire even in winter, + apoplectic, irascible, talkative, and still, as has been said, a Democrat. + He drove up to the store this evening to the not inappropriate rumble of + distant thunder, and he stood up in his wagon in front of the gathering + and shook his fist in Jake Wheeler's face. + </p> + <p> + “This town's tired of puttin' up with a King,” he cried. “Yes, King-=I + said it, and I don't care who hears me. It's time to stop this one-man + rule. You kin go and tell him I said it, Jake Wheeler, if you've a mind + to. I guess there's plenty who'll do that.” + </p> + <p> + An uneasy silence followed—the silence which cries treason louder + than any voice. Some shifted uneasily, and spat, and Jake Wheeler thrust + his hands in his pockets and walked away, as much as to say that it was + treason even to listen to such talk. Lem Hallowell seemed unperturbed. + </p> + <p> + “On the rampage agin, Chet?” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “You'd ought to know better, Lem,” cried the enraged Chester; “hain't the + hull road by the Four Corners ready to drop into the brook? What be you + a-goin' to do about it?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll show you when I git to it,” answered Lem, quietly. And, show them he + did. + </p> + <p> + “Git to it!” shouted Chester, scornfully, “I'll git to it. I'll tell you + right now I'm a candidate for the Chairman of the Selectmen, if town + meetin' is eight months away. An', Sam Price, I'll expect the Democrats to + git into line.” + </p> + <p> + With this ultimatum Chester drove away as rapidly as he had come. + </p> + <p> + “I want to know!” said Sam Price, an exclamation peculiarly suited to his + voice. But nevertheless Sam might be counted on in each of these little + rebellions. He, too, had remained steadfast to Jacksonian principles, and + he had never forgiven Jethro about a little matter of a state office which + he (Sam) had failed to obtain. + </p> + <p> + Before he went to bed Jake Wheeler had written a letter which he sent off + to the state capital by the stage the next morning. In it he indicted no + less than twenty of his fellow-townsmen for treason; and he also thought + it wise to send over to Clovelly for Bijah Bixby, a lieutenant in that + section, to come and look over the ground and ascertain by his well-known + methods how far the treason had eaten into the body politic. Such was + Jake's ordinary procedure when the bombs were fired, for Mr. Wheeler was + nothing if not cautious. + </p> + <p> + Three mornings later, a little after seven o'clock, when the storekeeper + and his small daughter were preparing to go to Brampton upon a very + troublesome errand, Chester Perkins appeared again. It is always easy to + stir up dissatisfaction among the ne'er-do-wells (Jethro had once done it + himself), and during the three days which had elapsed since Chester had + flung down the gauntlet there had been more or less of downright treason + heard in the store. William Wetherell, who had perplexities of his own, + had done his best to keep out of the discussions that had raged on his + cracker boxes and barrels, for his head was a jumble of figures which + would not come right. And now as he stood there in the freshness of the + early summer morning, waiting for Lem Hallowell's stage, poor Wetherell's + heart was very heavy. + </p> + <p> + “Will Wetherell,” said Chester, “you be a gentleman and a student, hain't + you? Read history, hain't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I have read some,” said William Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “I callate that a man of parts,” said Chester, “such as you be, will help + us agin corruption and a dictator. I'm a-countin' on you, Will Wetherell. + You've got the store, and you kin tell the boys the difference between + right and wrong. They'll listen to you, because you're eddicated.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know anything about politics,” answered Wetherell, with an + appealing glance at the silent group,—group that was always there. + Rias Richardson, who had donned the carpet slippers preparatory to tending + store for the day, shuffled inside. Deacon Lysander, his father, would not + have done so. + </p> + <p> + “You know somethin' about history and the Constitootion, don't ye?” + demanded Chester, truculently. “N'Jethro Bass don't hold your mortgage, + does he? Bank in Brampton holds it—hain't that so? You hain't afeard + of Jethro like the rest on 'em, be you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what right you have to talk to me that way, Mr. Perkins,” + said Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “What right? Jethro holds my mortgage—the hull town knows it-and he + kin close me out to-morrow if he's a mind to—” + </p> + <p> + “See here, Chester Perkins,” Lem Hallowell interposed, as he drove up with + the stage, “what kind of free principles be you preachin'? You'd ought to + know better'n coerce.” + </p> + <p> + “What be you a-goin' to do about that Four Corners road?” Chester cried to + the stage driver. + </p> + <p> + “I give 'em till to-morrow night to fix it,” said Lem. “Git in, Will. + Cynthy's over to the harness shop with Eph. We'll stop as we go 'long.” + </p> + <p> + “Give 'em till to-morrow night!” Chester shouted after them. “What you + goin' to do then?” + </p> + <p> + But Lem did not answer this inquiry. He stopped at the harness shop, where + Ephraim came limping out and lifted Cynthia to the seat beside her father, + and they joggled off to Brampton. The dew still lay in myriad drops on the + red herd's-grass, turning it to lavender in the morning sun, and the heavy + scent of the wet ferns hung in the forest. Lem whistled, and joked with + little Cynthia, and gave her the reins to drive, and of last they came in + sight of Brampton Street, with its terrace-steepled church and line of + wagons hitched to the common rail, for it was market day. Father and + daughter walked up and down, hand in hand, under the great trees, and then + they went to the bank. + </p> + <p> + It was a brick building on a corner opposite the common, imposing for + Brampton, and very imposing to Wetherell. It seemed like a tomb as he + entered its door, Cynthia clutching his fingers, and never but once in his + life had he been so near to leaving all hope behind. He waited patiently + by the barred windows until the clerk, who was counting bills, chose to + look up at him. + </p> + <p> + “Want to draw money?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + The words seemed charged with irony. William Wetherell told him, + falteringly, his name and business, and he thought the man looked at him + compassionately. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to see Mr. Worthington,” he said; “he hasn't gone to the + mills yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Dudley Worthington?” exclaimed Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + The teller smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He's the president of this bank.”' + </p> + <p> + He opened a door in the partition, and leaving Cynthia dangling her feet + from a chair, Wetherell was ushered, not without trepidation, into the + great man's office, and found himself at last in the presence of Mr. Isaac + D. Worthington, who used to wander up and down Coniston Water searching + for a mill site. + </p> + <p> + He sat behind a table covered with green leather, on which papers were + laid with elaborate neatness, and he wore a double-breasted skirted coat + of black, with braided lapels, a dark purple blanket cravat with a large + red cameo pin. And Mr. Worthington's features harmonized perfectly with + this costume—those of a successful, ambitious man who followed + custom and convention blindly; clean-shaven, save for reddish chops, blue + eyes of extreme keenness, and thin-upped mouth which had been tightening + year by year as the output of the Worthington Minx increased. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” he said sharply, “what can I do for you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am William Wetherell, the storekeeper at Coniston.” + </p> + <p> + “Not the Wetherell who married Cynthia Ware!” + </p> + <p> + No, Mr. Worthington did not say that. He did not know that Cynthia Ware + was married, or alive or dead, and—let it be confessed at once—he + did not care. + </p> + <p> + This is what he did say:— + </p> + <p> + “Wetherell—Wetherell. Oh, yes, you've come about that note—the + mortgage on the store at Coniston.” He stared at William Wetherell, + drummed with his fingers on the table, and smiled slightly. “I am happy to + say that the Brampton Bank does not own this note any longer. If we did,—merely + as a matter of business, you understand” (he coughed),—“we should + have had to foreclose.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't own the note!” exclaimed Wetherell. “Who does own it?” + </p> + <p> + “We sold it a little while ago—since you asked for the extension—to + Jethro Bass.” + </p> + <p> + “Jethro Bass!” Wetherell's feet seemed to give way under him, and he sat + down. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bass is a little quixotic—that is a charitable way to put it—quixotic. + He does—strange things like this once in awhile.” + </p> + <p> + The storekeeper found no words to answer, but sat mutely staring at him. + Mr. Worthington coughed again. + </p> + <p> + “You appear to be an educated man. Haven't I heard some story of your + giving up other pursuits in Boston to come up here for your health? + Certainly I place you now. I confess to a little interest in literature + myself—in libraries.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of his stupefaction at the news he had just received, Wetherell + thought of Mr. Worthington's beaver hat, and of that gentleman's first + interest in libraries, for Cynthia had told the story to her husband. + </p> + <p> + “It is perhaps an open secret,” continued Mr. Worthington, “that in the + near future I intend to establish a free library in Brampton. I feel it my + duty to do all I can for the town where I have made my success, and there + is nothing which induces more to the popular welfare than a good library.” + Whereupon he shot at Wetherell another of his keen looks. “I do not talk + this way ordinarily to my customers, Mr. Wetherell,” he began; “but you + interest me, and I am going to tell you something in confidence. I am sure + it will not be betrayed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said the bewildered storekeeper, who was in no condition to + listen to confidences. + </p> + <p> + He went quietly to the door, opened it, looked out, and closed it softly. + Then he looked out of the window. + </p> + <p> + “Have a care of this man Bass,” he said, in a lower voice. “He began many + years ago by debauching the liberties of that little town of Coniston, and + since then he has gradually debauched the whole state, judges and all. If + I have a case to try” (he spoke now with more intensity and bitterness), + “concerning my mills, or my bank, before I get through I find that rascal + mixed up in it somewhere, and unless I arrange matters with him, I—” + </p> + <p> + He paused abruptly, his eyes going out of the window, pointing with a long + finger at a grizzled man crossing the street with a yellow and red horse + blanket thrown over his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “That man, Judge Baker, holding court in this town now, Bass owns body and + soul.” + </p> + <p> + “And the horse blanket?” Wetherell queried, irresistibly. + </p> + <p> + Dudley Worthington did not smile. + </p> + <p> + “Take my advice, Mr. Wetherell, and pay off that note somehow.” An odor of + the stable pervaded the room, and a great unkempt grizzled head and + shoulders, horse blanket and all, were stuck into it. + </p> + <p> + “Mornin', Dudley,” said the head, “busy?” + </p> + <p> + “Come right in, Judge,” answered Mr. Worthington. “Never too busy to see + you.” The head disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Take my advice, Mr. Wetherell.” + </p> + <p> + And then the storekeeper went into the bank. + </p> + <p> + For some moments he stood dazed by what he had heard, the query ringing in + his head: Why had Jethro Bass bought that note? Did he think that the + storekeeper at Coniston would be of use to him, politically? The words + Chester Perkins had spoken that morning came back to Wetherell as he stood + in the door. And how was he to meet Jethro Bass again with no money to pay + even the interest on the note? Then suddenly he missed Cynthia, hurried + out, and spied her under the trees on the common so deep in conversation + with a boy that she did not perceive him until he spoke to her. The boy + looked up, smiling frankly at something Cynthia had said to him. He had + honest, humorous eyes, and a browned, freckled face, and was, perhaps, two + years older than Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” said Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia's face was flushed, and she was plainly vexed about something. + </p> + <p> + “I gave her a whistle,” said the boy, with a little laugh of vexation, + “and now she says she won't take it because I owned up I made it for + another girl.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia held it out to him, not deigning to appeal her ease. + </p> + <p> + “You must take it back,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “But I want you to have it,” said the boy. + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't be right for me to take it when you made it for somebody + else.” + </p> + <p> + After all, people with consciences are born, not made. But this was a + finer distinction that the boy had ever met with in his experience. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know you when I made the whistle,” he objected, puzzled and + downcast. + </p> + <p> + “That doesn't make any difference.” + </p> + <p> + “I like you better than the other girl.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no right to,” retorted the casuist; “you've known her longer.” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn't make any difference,” said the boy; “there are lots of + people I don't like I have always known. This girl doesn't live in + Brampton, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Where does she live?” demanded Cynthia,—which was a step backward. + </p> + <p> + “At the state capital. Her name's Janet Duncan. There, do you believe me + now?” + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell had heard of Janet Duncan's father, Alexander Duncan, + who had the reputation of being the richest man in the state. And he began + to wonder who the boy could be. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you,” said Cynthia; “but as long as you made it for her, it's + hers. Will you take it?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said he, determinedly. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” answered Cynthia. She laid down the whistle beside him on the + rail, and went off a little distance and seated herself on a bench. The + boy laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I like that girl,” he remarked; “the rest of 'em take everything I give + 'em, and ask for more. She's prettier'n any of 'em, too.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your name?” Wetherell asked him, curiously, forgetting his own + troubles. + </p> + <p> + “Bob Worthington.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you the son of Dudley Worthington” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody asks me that,” he said; “I'm tired of it. When I grow up, + they'll have to stop it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you should be proud of your father.” + </p> + <p> + “I am proud of him, everybody's proud of him, Brampton's proud of him—he's + proud of himself. That's enough, ain't it?” He eyed Wetherell somewhat + defiantly, then his glance wandered to Cynthia, and he walked over to her. + He threw himself down on the grass in front of her, and lay looking up at + her solemnly. For a while she continued to stare inflexibly at the line of + market wagons, and then she burst into a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Thought you wouldn't hold out forever,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + “It's because you're so foolish,” said Cynthia, “that's why I laughed.” + Then she grew sober again and held out her hand to him. “Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “I must go back to my father. I—I think he doesn't feel very well.” + </p> + <p> + “Next time I'll make a whistle for you,” he called after her. + </p> + <p> + “And give it to somebody else,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + She had hold of her father's hand by that, but he caught up with her, very + red in the face. + </p> + <p> + “You know that isn't true,” he cried angrily, and taking his way across + Brampton Street, turned, and stood staring after them until they were out + of sight. + </p> + <p> + “Do you like him, Daddy?” asked Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell did not answer. He had other things to think about. + </p> + <p> + “Daddy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Does your trouble feel any better?” + </p> + <p> + “Some, Cynthia. But you mustn't think about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Daddy, why don't you ask Uncle Jethro to help you?” + </p> + <p> + At the name Wetherell started as if he had had a shock. + </p> + <p> + “What put him into your head, Cynthia?” he asked sharply. “Why do you call + him 'Uncle Jethro'?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he asked me to. Because he likes me, and I like him.” + </p> + <p> + The whole thing was a riddle he could not solve—one that was best + left alone. They had agreed to walk back the ten miles to Coniston, to + save the money that dinner at the hotel would cost. And so they started, + Cynthia flitting hither and thither along the roadside, picking the + stately purple iris flowers in the marshy places, while Wetherell + pondered. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK 2. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + When William Wetherell and Cynthia had reached the last turn in the road + in Northcutt's woods, quarter of a mile from Coniston, they met the nasal + Mr. Samuel Price driving silently in the other direction. The word + “silently” is used deliberately, because to Mr. Price appertained a + certain ghostlike quality of flitting, and to Mr. Price's horse and wagon + likewise. He drew up for a brief moment when he saw Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't hurry back if I was you, Will.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Price leaned out of the wagon. + </p> + <p> + “Bije has come over from Clovelly to spy around a little mite.” + </p> + <p> + It was evident from Mr. Price's manner that he regarded the storekeeper as + a member of the reform party. + </p> + <p> + “What did he say, Daddy?” asked Cynthia, as Wetherell stood staring after + the flitting buggy in bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't the faintest idea, Cynthia,” answered her father, and they + walked on. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know who 'Bije' is? + </p> + <p> + “No,” said her father, “and I don't care.” + </p> + <p> + It was almost criminal ignorance for a man who lived in that part of the + country not to know Bijah Bixby of Clovelly, who was paying a little + social visit to Coniston that day on his way home from the state capital,—tending, + as it were, Jethro's flock. Still, Wetherell must be excused because he + was an impractical literary man with troubles of his own. But how shall we + chronicle Bijah's rank and precedence in the Jethro army, in which there + are neither shoulder-straps nor annual registers? To designate him as the + Chamberlain of that hill Rajah, the Honorable Heth Sutton, would not be + far out of the way. The Honorable Heth, whom we all know and whom we shall + see presently, is the man of substance and of broad acres in Clovelly: + Bijah merely owns certain mortgages in that town, but he had created the + Honorable Heth (politically) as surely as certain prime ministers we could + name have created their sovereigns. The Honorable Heth was Bijah's + creation, and a grand creation he was, as no one will doubt when they see + him. + </p> + <p> + Bijah—as he will not hesitate to tell you—took Heth down in + his pocket to the Legislature, and has more than once delivered him, in + certain blocks of five and ten, and four and twenty, for certain + considerations. The ancient Song of Sixpence applies to Bijah, but his + pocket was generally full of proxies instead of rye, and the Honorable + Heth was frequently one of the four and twenty blackbirds. In short, Bijah + was the working bee, and the Honorable Heth the ornamental drone. + </p> + <p> + I do not know why I have dwelt so long on such a minor character as Bijah, + except that the man fascinates me. Of all the lieutenants in the state, + his manners bore the closest resemblance to those of Jethro Bass. When he + walked behind Jethro in the corridors of the Pelican, kicking up his heels + behind, he might have been taken for Jethro's shadow. He was of a good + height and size, smooth-shaven, with little eyes that kindled, and his + mouth moved not at all when he spoke: unlike Jethro, he “used” tobacco. + </p> + <p> + When Bijah had driven into Coniston village and hitched his wagon to the + rail, he went direct to the store. Chester Perkins and others were + watching him with various emotions from the stoop, and Bijah took a seat + in the midst of them, characteristically engaging in conversation without + the usual conventional forms of greeting, as if he had been there all day. + </p> + <p> + “H-how much did you git for your wool, Chester—h-how much?” + </p> + <p> + “Guess you hain't here to talk about wool, Bije,” said Chester, red with + anger. + </p> + <p> + “Kind of neglectin' the farm lately, I hear,” observed Bijah. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro Bass sent you up to find out how much I was neglectin' it,” + retorted Chester, throwing all caution to the winds. + </p> + <p> + “Thinkin' of upsettin' Jethro, be you? Thinkin' of upsettin' Jethro?” + remarked Bije, in a genial tone. + </p> + <p> + “Folks in Clovelly hain't got nothin' to do with it, if I am,” said + Chester. + </p> + <p> + “Leetle early for campaignin', Chester, leetle early.” + </p> + <p> + “We do our campaignin' when we're a mind to.” + </p> + <p> + Bijah looked around. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's funny. I could have took oath I seed Rias Richardson here.” + </p> + <p> + There was a deep silence. + </p> + <p> + “And Sam Price,” continued Bijah, in pretended astonishment, “wahn't he + settin' on the edge of the stoop when I drove up?” + </p> + <p> + Another silence, broken only by the enraged breathing of Chester, who was + unable to retort. Moses Hatch laughed. The discreet departure of these + gentlemen certainly had its comical side. + </p> + <p> + “Rias as indoostrious as ever, Mose?” inquired Bijah. + </p> + <p> + “He has his busy times,” said Mose, grinning broadly. + </p> + <p> + “See you've got the boys with their backs up, Chester,” said Bijah. + </p> + <p> + “Some of us are sick of tyranny,” cried Chester; “you kin tell that to + Jethro Bass when you go back, if he's got time to listen to you buyin' and + sellin' out of railroads.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear Jethro's got the Grand Gulf Road in his pocket to do as he's a mind + to with,” said Moses, with a view to drawing Bijah out. But the remark had + exactly the opposite effect, Bijah screwing up his face into an expression + of extraordinary secrecy and cunning. + </p> + <p> + “How much did you git out of it, Bije?” demanded Chester. + </p> + <p> + “Hain't looked through my clothes yet,” said Bijah, his face screwed up + tighter than ever. “N-never look through my clothes till I git home, + Chester, it hain't safe.” + </p> + <p> + It has become painfully evident that Mr. Bixby is that rare type of man + who can sit down under the enemy's ramparts and smoke him out. It was a + rule of Jethro's code either to make an effective departure or else to + remain and compel the other man to make an ineffective departure. Lem + Hallowell might have coped with him; but the stage was late, and after + some scratching of heads and delving for effectual banter (through which + Mr. Bixby sat genial and unconcerned), Chester's followers took their + leave, each choosing his own pretext. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime William Wetherell had entered the store by the back door—unperceived, + as he hoped. He had a vehement desire to be left in peace, and to avoid + politics and political discussions forever—vain desire for the + storekeeper of Coniston. Mr. Wetherell entered the store, and to take his + mind from his troubles, he picked up a copy of Byron: gradually the + conversation on the stoop died away, and just as he was beginning to + congratulate himself and enjoy the book, he had an unpleasant sensation of + some one approaching him measuredly. Wetherell did not move; indeed, he + felt that he could not—he was as though charmed to the spot. He + could have cried aloud, but the store was empty, and there was no one to + hear him. Mr. Bixby did not speak until he was within a foot of his + victim's ear. His voice was very nasal, too. + </p> + <p> + “Wetherell, hain't it?” + </p> + <p> + The victim nodded helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “Want to see you a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Where can we talk private?” asked Mr. Bixby, looking around. + </p> + <p> + “There's no one here,” Wetherell answered. “What do you wish to say?” + </p> + <p> + “If the boys was to see me speakin' to you, they might git suspicious—you + understand,” he confided, his manner conveying a hint that they shared + some common policy. + </p> + <p> + “I don't meddle with politics,” said Wetherell, desperately. + </p> + <p> + “Exactly!” answered Bijah, coming even closer. “I knowed you was a + level-headed man, moment I set eyes on you. Made up my mind I'd have a + little talk in private with you—you understand. The boys hain't got + no reason to suspicion you care anything about politics, have they?” + </p> + <p> + “None whatever.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't pay no attention to what they say?” + </p> + <p> + “None.” + </p> + <p> + “You hear it?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I can't help it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ex'actly! You hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “I told you I couldn't help it.” + </p> + <p> + “Want you should vote right when the time comes,” said Bijah. “D-don't + want to see such an intelligent man go wrong an' be sorry for it—you + understand. Chester Perkins is hare-brained. Jethro Bass runs things in + this state.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bixby—” + </p> + <p> + “You understand,” said Bijah, screwing up his face. “Guess your watch is + a-comin' out.” He tucked it back caressingly, and started for the door—the + back door. Involuntarily Wetherell put his hand to his pocket, felt + something crackle under it, and drew the something out. To his amazement + it was a ten-dollar bill. + </p> + <p> + “Here!” he cried so sharply in his fright that Mr. Bixby, turned around. + Wetherell ran after him. “Take this back!” + </p> + <p> + “Guess you got me,” said Bijah. “W-what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “This money is yours,” cried Wetherell, so loudly that Bijah started and + glanced at the front of the store. + </p> + <p> + “Guess you made some mistake,” he said, staring at the storekeeper with + such amazing innocence that he began to doubt his senses, and clutched the + bill to see if it was real. + </p> + <p> + “But I had no money in my pocket,” said Wetherell, perplexedly. And then, + gaining, indignation, “Take this to the man who sent you, and give it back + to him.” + </p> + <p> + But Bijah merely whispered caressingly in his ear, “Nobody sent me,—you + understand,—nobody sent me,” and was gone. Wetherell stood for a + moment, dazed by the man's audacity, and then, hurrying to the front + stoop, the money still in his hand, he perceived Mr. Bixby in the sunlit + road walking, Jethro-fashion, toward Ephraim Prescott's harness shop. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Daddy,” said Cynthia, coming in from the garden, “where did you get + all that money? Your troubles must feel better.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not mine,” said Wetherell, starting. And then, quivering with anger + and mortification, he sank down on the stoop to debate what he should do. + </p> + <p> + “Is it somebody else's?” asked the child, presently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why don't you give it back to them, Daddy?” + </p> + <p> + How was Wetherell to know, in his fright, that Mr. Bixby had for once + indulged in an overabundance of zeal in Jethro's behalf? He went to the + door, laughter came to him across the green from the harness shop, and his + eye following the sound, fastened on Bijah seated comfortably in the midst + of the group there. Bitterly the storekeeper comprehended that, had he + possessed courage, he would have marched straight after Mr. Bixby and + confronted him before them all with the charge of bribery. The blood + throbbed in his temples, and yet he sat there, trembling, despising + himself, repeating that he might have had the courage if Jethro Bass had + not bought the mortgage. The fear of the man had entered the storekeeper's + soul. + </p> + <p> + “Does it belong to that man over there?” asked Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take it to him, Daddy,” and she held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Not now,” Wetherell answered nervously, glancing at the group. He went + into the store, addressed an envelope to “Mr. Bijah Bixby of Clovelly,” + and gave it to Cynthia. “When he comes back for his wagon, hand it to + him,” he said, feeling that he would rather, at that moment, face the + devil himself than Mr. Bixby. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later, Cynthia gave Mr. Bixby the envelope as he unhitched + his horse; and so deftly did Bijah slip it into his pocket, that he must + certainly have misjudged its contents. None of the loungers at Ephraim's + remarked the transaction. + </p> + <p> + If Jethro had indeed instructed Bijah to look after his flock at Coniston, + it was an ill-conditioned move, and some of the flock resented it when + they were quite sure that Bijah was climbing the notch road toward + Clovelly. The discussion (from which the storekeeper was providentially + omitted) was in full swing when the stage arrived, and Lem Hallowell's + voice silenced the uproar. It was Lem's boast that he never had been and + never would be a politician. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you folks quit railin' against Jethro and do somethin'?” he + said. “Bije turns up here, and you all scatter like a flock of crows. I'm + tired of makin' complaints about that Brampton road, and to-day the hull + side of it give way, and put me in the ditch. Sure as the sun rises + to-morrow, I'm goin' to make trouble for Jethro.” + </p> + <p> + “What be you a-goin' to do, Lem?” + </p> + <p> + “Indict the town,” replied Lem, vigorously. “Who is the town? Jethro, + hain't he? Who has charge of the highways? Jethro Bass, Chairman of the + Selectmen. I've spoke to him, time and agin, about that piece, and he + hain't done nothin'. To-night I go to Harwich and git the court to app'int + an agent to repair that road, and the town'll hev to pay the bill.” + </p> + <p> + The boldness of Lem's intention for the moment took away their breaths, + and then the awe-stricken hush which followed his declaration was broken + by the sound of Chester's fist hammering on the counter. + </p> + <p> + “That's the sperrit,” he cried; “I'll go along with you, Lem.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you won't,” said Lem, “you'll stay right whar you be.” + </p> + <p> + “Chester wants to git credit for the move,” suggested Sam Price, slyly. + </p> + <p> + “It's a lie, Sam Price,” shouted Chester. “What made you sneak off when + Bije Bixby come?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't sneak off,” retorted Sam, indignantly, through his nose; “forgot + them eggs I left to home.” + </p> + <p> + “Sam,” said Lem, with a wink at Moses Hatch, “you hitch up your hoss and + fetch me over to Harwich to git that indictment. Might git a chance to see + that lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Wal, now, I wish I could, Lem, but my hoss is stun lame.” + </p> + <p> + There was a roar of laughter, during which Sam tried to look unconcerned. + </p> + <p> + “Mebbe Rias'll take me over,” said Lem, soberly. “You hitch up, Rias?” + </p> + <p> + “He's gone,” said Joe Northcutt, “slid out the door when you was speakin' + to Sam.” + </p> + <p> + “Hain't none of you folks got spunk enough to carry me over to see the + jedge?” demanded Lem; “my horses ain't fit to travel to-night.” Another + silence followed, and Lem laughed contemptuously but good-naturedly, and + turned on his heel. “Guess I'll walk, then,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You kin have my white hoss, Lem,” said Moses Hatch. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Lem; “I'll come round and hitch up soon's I git my + supper.” + </p> + <p> + An hour later, when Cynthia and her father and Millicent Skinner—who + condescended to assist in the work and cooking of Mr. Wetherell's + household—were seated at supper in the little kitchen behind the + store, the head and shoulders of the stage-driver were thrust in at the + window, his face shining from its evening application of soap and water. + He was making eyes at Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Want to go to Harwich, Will?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + William set his cup down quickly. + </p> + <p> + “You hain't afeard, be you?” he continued. “Most folks that hasn't went + West or died is afeard of Jethro Bass.” + </p> + <p> + “Daddy isn't afraid of him, and I'm not,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “That's right, Cynthy,” said Lem, leaning over and giving a tug to the + pigtail that hung down her back; “there hain't nothin' to be afeard of.” + </p> + <p> + “I like him,” said Cynthia; “he's very good to me.” + </p> + <p> + “You stick to him, Cynthy,” said the stage driver. + </p> + <p> + “Ready, Will?” + </p> + <p> + It may readily be surmised that Mr. Wetherell did not particularly wish to + make this excursion, the avowed object of which was to get Mr. Bass into + trouble. But he went, and presently he found himself jogging along on the + mountain road to Harwich. From the crest of Town's End ridge they looked + upon the western peaks tossing beneath a golden sky. The spell of the + evening's beauty seemed to have fallen on them both, and for a long time + Lem spoke not a word, and nodded smilingly but absently to the greetings + that came from the farm doorways. + </p> + <p> + “Will,” he said at last, “you acted sensible. There's no mite of use of + your gettin' mixed up in politics. You're too good for 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “Too good!” exclaimed the storekeeper. + </p> + <p> + “You're eddicated,” Lem replied, with a tactful attempt to cover up a + deficiency; “you're a gentleman, ef you do keep store.” + </p> + <p> + Lemuel apparently thought that gentlemen and politics were contradictions. + He began to whistle, while Wetherell sat and wondered that any one could + be so care-free on such a mission. The day faded, and went out, and the + lights of Harwich twinkled in the valley. Wetherell was almost tempted to + mention his trouble to this man, as he had been to Ephraim: the fear that + each might think he wished to borrow money held him back. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro's all right,” Lem remarked, “but if he neglects the road, he's got + to stand for it, same's any other. I writ him twice to the capital, and + give him fair warning afore he went. He knows I hain't doin' of it for + politics. I've often thought,” Lem continued, “that ef some smart, good + woman could have got hold of him when he was young, it would have made a + big difference. What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Have you room enough?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess I've got the hull seat,” said Lem. “As I was sayin', if some able + woman had married Jethro and made him look at things a little mite + different, he would have b'en a big man. He has all the earmarks. Why, + when he comes back to Coniston, them fellers'll hunt their holes like + rabbits, mark my words.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't think—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't think what?” + </p> + <p> + “I understand he holds the mortgages of some of them,” said Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “Shouldn't blame him a great deal ef he did git tired and sell Chester out + soon. This thing happens regular as leap year.” + </p> + <p> + “Jethro Bass doesn't seem to frighten you,” said the storekeeper. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Lem, “I hain't afeard of him, that's so. For the life of me, + I can't help likin' him, though he does things that I wouldn't do for all + the power in Christendom. Here's Jedge Parkinson's house.” + </p> + <p> + Wetherell remained in the wagon while Lemuel went in to transact his + business. The judge's house, outlined in the starlight, was a modest + dwelling with a little porch and clambering vines, set back in its own + garden behind a picket fence. Presently, from the direction of the lines + of light in the shutters, came the sound of voices, Lem's deep and + insistent, and another, pitched in a high nasal key, deprecatory and + protesting. There was still another, a harsh one that growled something + unintelligible, and Wetherell guessed, from the fragments which he heard, + that the judge before sitting down to his duty was trying to dissuade the + stage driver from a step that was foolhardy. He guessed likewise that Lem + was not to be dissuaded. At length a silence followed, then the door swung + open, and three figures came down the illuminated path. + </p> + <p> + “Like to make you acquainted with Jedge Abner Parkinson, Mr. Wetherell, + and Jim Irving. Jim's the sheriff of Truro County, and I guess the jedge + don't need any recommendation as a lawyer from me. You won't mind stayin' + awhile with the jedge while Jim and I go down town with the team? You're + both literary folks.” + </p> + <p> + Wetherell followed the judge into the house. He was sallow, tall and spare + and stooping, clean-shaven, with a hooked nose and bright eyes—the + face of an able and adroit man, and he wore the long black coat of the + politician-lawyer. The room was filled with books, and from these Judge + Parkinson immediately took his cue, probably through a fear that Wetherell + might begin on the subject of Lemuel's errand. However, it instantly + became plain that the judge was a true book lover, and despite the fact + that Lem's visit had disturbed him not a little, he soon grew animated in + a discussion on the merits of Sir Walter Scott, paced the room, pitched + his nasal voice higher and higher, covered his table with volumes of that + author to illustrate his meaning. Neither of them heard a knock, and they + both stared dumfounded at the man who filled the doorway. + </p> + <p> + It was Jethro Bass! + </p> + <p> + He entered the room with characteristic unconcern, as if he had just left + it on a trivial errand, and without a “How do you do?” or a “Good + evening,” parted his coat tails, and sat down in the judge's armchair. The + judge dropped the volume of Scott on the desk, and as for Wetherell, he + realized for once the full meaning of the biblical expression of a man's + tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth; the gleam of one of Jethro's + brass buttons caught his eye and held it fascinated. + </p> + <p> + “Literary talk, Judge?” said Jethro. “D-don't mind me—go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Thought you were at the capital,” said the judge, reclaiming some of his + self-possession. + </p> + <p> + “Good many folks thought so,” answered Jethro, “g-good many folks.” + </p> + <p> + There was no conceivable answer to this, so the judge sat down with an + affectation of ease. He was a man on whom dignity lay heavily, and was not + a little ruffled because Wetherell had been a witness of his discomfiture. + He leaned back in his chair, then leaned forward, stretching his neck and + clearing his throat, a position in which he bore a ludicrous resemblance + to a turkey gobbler. + </p> + <p> + “Most through the Legislature?” inquired the judge. + </p> + <p> + “'Bout as common,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + There was a long silence, and, forgetful for the moment of his own + predicament, Wetherell found a fearful fascination in watching the + contortions of the victim whose punishment was to precede his. It had been + one of the delights of Louis XI to contemplate the movements of a certain + churchman whom he had had put in a cage, and some inkling of the pleasure + to be derived from this pastime of tyrants dawned on Wetherell. Perhaps + the judge, too, thought of this as he looked at “Quentin Durward” on the + table. + </p> + <p> + “I was just sayin' to Lem Hallowell,” began the judge, at last, “that I + thought he was a little mite hasty—” + </p> + <p> + “Er—indicted us, Judge?” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + The judge and Wetherell heard the question with different emotions. Mr. + Parkinson did not seem astonished at the miracle which had put Jethro in + possession of this information, but heaved a long sigh of relief, as a man + will when the worst has at length arrived. + </p> + <p> + “I had to, Jethro—couldn't help it. I tried to get Hallowell to wait + till you come back and talk it over friendly, but he wouldn't listen; said + the road was dangerous, and that he'd spoken about it too often. He said + he hadn't anything against you.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't come in to complain,” said Jethro, “didn't come in to complain. + Road is out of repair. W-what's the next move?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Jethro—I swan I'm sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Well,” + he continued in his judicial manner, “the court has got to appoint an + agent to repair that road, the agent will present the bill, and the town + will have to pay the bill—whatever it is. It's too bad, Jethro, that + you have allowed this to be done.” + </p> + <p> + “You say you've got to app'int an agent?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I'm sorry—” + </p> + <p> + “Have you app'inted one?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “G-got any candidates?” + </p> + <p> + The judge scratched his head. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know as I have.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, have you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the judge. + </p> + <p> + “A-any legal objection to my bein' app'inted?” asked Jethro. + </p> + <p> + The judge looked at him and gasped. But the look was an involuntary + tribute of admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said hesitatingly, “I don't know as there is, Jethro. No, + there's no legal objection to it.” + </p> + <p> + “A-any other kind of objection?” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + The judge appeared to reflect. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no,” he said at last, “I don't know as there is.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, is there?” said Jethro, again. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the judge, with the finality of a decision. A smile seemed to + be pulling at the corners of his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm a candidate,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Do you tell me, Jethro, that you want me to appoint you agent to fix that + road?” + </p> + <p> + “I-I'm a candidate.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the judge, rising, “I'll do it.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” said Jethro, sitting still. + </p> + <p> + “I'll send the papers over to you within two or three days. + </p> + <p> + “O-ought to be done right away, Judge. Road's in bad shape.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll send the papers over to you to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “How long—would it take to make out that app'intment—how + long?” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't take but a little while.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll wait,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to take the appointment along with you to-night?” asked the + judge, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “G-guess that's about it.” + </p> + <p> + Without a word the judge went over to his table, and for a while the + silence was broken only by the scratching of his pen. + </p> + <p> + “Er—interested in roads,—Will,—interested in roads?” + </p> + <p> + The judge stopped writing to listen, since it was now the turn of the + other victim. + </p> + <p> + “Not particularly,” answered Mr. Wetherell, whose throat was dry. + </p> + <p> + “C-come over for the drive—c-come over for the drive?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied the storekeeper, rather faintly. + </p> + <p> + “H-how's Cynthy?” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + The storekeeper was too astonished to answer. At that moment there was a + heavy step in the doorway, and Lem Hallowell entered the room. He took one + long look at Jethro and bent over and slapped his hand on his knee, and + burst out laughing. + </p> + <p> + “So here you be!” he cried. “By Godfrey! ef you don't beat all outdoors, + Jethro. Wal, I got ahead of ye for once, but you can't say I didn't warn + ye. Come purty nigh bustin' the stage on that road today, and now I'm + a-goin' to hev an agent app'inted.” + </p> + <p> + “W-who's the agent?” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “We'll git one. Might app'int Will, there, only he don't seem to want to + get mixed up in it.” + </p> + <p> + “There's the agent,” cried the judge, holding out the appointment to + Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Wh-what?” ejaculated Lem. + </p> + <p> + Jethro took the appointment, and put it in his cowhide wallet. + </p> + <p> + “Be you the agent?” demanded the amazed stage driver. + </p> + <p> + “C-callate to be,” said Jethro, and without a smile or another word to any + one he walked out into the night, and after various exclamations of + astonishment and admiration, the stage driver followed. + </p> + <p> + No one, indeed, could have enjoyed this unexpected coup of Jethro's more + than Lem himself, and many times on their drive homeward he burst into + loud and unexpected fits of laughter at the sublime conception of the + Chairman of the Selectmen being himself appointed road agent. + </p> + <p> + “Will,” said he, “don't you tell this to a soul. We'll have some fun out + of some of the boys to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + The storekeeper promised, but he had an unpleasant presentiment that he + himself might be one of the boys in question. + </p> + <p> + “How do you suppose Jethro Bass knew you were going to indict the town?” + he asked of the stage driver. + </p> + <p> + Lem burst into fresh peals of laughter; but this was something which he + did not attempt to answer. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + It so happened that there was a certain spinster whom Sam Price had been + trying to make up his mind to marry for ten years or more, and it was that + gentleman's habit to spend at least one day in the month in Harwich for + the purpose of paying his respects. In spite of the fact that his horse + had been “stun lame” the night before, Mr. Price was able to start for + Harwich, via Brampton, very early the next morning. He was driving along + through Northcutt's woods with one leg hanging over the wheel, humming + through his nose what we may suppose to have been a love-ditty, and + letting his imagination run riot about the lady in question, when he + nearly fell out of his wagon. The cause of this was the sight of fat Tom + coming around a corner, with Jethro Bass behind him. Lem Hallowell and the + storekeeper had kept their secret so well that Sam, if he was thinking + about Jethro at all, believed him at that moment to be seated in the + Throne Room at the Pelican House, in the capital. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Price, however, was one of an adaptable nature, and by the time he had + pulled up beside Jethro he had recovered sufficiently to make a few + remarks on farming subjects, and finally to express a polite surprise at + Jethro's return. + </p> + <p> + “But you come a little mite late, hain't you, Jethro?” he asked finally, + with all of the indifference he could assume. + </p> + <p> + “H-how's that, Sam—how's that?” + </p> + <p> + “It's too bad,—I swan it is,—but Lem Hallowell rode over to + Harwich last night and indicted the town for that piece of road by the + Four Corners. Took Will Wetherell along with him.” + </p> + <p> + “D-don't say so!” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “I callate he done it,” responded Sam, pulling a long face. “The court'll + hev to send an agent to do the job, and I guess you'll hev to foot the + bill, Jethro.” + </p> + <p> + “C-court'll hev to app'int an agent?” + </p> + <p> + “I callate.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—you a candidate—Sam—you a candidate?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know but what I be,” answered the usually wary Mr. Price. + </p> + <p> + “G-goin' to Harwich—hain't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Mebbe I be, and mebbe I hain't,” said Sam, not able to repress a + self-conscious snicker. + </p> + <p> + “M-might as well be you as anybody, Sam,” said Jethro, as he drove on. + </p> + <p> + It was not strange that the idea, thus planted, should grow in Mr. Price's + favor as he proceeded. He had been surprised at Jethro's complaisance, and + he wondered whether, after all, he had done well to help Chester stir + people up at this time. When he reached Harwich, instead of presenting + himself promptly at the spinster's house, he went first to the office of + Judge Parkinson, as became a prudent man of affairs. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps there is no need to go into the details of Mr. Price's + discomfiture on the occasion of this interview. The judge was by nature of + a sour disposition, but he haw-hawed so loudly as he explained to Mr. + Price the identity of the road agent that the judge of probate in the next + office thought his colleague had gone mad. Afterward Mr. Price stood for + some time in the entry, where no one could see him, scratching his head + and repeating his favorite exclamation, “I want to know!” It has been + ascertained that he omitted to pay his respects to the spinster on that + day. + </p> + <p> + Cyamon Johnson carried the story back to Coniston, where it had the effect + of eliminating Mr. Price from local politics for some time to come. + </p> + <p> + That same morning Chester Perkins was seen by many driving wildly about + from farm to farm, supposedly haranguing his supporters to make a final + stand against the tyrant, but by noon it was observed by those naturalists + who were watching him that his activity had ceased. Chester arrived at + dinner time at Joe Northcutt's, whose land bordered on the piece of road + which had caused so much trouble, and Joe and half a dozen others had been + at work there all morning under the road agent whom Judge Parkinson had + appointed. Now Mrs. Northcutt was Chester's sister, a woman who in + addition to other qualities possessed the only sense of humor in the + family. She ushered the unsuspecting Chester into the kitchen, and there, + seated beside Joe and sipping a saucer of very hot coffee, was Jethro Bass + himself. Chester halted in the doorway, his face brick-red, words utterly + failing him, while Joe sat horror-stricken, holding aloft on his fork a + smoking potato. Jethro continued to sip his coffee. + </p> + <p> + “B-busy times, Chester,” he said, “b-busy times.” + </p> + <p> + Chester choked. Where were the burning words of denunciation which came so + easily to his tongue on other occasions? It is difficult to denounce a man + who insists upon drinking coffee. + </p> + <p> + “Set right down, Chester,” said Mrs. Northcutt, behind him. + </p> + <p> + Chester sat down, and to this day he cannot account for that action. Once + seated, habit asserted itself; and he attacked the boiled dinner with a + ferocity which should have been exercised against Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose the stores down to the capital is finer than ever, Mr. Bass,” + remarked Mrs. Northcutt. + </p> + <p> + “So-so, Mis' Northcutt, so-so.” + </p> + <p> + “I was there ten years ago,” remarked Mrs. Northcutt, with a sigh of + reminiscence, “and I never see such fine silks and bonnets in my life. Now + I've often wanted to ask you, did you buy that bonnet with the trembly jet + things for Mis' Bass?” + </p> + <p> + “That bonnet come out full better'n I expected,” answered Jethro, + modestly. + </p> + <p> + “You have got taste in wimmin's fixin's, Mr. Bass. Strange? Now I wouldn't + let Joe choose my things for worlds.” + </p> + <p> + So the dinner progressed, Joe with his eyes on his plate, Chester silent, + but bursting with anger and resentment, until at last Jethro pushed back + his chair, and said good day to Mrs. Northcutt and walked out. Chester got + up instantly and went after him, and Joe, full of forebodings, followed + his brother-in-law! Jethro was standing calmly on the grass plot, + whittling a toothpick. Chester stared at him a moment, and then strode off + toward the barn, unhitched his horse and jumped in his wagon. Something + prompted him to take another look at Jethro, who was still whittling. + </p> + <p> + “C-carry me down to the road, Chester—c-carry me down to the road?” + said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Joe Northcutt's knees gave way under him, and he sat down on a sugar + kettle. Chester tightened up his reins so suddenly that his horse reared, + while Jethro calmly climbed into the seat beside him and they drove off. + It was some time before Joe had recovered sufficiently to arise and repair + to the scene of operations on the road. + </p> + <p> + It was Joe who brought the astounding news to the store that evening. + Chester was Jethro's own candidate for senior Selectman! Jethro himself + had said so, that he would be happy to abdicate in Chester's favor, and + make it unanimous—Chester having been a candidate so many times, and + disappointed. + </p> + <p> + “Whar's Chester?” said Lem Hallowell. + </p> + <p> + Joe pulled a long face. + </p> + <p> + “Just come from his house, and he hain't done a lick of work sence noon + time. Jest sets in a corner—won't talk, won't eat—jest sets + thar.” + </p> + <p> + Lem sat down on the counter and laughed until he was forced to brush the + tears from his cheeks at the idea of Chester Perkins being Jethro's + candidate. Where was reform now? If Chester were elected, it would be in + the eyes of the world as Jethro's man. No wonder he sat in a corner and + refused to eat. + </p> + <p> + “Guess you'll ketch it next, Will, for goin' over to Harwich with Lem,” + Joe remarked playfully to the storekeeper, as he departed. + </p> + <p> + These various occurrences certainly did not tend to allay the uneasiness + of Mr. Wetherell. The next afternoon, at a time when a slack trade was + slackest, he had taken his chair out under the apple tree and was sitting + with that same volume of Byron in his lap—but he was not reading. + The humorous aspects of the doings of Mr. Bass did not particularly appeal + to him now; and he was, in truth, beginning to hate this man whom the + fates had so persistently intruded into his life. William Wetherell was + not, it may have been gathered, what may be called vindictive. He was a + sensitive, conscientious person whose life should have been in the vale; + and yet at that moment he had a fierce desire to confront Jethro Bass and—and + destroy him. Yes, he felt equal to that. + </p> + <p> + Shocks are not very beneficial to sensitive natures. William Wetherell + looked up, and there was Jethro Bass on the doorstep. + </p> + <p> + “G-great resource—readin'—great resource,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + In this manner Jethro snuffed out utterly that passion to destroy, and + another sensation took its place—a sensation which made it very + difficult for William Wetherell to speak, but he managed to reply that + reading had been a great resource to him. Jethro had a parcel in his hand, + and he laid it down on the step beside him; and he seemed, for once in his + life, to be in a mood for conversation. + </p> + <p> + “It's hard for me to read a book,” he observed. “I own to it—it's a + little mite hard. H-hev to kind of spell it out in places. Hain't had much + time for readin'. But it's kind of pleasant to l'arn what other folks has + done in the world by pickin' up a book. T-takes your mind off things—don't + it?” + </p> + <p> + Wetherell felt like saying that his reading had not been able to do that + lately. Then he made the plunge, and shuddered as he made it. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bass—I—I have been waiting to speak to you about that + mortgage.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—yes,” he answered, without moving his head, “er—about the + mortgage.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Worthington told me that you had bought it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did—yes, I did.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid you will have to foreclose,” said Wetherell; “I cannot + reasonably ask you to defer the payments any longer.” + </p> + <p> + “If I foreclose it, what will you do?” he demanded abruptly. + </p> + <p> + There was but one answer—Wetherell would have to go back to the city + and face the consequences. He had not the strength to earn his bread on a + farm. + </p> + <p> + “If I'd a b'en in any hurry for the money—g-guess I'd a notified + you,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “I think you had better foreclose, Mr. Bass,” Wetherell answered; “I can't + hold out any hopes to you that it will ever be possible for me to pay it + off. It's only fair to tell you that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, with what seemed a suspicion of a smile, “I don't know + but what that's about as honest an answer as I ever got.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you do it?” Wetherell cried, suddenly goaded by another fear; + “why did you buy that mortgage?” + </p> + <p> + But this did not shake his composure. + </p> + <p> + “H-have a little habit of collectin' 'em,” he answered, “same as you do + books. G-guess some of 'em hain't as valuable.” + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell was beginning to think that Jethro knew something also + of such refinements of cruelty as were practised by Caligula. He drew + forth his cowhide wallet and produced from it a folded piece of newspaper + which must, Wetherell felt sure, contain the mortgage in question. + </p> + <p> + “There's one power I always wished I had,” he observed, “the power to make + folks see some things as I see 'em. I was acrost the Water to-night, on my + hill farm, when the sun set, and the sky up thar above the mountain was + all golden bars, and the river all a-flamin' purple, just as if it had + been dyed by some of them Greek gods you're readin' about. Now if I could + put them things on paper, I wouldn't care a haycock to be President. No, + sir.” + </p> + <p> + The storekeeper's amazement as he listened to this speech may be imagined. + Was this Jethro Bass? If so, here was a side of him the existence of which + no one suspected. Wetherell forgot the matter in hand. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you put that on paper?” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Jethro smiled, and made a deprecating motion with his thumb. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes when I hain't busy, I drop into the state library at the + capital and enjoy myself. It's like goin' to another world without any + folks to bother you. Er—er—there's books I'd like to talk to + you about—sometime.” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought you told me you didn't read much, Mr. Bass?” + </p> + <p> + He made no direct reply, but unfolded the newspaper in his hand, and then + Wetherell saw that it was only a clipping. + </p> + <p> + “H-happened to run across this in a newspaper—if this hain't this + county, I wahn't born and raised here. If it hain't Coniston Mountain + about seven o'clock of a June evening, I never saw Coniston Mountain. Er—listen + to this.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon he read, with a feeling which Wetherell had not supposed he + possessed, an extract: and as the storekeeper listened his blood began to + run wildly. At length Jethro put down the paper without glancing at his + companion. + </p> + <p> + “There's somethin' about that that fetches you spinnin' through the air,” + he said slowly. “Sh-showed it to Jim Willard, editor of the Newcastle + Guardian. Er—what do you think he said?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Wetherell, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Willard said, 'Bass, w-wish you'd find me that man. I'll give him five + dollars every week for a letter like that—er—five dollars a + week.'” + </p> + <p> + He paused, folded up the paper again and put it in his pocket, took out a + card and handed it to Wetherell. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + James G. Willard, Editor. + Newcastle Guardian. +</pre> + <p> + “That's his address,” said Jethro. “Er—guess you'll know what to do + with it. Er—five dollars a week—five dollars a week.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know I wrote this article?” said Wetherell, as the card + trembled between his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “K-knowed the place was Coniston seen from the 'east, knowed there wahn't + any one is Brampton or Harwich could have done it—g-guessed the rest—guessed + the rest.” + </p> + <p> + Wetherell could only stare at him like a man who, with the halter about + his neck, has been suddenly reprieved. But Jethro Bass did not appear to + be waiting for thanks. He cleared his throat, and had Wetherell not been + in such a condition himself, he would actually have suspected him of + embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Er—Wetherell?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “W-won't say nothin' about the mortgage—p-pay it when you can.” + </p> + <p> + This roused the storekeeper to a burst of protest, but he stemmed it. + </p> + <p> + “Hain't got the money, have you?” + </p> + <p> + “No—but—” + </p> + <p> + “If I needed money, d'ye suppose I'd bought the mortgage?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered the still bewildered Wetherell, “of course not.” There he + stuck, that other suspicion of political coercion suddenly rising + uppermost. Could this be what the man meant? Wetherell put his hand to his + head, but he did not dare to ask the question. Then Jethro Bass fixed his + eyes upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Hain't never mixed any in politics—hev you n-never mixed any?” + </p> + <p> + Wetherell's heart sank. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “D-don't—take my advice—d-don't.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried the storekeeper, so loudly that he frightened himself. + </p> + <p> + “D-don't,” repeated Jethro, imperturbably. + </p> + <p> + There was a short silence, the storekeeper being unable to speak. Coniston + Water, at the foot of the garden, sang the same song, but it seemed to + Wetherell to have changed its note from sorrow to joy. + </p> + <p> + “H-hear things, don't you—hear things in the store?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't hear 'em. Keep out of politics, Will, s-stick to store-keepin' and—and + literature.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro got to his feet and turned his back on the storekeeper and picked + up the parcel he had brought. + </p> + <p> + “C-Cynthy well?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I—I'll call her,” said Wetherell, huskily. “She—she was down + by the brook when you came.” + </p> + <p> + But Jethro Bass did not wait. He took his parcel and strode down to + Coniston Water, and there he found Cynthia seated on a rock with her toes + in a pool. + </p> + <p> + “How be you, Cynthy?” said he, looking down at her. + </p> + <p> + “I'm well, Uncle Jethro,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “R-remembered what I told you to call me, hev you,” said Jethro, plainly + pleased. “Th-that's right. Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia looked up at him inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “S-said you liked books—didn't you? S-said you liked books?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do,” she replied simply, “very much.” + </p> + <p> + He undid the wrapping of the parcel, and there lay disclosed a book with a + very gorgeous cover. He thrust it into the child's lap. + </p> + <p> + “It's 'Robinson Crusoe'!” she exclaimed, and gave a little shiver of + delight that made ripples in the pool. Then she opened it—not + without awe, for William Wetherell's hooks were not clothed in this + magnificent manner. “It's full of pictures,” cried Cynthia. “See, there he + is making a ship!” + </p> + <p> + “Y-you read it, Cynthy?” asked Jethro, a little anxiously. + </p> + <p> + No, Cynthia hadn't. + </p> + <p> + “L-like it, Cynthy—l-like it?” said he, not quite so anxiously. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia looked up at him with a puzzled expression. + </p> + <p> + “F-fetched it up from the capital for you, Cynthy—for you.” + </p> + <p> + “For me!” + </p> + <p> + A strange thrill ran through Jethro Bass as he gazed upon the wonder and + delight in the face of the child. + </p> + <p> + “F-fetched it for you, Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Cynthia sat very still, and then she slowly closed the book + and stared at the cover again, Jethro looking down at her the while. To + tell the truth, she found it difficult to express the emotions which the + event had summoned up. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you—Uncle Jethro,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Jethro, however, understood. He had, indeed, never failed to understand + her from the beginning. He parted his coat tails and sat down on the rock + beside her, and very gently opened the book again, to the first chapter. + </p> + <p> + “G-goin' to read it, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” she said, and trembled again. + </p> + <p> + “Er—read it to me?” + </p> + <p> + So Cynthia read “Robinson Crusoe” to him while the summer afternoon wore + away, and the shadows across the pool grew longer and longer. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + Thus William Wetherell became established in Coniston, and was started at + last—poor man—upon a life that was fairly tranquil. Lem + Hallowell had once covered him with blushes by unfolding a newspaper in + the store and reading an editorial beginning: “We publish today a new and + attractive feature of the Guardian, a weekly contribution from a + correspondent whose modesty is to be compared only with his genius as a + writer. We are confident that the readers of our Raper will appreciate the + letter in another column signed 'W. W.'” And from that day William was + accorded much of the deference due to a litterateur which the fates had + hitherto denied him. Indeed, during the six years which we are about to + skip over so lightly, he became a marked man in Coniston, and it was voted + in towns meeting that he be intrusted with that most important of literary + labors, the Town History of Coniston. + </p> + <p> + During this period, too, there sprang up the strangest of intimacies + between him and Jethro Bass. Surely no more dissimilar men than these have + ever been friends, and that the friendship was sometimes misjudged was one + of the clouds on William Wetherell's horizon. As the years went on he was + still unable to pay off the mortgage; and sometimes, indeed, he could not + even meet the interest, in spite of the princely sum he received from Mr. + Willard of the Guardian. This was one of the clouds on Jethro's horizon, + too, if men had but known it, and he took such moneys as Wetherell + insisted upon giving him grudgingly enough. It is needless to say that he + refrained from making use of Mr. Wetherell politically, although no poorer + vessel for political purposes was ever constructed. It is quite as + needless to say, perhaps, that Chester Perkins never got to be Chairman of + the Board of Selectmen. + </p> + <p> + After Aunt Listy died, Jethro was more than ever to be found, when in + Coniston, in the garden or the kitchen behind the store. Yes, Aunt Listy + is dead. She has flitted through these pages as she flitted through life + itself, arrayed by Jethro like the rainbow, and quite as shadowy and + unreal. There is no politician of a certain age in the state who does not + remember her walking, clad in dragon-fly colors, through the streets of + the capital on Jethro's arm, or descending the stairs of the Pelican House + to supper. None of Jethro's detractors may say that he ever failed in + kindness to her, and he loved her as much as was in his heart to love any + woman after Cynthia Ware. As for Aunt Listy, she never seemed to feel any + resentment against the child Jethro brought so frequently to Thousand Acre + Hill. Poor Aunt Listy! some people used to wonder whether she ever felt + any emotion at all. But I believe that she did, in her own way. + </p> + <p> + It is a well-known fact that Mr. Bijah Bixby came over from Clovelly, to + request the place of superintendent of the funeral, a position which had + already been filled. A special office, too, was created on this occasion + for an old supporter of Jethro's, Senator Peleg Hartington of Brampton. He + was made chairman of the bearers, of whom Ephraim Prescott was one. + </p> + <p> + After this, as we have said, Jethro was more than ever at the store—or + rather in that domestic domain behind it which Wetherell and Cynthia + shared with Miss Millicent Skinner. Moses Hatch was wont to ask Cynthia + how her daddies were. It was he who used to clear out the road to the + little schoolhouse among the birches when the snow almost buried the + little village, and on sparkling mornings after the storms his oxen would + stop to breathe in front of the store, a cluster of laughing children + clinging to the snow-plough and tumbling over good-natured Moses in their + frolics. Cynthia became a country girl, and grew long and lithe of limb, + and weather-burnt, and acquired an endurance that spoke wonders for the + life-giving air of Coniston. But she was a serious child, and Wetherell + and Jethro sometimes wondered whether she was ever a child at all. When + Eben Hatch fell from the lumber pile on the ice, it was she who bound the + cut in his head; and when Tom Richardson unexpectedly embraced the + schoolhouse stove, Cynthia, not Miss Rebecca Northcutt, took charge of the + situation. + </p> + <p> + It was perhaps inevitable, with such a helpless father, that the girl + should grow up with a sense of responsibility, being what she was. Did + William Wetherell go to Brampton, Cynthia examined his apparel, and he was + marched shamefacedly back to his room to change; did he read too late at + night, some unseen messenger summoned her out of her sleep, and he was + packed off to bed. Miss Millicent Skinner, too, was in a like mysterious + way compelled to abdicate her high place in favor of Cynthia, and + Wetherell was utterly unable to explain how this miracle was accomplished. + Not only did Millicent learn to cook, but Cynthia, at the age of fourteen, + had taught her. Some wit once suggested that the national arms of the + United States should contain the emblem of crossed frying-pans, and + Millicent was in this respect a true American. When Wetherell began to + suffer from her pies and doughnuts, the revolution took place—without + stampeding, or recriminations, or trouble of any kind. One evening he + discovered Cynthia, decked in an apron, bending over the stove, and + Millicent looking on with an expression that was (for Millicent) benign. + </p> + <p> + This was to some extent explained, a few days later, when Wetherell found + himself gazing across the counter at the motherly figure of Mrs. Moses + Hatch, who held the well-deserved honor of being the best cook in + Coniston. + </p> + <p> + “Hain't had so much stomach trouble lately, Will?” she remarked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered, surprised; “Cynthia is learning to cook.” + </p> + <p> + “Guess she is,” said Mrs. Moses. “That gal is worth any seven grown-up + women in town. And she was four nights settin' in my kitchen before I + knowed what she was up to.” + </p> + <p> + “So you taught her, Amanda? + </p> + <p> + “I taught her some. She callated that Milly was killin' you, and I guess + she was.” + </p> + <p> + During her school days, Jethro used frequently to find himself in front of + the schoolhouse when the children came trooping out—quite by + accident, of course. Winter or summer, when he went away on his periodical + trips, he never came back without a little remembrance in his carpet bag, + usually a book, on the subject of which he had spent hours in conference + with the librarian at the state library at the capital. But in June of the + year when Cynthia was fifteen, Jethro yielded to that passion which was + one of the man's strangest characteristics, and appeared one evening in + the garden behind the store with a bundle which certainly did not contain + a book. With all the gravity of a ceremony he took off the paper, and held + up in relief against the astonished Cynthia a length of cardinal cloth. + William Wetherell, who was looking out of the window, drew his breath, and + even Jethro drew back with an exclamation at the change wrought in her. + But Cynthia snatched the roll from his hand and wound it up with a + feminine deftness. + </p> + <p> + “Wh-what's the matter, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can't wear that, Uncle Jethro,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “C-can't wear it! Why not?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia sat down on the grassy mound under the apple tree and clasped her + hands across her knees. She looked up at him and shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you see that I couldn't wear it, Uncle Jethro?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he demanded. “Ch-change it if you've a mind to hev green.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head, and smiled at him a little sadly. + </p> + <p> + “T-took me a full hour to choose that, Cynthy,” said he. “H-had to go to + Boston so I got it there.” + </p> + <p> + He was, indeed, grievously disappointed at this reception of his gift, and + he stood eying the cardinal cloth very mournfully as it lay on the paper. + Cynthia, remorseful, reached up and seized his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down here, Uncle Jethro.” He sat down on the mound beside her, very + much perplexed. She still held his hand in hers. “Uncle Jethro,” she said + slowly, “you mustn't think I'm not grateful.” + </p> + <p> + “N-no,” he answered; “I don't think that, Cynthy. I know you be.” + </p> + <p> + “I am grateful—I'm very grateful for everything you give me, + although I should love you just as much if you didn't give me anything.” + </p> + <p> + She was striving very hard not to offend him, for in some ways he was as + sensitive as Wetherell himself. Even Coniston folk had laughed at the + idiosyncrasy which Jethro had of dressing his wife in brilliant colors, + and the girl knew this. + </p> + <p> + “G-got it for you to wear to Brampton on the Fourth of July, Cynthy,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro, I couldn't wear that to Brampton!” + </p> + <p> + “You'd look like a queen,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “But I'm not a queen,” objected Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Rather hev somethin' else?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, looking at him suddenly with the gleam of laughter in her + eyes, although she was on the verge of tears. + </p> + <p> + “Wh-what?” Jethro demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Cynthia, demurely gazing down at her ankles, “shoes and + stockings.” The barefooted days had long gone by. + </p> + <p> + Jethro laughed. Perhaps some inkling of her reasons came to him, for he + had a strange and intuitive understanding of her. At any rate, he accepted + her decision with a meekness which would have astonished many people who + knew only that side of him which he showed to the world. Gently she + released her hand, and folded up the bundle again and gave it to him. + </p> + <p> + “B-better keep it—hadn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, you keep it. And I will wear it for you when I am rich, Uncle + Jethro.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro did keep it, and in due time the cardinal cloth had its uses. But + Cynthia did not wear it on the Fourth of July. + </p> + <p> + That was a great day for Brampton, being not only the nation's birthday, + but the hundredth year since the adventurous little band of settlers from + Connecticut had first gazed upon Coniston Water at that place. Early in + the morning wagon loads began to pour into Brampton Street from Harwich, + from Coniston, from Tarleton Four Corners, and even from distant Clovelly, + and Brampton was banner-hung for the occasion—flags across the + stores, across the dwellings, and draped along the whole breadth of the + meeting-house; but for sheer splendor the newly built mansion of Isaac D. + Worthington outshone them all. Although its owner was a professed believer + in republican simplicity, no such edifice ornamented any town to the west + of the state capital. Small wonder that the way in front of it was blocked + by a crowd lost in admiration of its Gothic proportions! It stands to-day + one of many monuments to its builder, with its windows of one pane + (unheard-of magnificence), its tower of stone, its porch with pointed + arches and scroll-work. No fence divides its grounds from the public walk, + and on the smooth-shaven lawn between the ornamental flower beds and the + walk stand two stern mastiffs of iron, emblematic of the solidity and + power of their owner. It was as much to see this house as to hear the + oratory that the countryside flocked to Brampton that day. + </p> + <p> + All the day before Cynthia and Milly, and many another housewife, had been + making wonderful things for the dinners they were to bring, and stowing + them in the great basket ready for the early morning start. At six o'clock + Jethro's three-seated farm wagon was in front of the store. Cousin Ephraim + Prescott, in a blue suit and an army felt hat with a cord, got up behind, + a little stiffly by reason of that Wilderness bullet; and there were also + William Wetherell and Lem Hallowell, his honest face shining, and Sue, his + wife, and young Sue and Jock and Lilian, all a-quiver with excitement in + their Sunday best. + </p> + <p> + And as they drove away there trotted up behind them Moses and Amandy + Hatch, with their farm team, and all the little Hatches,—Eben and + George and Judy and Liza. As they jogged along they drank in the fragrance + of the dew-washed meadows and the pines, and a great blue heron stood + knee-deep on the far side of Deacon Lysander's old mill-pond, watching + them philosophically as they passed. + </p> + <p> + It was eight o'clock when they got into the press of Brampton Street, and + there was a hush as they made their way slowly through the throng, and + many a stare at the curious figure in the old-fashioned blue swallowtail + and brass buttons and tall hat, driving the farm wagon. Husbands pointed + him out to their wives, young men to sisters and sweethearts, some openly, + some discreetly. “There goes Jethro Bass,” and some were bold enough to + say, “Howdy, Jethro?” Jake Wheeler was to be observed in the crowd ahead + of them, hurried for once out of his Jethro step, actually running toward + the tavern, lest such a one arrive unheralded. Commotion is perceived on + the tavern porch,—Mr. Sherman, the proprietor, bustling out, Jake + Wheeler beside him; a chorus of “How be you, Jethros?” from the more + courageous there,—but the farm team jogs on, leaving a discomfited + gathering, into the side street, up an alley, and into the cool, + ammonia-reeking sheds of lank Jim Sanborn's livery stable. No + obsequiousness from lank Jim, who has the traces slipped and the reins + festooned from the bits almost before Jethro has lifted Cynthia to the + floor. Jethro, walking between Cynthia and her father, led the way, + Ephraim, Lem, and Sue Hallowell following, the children, in unwonted shoes + and stockings, bringing up the rear. The people parted, and presently they + found themselves opposite the new-scrolled band stand among the trees, + where the Harwich band in glittering gold and red had just been installed. + The leader; catching sight of Jethro's party, and of Ephraim's corded army + hat, made a bow, waved his baton, and they struck up “Marching through + Georgia.” It was, of course, not dignified to cheer, but I think that the + blood of every man and woman and child ran faster with the music, and so + many of them looked at Cousin Ephraim that he slipped away behind the line + of wagons. So the day began. + </p> + <p> + “Jest to think of bein' that rich, Will!” exclaimed Amanda Hatch to the + storekeeper, as they stood in the little group which had gathered in front + of the first citizen's new mansion. “I own it scares me. Think how much + that house must hev cost, and even them dogs,” said Amanda, staring at the + mastiffs with awe. “They tell me he has a grand piano from New York, and + guests from Boston railroad presidents. I call Isaac Worthington to mind + when he wahn't but a slip of a boy with a cough, runnin' after Cynthy + Ware.” She glanced down at Cynthia with something of compassion. “Just to + think, child, he might have be'n your father!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad he isn't,” said Cynthia, hotly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, of course,” replied the good-natured and well-intentioned + Amanda, “I'd sooner have your father than Isaac Worthington. But I was + only thinkin' how nice it would be to be rich.” + </p> + <p> + Just then one of the glass-panelled doors of this house opened, and a + good-looking lad of seventeen came out. + </p> + <p> + “That's Bob Worthington,” said Amanda, determined that they should miss + nothing. “My! it wahn't but the other day when he put on long pants. It + won't be a great while before he'll go into the mills and git all that + money. Guess he'll marry some city person. He'd ought to take you, + Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want him,” said Cynthia, the color flaming into her cheeks. And + she went off across the green in search of Jethro. + </p> + <p> + There was a laugh from the honest country folk who had listened. Bob + Worthington came to the edge of the porch and stood there, frankly + scanning the crowd, with an entire lack of self-consciousness. Some of + them shifted nervously, with the New Englander's dislike of being caught + in the act of sight-seeing. + </p> + <p> + “What in the world is he starin' at me for?” said Amanda, backing behind + the bulkier form of her husband. “As I live, I believe he's comin' here.” + </p> + <p> + Young Mr. Worthington was, indeed, descending the steps and walking across + the lawn toward them, nodding and smiling to acquaintances as he passed. + To Wetherell's astonishment he made directly for the place where he was + standing and held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Mr. Wetherell?” he said. “Perhaps you don't remember me,—Bob + Worthington.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't say that I should have known you,” answered the storekeeper. They + were all absurdly silent, thinking of nothing to say and admiring the boy + because he was at ease. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you have a good seat at the exercises,” he said, pressing + Wetherell's hand again, and before he could thank him, Bob was off in the + direction of the band stand. + </p> + <p> + “One thing,” remarked Amanda, “he ain't much like his dad. You'd never + catch Isaac Worthington bein' that common.” + </p> + <p> + Just then there came another interruption for William Wetherell, who was + startled by the sound of a voice in his ear—a nasal voice that awoke + unpleasant recollections. He turned to confront, within the distance of + eight inches, the face of Mr. Bijah Bixby of Clovelly screwed up into a + greeting. The storekeeper had met Mr. Bixby several times since that first + memorable meeting, and on each occasion, as now, his hand had made an + involuntary movement to his watch pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Hain't seed you for some time, Will,” remarked Mr. Bixby; “goin' over to + the exercises? We'll move along that way,” and he thrust his hand under + Mr. Wetherell's elbow. “Whar's Jethro?” + </p> + <p> + “He's here somewhere,” answered the storekeeper, helplessly, moving along + in spite of himself. + </p> + <p> + “Keepin' out of sight, you understand,” said Bijah, with a knowing wink, + as much as to say that Mr. Wetherell was by this time a past master in + Jethro tactics. Mr. Bixby could never disabuse his mind of a certain + interpretation which he put on the storekeeper's intimacy with Jethro. + “You done well to git in with him, Will. Didn't think you had it in you + when I first looked you over.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wetherell wished to make an indignant denial, but he didn't know + exactly how to begin. + </p> + <p> + “Smartest man in the United States of America—guess you know that,” + Mr. Bixby continued amiably. “They can't git at him unless he wants 'em + to. There's a railroad president at Isaac Worthington's who'd like to git + at him to-day,—guess you know that,—Steve Merrill.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wetherell didn't know, but he was given no time to say so. + </p> + <p> + “Steve Merrill, of the Grand Gulf and Northern. He hain't here to see + Worthington; he's here to see Jethro, when Jethro's a mind to. Guess you + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing about it,” answered Wetherell, shortly. Mr. Bixby gave him + a look of infinite admiration, as though he could not have pursued any + more admirable line. + </p> + <p> + “I know Steve Merrill better'n I know you,” said Mr. Bixby, “and he knows + me. Whenever he sees me at the state capital he says, 'How be you, Bije?' + just as natural as if I was a railroad president, and slaps me on the + back. When be you goin' to the capital, Will? You'd ought to come down and + be thar with the boys on this Truro Bill. You could reach some on 'em the + rest of us couldn't git at.” + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell avoided a reply to this very pointed inquiry by escaping + into the meeting-house, where he found Jethro and Cynthia and Ephraim + already seated halfway up the aisle. + </p> + <p> + On the platform, behind a bank of flowers, are the velvet covered chairs + which contain the dignitaries of the occasion. The chief of these is, of + course, Mr. Isaac Worthington, the one with the hawk-like look, sitting + next to the Rev. Mr. Sweet, who is rather pudgy by contrast. On the other + side of Mr. Sweet, next to the parlor organ and the quartette, is the + genial little railroad president Mr. Merrill, batting the flies which + assail the unprotected crown of his head, and smiling benignly on the + audience. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly his eye becomes fixed, and he waves a fat hand vigorously at + Jethro, who answers the salute with a nod of unwonted cordiality for him. + Then comes a hush, and the exercises begin. + </p> + <p> + There is a prayer, of course, by the Rev. Mr. Sweet, and a rendering of + “My Country” and “I would not Change my Lot,” and other choice selections + by the quartette; and an original poem recited with much feeling by a lady + admirer of Miss Lucretia Penniman, and the “Hymn to Coniston” declaimed by + Mr. Gamaliel Ives, president of the Brampton Literary Club. But the + crowning event is, of course, the oration by Mr. Isaac D. Worthington, the + first citizen, who is introduced under that title by the chairman of the + day; and as the benefactor of Brampton, who has bestowed upon the town the + magnificent gift which was dedicated such a short time ago, the + Worthington Free Library. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Isaac D. Worthington stood erect beside the table, his hand thrust + into the opening of his coat, and spoke at the rate of one hundred and + eight words a minute, for exactly one hour. He sketched with much skill + the creed of the men who had fought their way through the forests to build + their homes by Coniston Water, who had left their clearings to risk their + lives behind Stark and Ethan Allen for that creed; he paid a graceful + tribute to the veterans of the Civil War, scattered among his hearers—a + tribute, by the way, which for some reason made Ephraim very indignant. + Mr. Worthington went on to outline the duty of citizens of the present + day, as he conceived it, and in this connection referred, with becoming + modesty, to the Worthington Free Library. He had made his money in + Brampton, and it was but right that he should spend it for the benefit of + the people of Brampton. The library, continued Mr. Worthington when the + applause was over, had been the dream of a certain delicate youth who had + come, many years ago, to Brampton for his health. (It is a curious fact, + by the way, that Mr. Worthington seldom recalled the delicate youth now, + except upon public occasions.) + </p> + <p> + Yes, the dream of that youth had been to benefit in some way that + community in which circumstances had decreed that he should live, and in + this connection it might not be out of place to mention a bill then before + the Legislature of the state, now in session. If the bill became a law, + the greatest modern factor of prosperity, the railroad, would come to + Brampton. The speaker was interrupted here by more applause. Mr. + Worthington did not deem it dignified or necessary to state that the + railroad to which he referred was the Truro Railroad; and that he, as the + largest stockholder, might indirectly share that prosperity with Brampton. + That would be wandering too far, from his subject, which, it will be + recalled, was civic duties. He took a glass of water, and went on to + declare that he feared—sadly feared—that the ballot was not + held as sacred as it had once been. He asked the people of Brampton, and + of the state, to stop and consider who in these days made the laws and + granted the franchises. Whereupon he shook his head very slowly and sadly, + as much as to imply that, if the Truro Bill did not pass, the corruption + of the ballot was to blame. No, Mr. Worthington could think of no better + subject on this Birthday of Independence than a recapitulation of the + creed of our forefathers, from which we had so far wandered. + </p> + <p> + In short, the first citizen, as became him, had delivered the first reform + speech ever heard in Brampton, and the sensation which it created was + quite commensurate to the occasion. The presence in the audience of Jethro + Bass, at whom many believed the remarks to have been aimed, added no + little poignancy to that sensation, although Jethro gave no outward signs + of the terror and remorse by which he must have been struck while + listening to Mr. Worthington's ruminations of the corruption of the + ballot. Apparently unconscious of the eyes upon him, he walked out of the + meeting-house with Cynthia by his side, and they stood waiting for + Wetherell and Ephraim under the maple tree there. + </p> + <p> + The be-ribboned members of the Independence Day committee were now on the + steps, and behind them came Isaac Worthington and Mr. Merrill. The people, + scenting a dramatic situation, lingered. Would the mill owner speak to the + boss? The mill owner, with a glance at the boss, did nothing of the kind, + but immediately began to talk rapidly to Mr. Merrill. That gentleman, + however, would not be talked to, but came running over to Jethro and + seized his hand, leaving Mr. Worthington to walk on by himself. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro,” cried the little railroad president, “upon my word. Well, well. + And Miss Jethro,” he took off his hat to Cynthia, “well, well. Didn't know + you had a girl, Jethro.” + </p> + <p> + “W-wish she was mine, Steve,” said Jethro. “She's a good deal to me as it + is. Hain't you, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” said Mr. Merrill, staring at her, “you'll have to look out + for her some day—keep the boys away from her—eh? Upon my word! + Well, Jethro,” said he, with a twinkle in his eye, “are you goin' to + reform? I'll bet you've got an annual over my road in your pocket right + now.” + </p> + <p> + “Enjoy the speech-makin', Steve?” inquired Mr. Bass, solemnly. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill winked at Jethro, and laughed heartily. + </p> + <p> + “Keep the boys away from her, Jethro,” he repeated, laying his hand on the + shoulder of the lad who stood beside him. “It's a good thing Bob's going + off to Harvard this fall. Seems to me I heard about some cutting up at + Andover—eh, Bob?” + </p> + <p> + Bob grinned, showing a line of very white teeth. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill took Jethro by the arm and led him off a little distance, + having a message of some importance to give him, the purport of which will + appear later. And Cynthia and Bob were left face to face. Of course Bob + could have gone on, if he had wished it. + </p> + <p> + “Don't remember me, do you?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I do now,” said Cynthia, looking at him rather timidly through her + lashes. Her face was hot, and she had been, very uncomfortable during Mr. + Merrill's remarks. Furthermore, Bob had not taken his eyes off her. + </p> + <p> + “I remembered you right away,” he said reproachfully; “I saw you in front + of the house this morning, and you ran away.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't runaway,” replied Cynthia, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “It looked like it, to me,” said Bob.. “I suppose you were afraid I was + going to give you anther whistle.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia bit her lip, and then she laughed. Then she looked around to see + where Jethro was, and discovered that they were alone in front of the + meeting-house. Ephraim and her father had passed on while Mr. Merrill was + talking. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” asked Bob. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid they've gone,” said Cynthia. “I ought to be going after them. + They'll miss me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, they won't,” said Bob, easily, “let's sit down under the tree. + They'll come back.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon he sat down under the maple. But Cynthia remained standing, + ready to fly. She had an idea that it was wrong to stay—which made + it all the more delightful. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down—Cynthia,” said he. + </p> + <p> + She glanced down at him, startled. He was sitting, with his legs crossed, + looking up at her intently. + </p> + <p> + “I like that name,” he observed. “I like it better than any girl's name I + know. Do be good-natured and sit down.” And he patted the ground close + beside him. + </p> + <p> + Shy laughed again. The laugh had in it an exquisite note of shyness, which + he liked. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you want me to sit down?” she asked suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Because I want to talk to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you talk to me standing up?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I could,” said Bob, “but—I shouldn't be able to say such + nice things to you.” + </p> + <p> + The corners of her mouth trembled a little. + </p> + <p> + “And whose loss would that be?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Bob Worthington was surprised at this retort, and correspondingly + delighted. He had not expected it in a country storekeeper's daughter, and + he stared at Cynthia so frankly that she blushed again, and turned away. + He was a young man who, it may be surmised, had had some experience with + the other sex at Andover and elsewhere. He had not spent all of his life + in Brampton. + </p> + <p> + “I've often thought of you since that day when you wouldn't take the + whistle,” he declared. “What are you laughing at?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm laughing at you,” said Cynthia, leaning against the tree, with her + hands behind her. + </p> + <p> + “You've been laughing at me ever since you've stood there,” he said, + aggrieved that his declarations should not betaken more seriously. + </p> + <p> + “What have you thought about me?” she demanded. She was really beginning + to enjoy this episode. + </p> + <p> + “Well—” he began, and hesitated—and broke down and laughed—Cynthia + laughed with him. + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you what I didn't think,” said Bob. + </p> + <p> + “What?” asked Cynthia, falling into the trap. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't think you'd be so—so good-looking,” said he, quite boldly. + </p> + <p> + “And I didn't think you'd be so rude,” responded Cynthia. But though she + blushed again, she was not exactly displeased. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do this afternoon?” he asked. “Let's go for a + walk.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going back to Coniston.” + </p> + <p> + “Let's go for a walk now,” said he, springing to his feet. “Come on.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia looked at him and shook her head smilingly. + </p> + <p> + “Here's Uncle Jethro—” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro!” exclaimed Bob, “is he your uncle?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, not really. But he's just the same. He's very good to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder whether he'd mind if I called him Uncle Jethro, too,” said Bob, + and Cynthia laughed at the notion. This young man was certainly very + comical, and very frank. “Good-by,” he said; “I'll come to see you some + day in Coniston.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + That evening, after Cynthia had gone to bed, William Wetherell sat down at + Jonah Winch's desk in the rear of the store to gaze at a blank sheet of + paper until the Muses chose to send him subject matter for his weekly + letter to the Guardian. The window was open, and the cool airs from the + mountain spruces mingled with the odors of corn meal and kerosene and + calico print. Jethro Bass, who had supped with the storekeeper, sat in the + wooden armchair silent, with his head bent. Sometimes he would sit there + by the hour while Wetherell wrote or read, and take his departure when he + was so moved without saying good night. Presently Jethro lifted his chin, + and dropped it again; there was a sound of wheels without, and, after an + interval, a knock at the door. + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell dropped his pen with a start of surprise, as it was late + for a visitor in Coniston. He glanced at Jethro, who did not move, and + then he went to the door and shot back the great forged bolt of it, and + stared out. On the edge of the porch stood a tallish man in a + double-breasted frock coat. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Worthington!” exclaimed the storekeeper. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington coughed and pulled at one of his mutton-chop whiskers, and + seemed about to step off the porch again. It was, indeed, the first + citizen and reformer of Brampton. No wonder William Wetherell was + mystified. + </p> + <p> + “Can I do anything for you?” he asked. “Have you missed your way?” + </p> + <p> + Wetherell thought he heard him muttering, “No, no,” and then he was + startled by another voice in his ear. It was Jethro who was standing + beside him. + </p> + <p> + “G-guess he hain't missed his way a great deal. Er—come in—come + in.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington took a couple of steps forward. + </p> + <p> + “I understood that you were to be alone,” he remarked, addressing Jethro + with an attempted severity of manner. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't say so—d-didn't say so, did I?” answered Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Mr. Worthington, “any other time will do for this little + matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—good night,” said Jethro, shortly, and there was the suspicion + of a gleam in his eye as Mr. Worthington turned away. The mill-owner, in + fact, did not get any farther than the edge of the porch before he wheeled + again. + </p> + <p> + “The affair which I have to discuss with you is of a private nature, Mr. + Bass,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “So I callated,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “You may have the place to yourselves, gentlemen,” Wetherell put in + uneasily, and then Mr. Worthington came as far as the door, where he stood + looking at the storekeeper with scant friendliness. Jethro turned to + Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “You a politician, Will?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “You a business man?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said again. + </p> + <p> + “You ever tell folks what you hear other people say?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” the storekeeper answered; “I'm not interested in other + people's business.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Jethro. “Guess you'd better stay.” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't care to stay,” Wetherell objected. + </p> + <p> + “Stay to oblige me—stay to oblige me?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, if you put it that way,” Wetherell said, beginning to get some + amusement out of the situation. + </p> + <p> + He did not know what Jethro's object was in this matter; perhaps others + may guess. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington, who had stood by with ill-disguised impatience during + this colloquy, note broke in. + </p> + <p> + “It is most unusual, Mr. Bass, to have a third person present at a + conference in which he has no manner of concern. I think on the whole, + since you have insisted upon my coming to you—” + </p> + <p> + “H-hain't insisted that I know of,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mr. Worthington, “never mind that. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it would be better for me to come to you some other time, when + you are alone.” + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Wetherell had shut the door, and they had gradually walked + to the rear of the store. Jethro parted his coat tails, and sat down again + in the armchair. Wetherell, not wishing to be intrusive, went to his desk + again, leaving the first citizen standing among the barrels. + </p> + <p> + “W-what other time?” Jethro asked. + </p> + <p> + “Any other time,” said Mr. Worthington. + </p> + <p> + “What other time?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow night?” suggested Mr. Worthington, striving to hide his + annoyance. + </p> + <p> + “B-busy to-morrow night,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “You know that what I have to talk to you about is of the utmost + importance,” said Worthington. “Let us say Saturday night.” + </p> + <p> + “B-busy Saturday night,” said Jethro. “Meet you to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “What time?” + </p> + <p> + “Noon,” said Jethro, “noon.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” asked Mr. Worthington, dubiously. + </p> + <p> + “Band stand in Brampton Street,” said Jethro, and the storekeeper was fain + to bend over his desk to conceal his laughter, busying himself with his + books. Mr. Worthington sat down with as much dignity as he could muster on + one of Jonah's old chairs, and Jonah Winch's clock ticked and ticked, and + Wetherell's pen scratched and scratched on his weekly letter to Mr. + Willard, although he knew that he was writing the sheerest nonsense. As a + matter of fact, he tore up the sheets the next morning without reading + them. Mr. Worthington unbuttoned his coat, fumbled in his pocket, and + pulled out two cigars, one of which he pushed toward Jethro, who shook his + head. Mr. Worthington lighted his cigar and cleared his throat. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you have observed, Mr. Bass,” he said, “that this is a rapidly + growing section of the state—that the people hereabouts are every + day demanding modern and efficient means of communication with the outside + world.” + </p> + <p> + “Struck you as a mill owner, has it?” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “I do not care to emphasize my private interests,” answered Mr. + Worthington, at last appearing to get into his stride again. “I wish to + put the matter on broader grounds. Men like you and me ought not to be so + much concerned with our own affairs as with those of the population + amongst whom we live. And I think I am justified in putting it to you on + these grounds.” + </p> + <p> + “H-have to be justified, do you—have to be justified?” Jethro + inquired. “Er—why?” + </p> + <p> + This was a poser, and for a moment he stared at Jethro, blankly, until he + decided how to take it. Then he crossed his legs and blew smoke toward the + ceiling. + </p> + <p> + “It is certainly fairer to everybody to take the broadest view of a + situation,” he remarked; “I am trying to regard this from the aspect of a + citizen, and I am quite sure that it will appeal to you in the same light. + If the spirit which imbued the founders of this nation means anything, Mr. + Bass, it means that the able men who are given a chance to rise by their + own efforts must still retain the duties and responsibilities of the + humblest citizens. That, I take it, is our position, Mr. Bass,—yours + and mine.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington had uncrossed his legs, and was now by the inspiration of + his words impelled to an upright position. Suddenly he glanced at Jethro, + and started for Jethro had sunk down on the small of his back, his chin on + his chest, in an attitude of lassitude if not of oblivion. There was a + silence perhaps a little disconcerting for Mr. Worthington, who chose the + opportunity to relight his cigar. + </p> + <p> + “G-got through?” said Jethro, without moving, “g-got through?” + </p> + <p> + “Through?” echoed Mr. Worthington, “through what?” + </p> + <p> + “T-through Sunday-school,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Worthington dropped his match and stamped on it, and Wetherell began to + wonder how much the man would stand. It suddenly came over the storekeeper + that the predicament in which Mr. Worthington found himself whatever it + was—must be a very desperate one. He half rose in his chair, sat + down again, and lighted another match. + </p> + <p> + “Er—director in the Truro Road, hain't you, Mr. Worthington?” asked + Jethro, without looking at him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—principal stockholder—ain't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—but that is neither here nor there, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Road don't pay—r-road don't pay, does it?” + </p> + <p> + “It certainly does not.” + </p> + <p> + “W-would pay if it went to Brampton and Harwich?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bass, the company consider that they are pledged to the people of + this section to get the road through. I am not prepared to say whether the + road would pay, but it is quite likely that it would not.” + </p> + <p> + “Ch-charitable organization?” said Jethro, from the depths of his chair. + </p> + <p> + “The pioneers in such matters take enormous risks for the benefit of the + community, sir. We believe that we are entitled to a franchise, and in my + opinion the General Court are behaving disgracefully in refusing us one. I + will not say all I think about that affair, Mr. Bass. I am convinced that + influences are at work—” He broke off with a catch in his throat. + </p> + <p> + “T-tried to get a franchise, did you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not here to quibble with you, Mr. Bass. We tried to get it by every + legitimate means, and failed, and you know it as well as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—Heth Sutton didn't sign his receipt—er—did he?” + </p> + <p> + The storekeeper, not being a politician, was not aware that the somewhat + obscure reference of Jethro's to the Speaker of the House concerned an + application which Mr. Worthington was supposed to have made to that + gentleman, who had at length acknowledged his inability to oblige, and had + advised Mr. Worthington to go to headquarters. And Mr. Stephen Merrill, + who had come to Brampton out of the kindness of his heart, had only + arranged this meeting in a conversation with Jethro that day, after the + reform speech. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington sprang to his feet, and flung out a hand toward Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Prove your insinuations, air,” he cried; “I defy you to prove your + insinuations.” + </p> + <p> + But Jethro still sat unmoved. + </p> + <p> + “H-Heth in the charitable organization, too?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “People told me I was a fool to believe in honesty, but I thought better + of the lawmakers of my state. I'll tell you plainly what they said to me, + sir. They said, 'Go to Jethro Bass.'” + </p> + <p> + “Well, so you have, hain't you? So you have.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have. I've come to appeal to you in behalf of the people of your + section to allow that franchise to go through the present Legislature.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—come to appeal, have you—come to appeal?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Worthington, sitting down again; “I have come to-night to + appeal to you in the name of the farmers and merchants of this region—your + neighbors,—to use your influence to get that franchise. I have come + to you with the conviction that I shall not have appealed in vain.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—appealed to Heth in the name of the farmers and merchants?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Sutton is Speaker of the House.” + </p> + <p> + “F-farmers and merchants elected him,” remarked Jethro, as though stating + a fact. + </p> + <p> + Worthington coughed. + </p> + <p> + “It is probable that I made a mistake in going to Sutton,” he admitted. + </p> + <p> + “If I w-wanted to catch a pike, w-wouldn't use a pin-hook.” + </p> + <p> + “I might have known,” remarked Worthington, after a pause, “that Sutton + could not have been elected Speaker without your influence.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro did not answer that, but still remained sunk in his chair. To all + appearances he might have been asleep. + </p> + <p> + “W-worth somethin' to the farmers and merchants to get that road through—w-worth + somethin', ain't it?” + </p> + <p> + Wetherell held his breath. For a moment Mr. Worthington sat very still, + his face drawn, and then he wet his lips and rose slowly. + </p> + <p> + “We may as well end this conversation, Mr. Bass,” he said, and though he + tried to speak firmly his voice shook, “it seems to be useless. Good + night.” + </p> + <p> + He picked up his hat and walked slowly toward the door, but Jethro did not + move or speak. Mr. Worthington reached the door opened it, and the night + breeze started the lamp to smoking. Wetherell got up and turned it down, + and the first citizen was still standing in the doorway. His back was + toward them, but the fingers of his left hand—working convulsively + caught Wetherell's eye and held it; save for the ticking of the clock and + the chirping of the crickets in the grass, there was silence. Then Mr. + Worthington closed the door softly, hesitated, turned, and came back and + stood before Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bass,” he said, “we've got to have that franchise.” + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell glanced at the countryman who, without moving in his + chair, without raising his voice, had brought the first citizen of + Brampton to his knees. The thing frightened the storekeeper, revolted him, + and yet its drama held him fascinated. By some subtle process which he had + actually beheld, but could not fathom, this cold Mr. Worthington, this + bank president who had given him sage advice, this preacher of political + purity, had been reduced to a frenzied supplicant. He stood bending over + Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “What's your price? Name it, for God's sake.” + </p> + <p> + “B-better wait till you get the bill—hadn't you? b-better wait till + you get the bill.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you put the franchise through?” + </p> + <p> + “Goin' down to the capital soon?” Jethro inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going down on Thursday.” + </p> + <p> + “B-better come in and see me,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” answered Mr. Worthington; “I'll be in at two o'clock on + Thursday.” And then, without another word to either of them, he swung on + his heel and strode quickly out of the store. Jethro did not move. + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell's hand was trembling so that he could not write, and he + could not trust his voice to speak. Although Jethro had never mentioned + Isaac Worthington's name to him, Wetherell knew that Jethro hated the + first citizen of Brampton. + </p> + <p> + At length, when the sound of the wheels had died away, Jethro broke the + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Er—didn't laugh—did he, Will? Didn't laugh once—did + he?” + </p> + <p> + “Laugh!” echoed the storekeeper, who himself had never been further from + laughter in his life. + </p> + <p> + “M-might have let him off easier if he'd laughed,” said Jethro, “if he'd + laughed just once, m-might have let him off easier.” + </p> + <p> + And with this remark he went out of the store and left Wetherell alone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + The weekly letter to the Newcastle Guardian was not finished that night, + but Coniston slept, peacefully, unaware of Mr. Worthington's visit; and + never, indeed, discovered it, since the historian for various reasons of + his own did not see fit to insert the event in his plan of the Town + History. Before another sun had set Jethro Bass had departed for the state + capital, not choosing to remain to superintend the haying of the many + farms which had fallen into his hand,—a most unusual omission for + him. + </p> + <p> + Presently rumors of a mighty issue about the Truro Railroad began to be + discussed by the politicians at the Coniston store, and Jake Wheeler held + himself in instant readiness to answer a summons to the capital—which + never came. + </p> + <p> + Delegations from Brampton and Harwich went to petition the Legislature for + the franchise, and the Brampton Clarion and Harwich Sentinel declared that + the people of Truro County recognized in Isaac Worthington a great and + public-spirited man, who ought by all means to be the next governor—if + the franchise went through. + </p> + <p> + One evening Lem Hallowell, after depositing a box of trimmings at Ephraim + Prescott's harness shop, drove up to the platform of the store with the + remark that “things were gittin' pretty hot down to the capital in that + franchise fight.” + </p> + <p> + “Hain't you b'en sent for yet, Jake?” he cried, throwing his reins over + the backs of his sweating Morgans; “well, that's strange. Guess the fight + hain't as hot as we hear about. Jethro hain't had to call out his best + men.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm a-goin' down if there's trouble,” declared Jake, who consistently + ignored banter. + </p> + <p> + “Better git up and git,” said Lem; “there's three out of the five + railroads against Truro, and Steve Merrill layin' low. Bije Bixby's down + there, and Heth Sutton, and Abner Parkinson, and all the big bugs. Better + get aboard, Jake.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the discussion was interrupted by the sight of Cynthia + Wetherell coming across the green with an open letter in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “It's a message from Uncle Jethro,” she said. + </p> + <p> + The announcement was sufficient to warrant the sensation it produced on + all sides. + </p> + <p> + “'Tain't a letter from Jethro, is it?” exclaimed Sam Price, overcome by a + pardonable curiosity. For it was well known that one of Jethro's fixed + principles in life was embodied in his own motto, “Don't write—send.” + </p> + <p> + “It's very funny,” answered Cynthia, looking down at the paper with a + puzzled expression. “'Dear Cynthia: Judge Bass wished me to say to you + that he would be pleased if you and Will would come to the capital and + spend a week with him at the Pelican House, and see the sights. The judge + says Rias Richardson will tend store. Yours truly, P. Hartington.' That's + all,” said Cynthia, looking up. + </p> + <p> + For a moment you could have heard a pine needle drop on the stoop. Then + Rias thrust his hands in his pockets and voiced the general sentiment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll be—goldurned!” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't say nothin' about Jake?” queried Lem. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Cynthia, “that's all—except two pieces of cardboard + with something about the Truro Railroad and our names. I don't know what + they are.” And she took them from the envelope. + </p> + <p> + “Guess I could tell you if I was pressed,” said Lem, amid a shout of + merriment from the group. + </p> + <p> + “Air you goin', Will?” said Sam Price, pausing with his foot on the step + of his buggy, that he might have the complete news before he left. + </p> + <p> + “Godfrey, Will,” exclaimed Rigs, breathlessly, “you hain't a-goin' to + throw up a chance to stay a hull week at the Pelican, be you?” The mere + possibility of refusal overpowered Rias. + </p> + <p> + Those who are familiar with that delightful French song which treats of + the leave-taking of one Monsieur Dumollet will appreciate, perhaps, the + attentions which were showered upon William Wetherell and Cynthia upon + their departure for the capital next morning. Although Mr. Wetherell had + at one time been actually a resident of Boston, he received quite as many + cautions from his neighbors as Monsieur Dumollet. Billets doux and pistols + were, of course, not mentioned, but it certainly behooved him, when he + should have arrived at that place of intrigues, to be on the lookout for + cabals. + </p> + <p> + They took the stage-coach from Brampton over the pass: picturesque + stage-coach with its apple-green body and leather springs, soon to be laid + away forever if the coveted Truro Franchise Bill becomes a law; + stage-coach which pulls up defiantly beside its own rival at Truro + station, where our passengers take the train down the pleasant waterways + and past the little white villages among the fruit trees to the capital. + The thrill of anticipation was in Cynthia's blood, and the flush of + pleasure on her cheeks, when they stopped at last under the sheds. The + conductor snapped his fingers and cried, “This way, Judge,” and there was + Jethro in his swallow-tailed coat and stove-pipe hat awaiting them. He + seized Wetherell's carpet-bag with one hand and Cynthia's arm with the + other, and shouldered his way through the people, who parted when they saw + who it was. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro,” cried Cynthia, breathlessly, “I didn't know you were a + judge. What are you judge of?” + </p> + <p> + “J-judge of clothes, Cynthy. D-don't you wish you had the red cloth to + wear here?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't,” said Cynthia. “I'm glad enough to be here without it.” + </p> + <p> + “G-glad to hev you in any fixin's, Cynthy,” he said, giving her arm a + little squeeze, and by that time they were up the hill and William + Wetherell quite winded. For Jethro was strong as an ox, and Cynthia's + muscles were like an Indian's. + </p> + <p> + They were among the glories of Main Street now. The capital was then, and + still remains, a typically beautiful New England city, with wide streets + shaded by shapely maples and elms, with substantial homes set back amidst + lawns and gardens. Here on Main Street were neat brick business buildings + and banks and shops, with the park-like grounds of the Capitol farther on, + and everywhere, from curb to doorway, were knots of men talking politics; + broad-faced, sunburned farmers in store clothes, with beards that hid + their shirt fronts; keen-featured, sallow, country lawyers in long black + coats crumpled from much sitting on the small of the back; country + storekeepers with shrewd eyes, and local proprietors and manufacturers. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro, I didn't know you were such a great man,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “H-how did ye find out, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “The way people treat you here. I knew you were great, of course,” she + hastened to add. + </p> + <p> + “H-how do they treat me?” he asked, looking down at her. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” she answered. “They all stop talking when you come along and + stare at you. But why don't you speak to them?” + </p> + <p> + Jethro smiled and squeezed her arm again, and then they were in the + corridor of the famous Pelican Hotel, hazy with cigar smoke and filled + with politicians. Some were standing, hanging on to pillars, + gesticulating, some were ranged in benches along the wall, and a chosen + few were in chairs grouped around the spittoons. Upon the appearance of + Jethro's party, the talk was hushed, the groups gave way, and they + accomplished a kind of triumphal march to the desk. The clerk, descrying + them, desisted abruptly from a conversation across the cigar counter, and + with all the form of a ceremony dipped the pen with a flourish into the + ink and handed it to Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Your rooms are ready, Judge,” he said. + </p> + <p> + As they started for the stairs, Jethro and Cynthia leading the way, + Wetherell felt a touch on his elbow and turned to confront Mr. Bijah Bixby—at + very close range, as usual. + </p> + <p> + “C-come down at last, Will?” he said. “Thought ye would. Need everybody + this time—you understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I came on pleasure,” retorted Mr. Wetherell, somewhat angrily. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bixby appeared hugely to enjoy the joke. + </p> + <p> + “So I callated,” he cried, still holding Wetherell's hand in a mild, but + persuasive grip. “So I callated. Guess I done you an injustice, Will.” + </p> + <p> + “How's that?” + </p> + <p> + “You're a leetle mite smarter than I thought you was. So long. Got a + leetle business now—you understand a leetle business.” + </p> + <p> + Was it possible, indeed, for the simple-minded to come to the capital and + not become involved in cabals? With some misgivings William Wetherell + watched Mr. Bixby disappear among the throng, kicking up his heels behind, + and then went upstairs. On the first floor Cynthia was standing by an open + door. + </p> + <p> + “Dad,” she cried, “come and see the rooms Uncle Jethro's got for us!” She + took Wetherell's hand and led him in. “See the lace curtains, and the + chandelier, and the big bureau with the marble top.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro had parted his coat tails and seated himself enjoyably on the bed. + </p> + <p> + “D-don't come often,” he said, “m-might as well have the best.” + </p> + <p> + “Jethro,” said Wetherell, coughing nervously and fumbling in the pocket of + his coat, “you've been very kind to us, and we hardly know how to thank + you. I—I didn't have any use for these.” + </p> + <p> + He held out the pieces of cardboard which had come in Cynthia's letter. He + dared not look at Jethro, and his eye was fixed instead upon the somewhat + grandiose signature of Isaac D. Worthington, which they bore. Jethro took + them and tore them up, and slowly tossed the pieces into a cuspidor + conveniently situated near the foot of the bed. He rose and thrust his + hands into his pockets. + </p> + <p> + “Er—when you get freshened up, come into Number 7,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Number 7! But we shall come to that later. Supper first, in a great + pillared dining room filled with notables, if we only had the key. Jethro + sits silent at the head of the table eating his crackers and milk, with + Cynthia on his left and William Wetherell on his right. Poor William, + greatly embarrassed by his sudden projection into the limelight, is + helpless in the clutches of a lady-waitress who is demanding somewhat + fiercely that he make an immediate choice from a list of dishes which she + is shooting at him with astonishing rapidity. But who is this, sitting + beside him, who comes to William's rescue, and demands that the lady + repeat the bill of fare? Surely a notable, for he has a generous presence, + and jet-black whiskers which catch the light, which give the gentleman, as + Mr. Bixby remarked, “quite a settin'.” Yes, we have met him at last. It is + none other than the Honorable Heth Sutton, Rajah of Clovelly, Speaker of + the House, who has condescended to help Mr. Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + His chamberlain, Mr. Bijah Bixby, sits on the other side of the Honorable + Heth, and performs the presentation of Mr. Wetherell. But Mr. Sutton, as + becomes a man of high position, says little after he has rebuked the + waitress, and presently departs with a carefully chosen toothpick; + whereupon Mr. Bixby moves into the vacant seat—not to Mr. + Wetherell's unqualified delight. + </p> + <p> + “I've knowed him ever sense we was boys,” said Mr. Bixby; “you saw how + intimate we was. When he wants a thing done, he says, 'Bije, you go out + and get 'em.' Never counts the cost. He was nice to you—wahn't he, + Will?” And then Mr. Bixby leaned over and whispered in Mr. Wetherell's + ear; “He knows—you understand—he knows.” + </p> + <p> + “Knows what?” demanded Mr. Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bixby gave him another admiring look. + </p> + <p> + “Knows you didn't come down here with Jethro jest to see the sights.” + </p> + <p> + At this instant the talk in the dining room fell flat, and looking up + William Wetherell perceived a portly, rubicund man of middle age being + shown to his seat by the headwaiter. The gentleman wore a great, + glittering diamond in his shirt, and a watch chain that contained much + fine gold. But the real cause of the silence was plainly in the young + woman who walked beside him, and whose effective entrance argued no little + practice and experience. She was of a type that catches the eye + involuntarily and holds it,—tall, well-rounded, fresh-complexioned, + with heavy coils of shimmering gold hair. Her pawn, which was far from + unbecoming, was in keeping with those gifts with which nature had endowed + her. She carried her head high, and bestowed swift and evidently fatal + glances to right and left during her progress through the room. Mr. + Bixby's voice roused the storekeeper from this contemplation of the + beauty. + </p> + <p> + “That's Alvy Hopkins of Gosport and his daughter. Fine gal, hain't she? + Ever sense she come down here t'other day she's stirred up more turmoil + than any railroad bill I ever seed. She was most suffocated at the + governor's ball with fellers tryin' to get dances—some of 'em old + fellers, too. And you understand about Alvy?” + </p> + <p> + “What about him?” + </p> + <p> + “Alvy says he's a-goin' to be the next governor, or fail up.” Mr. Bixby's + voice sank to a whisper, and he spoke into Mr. Wetherell's ear. “Alvy says + he has twenty-five thousand dollars to put in if necessary. I'll introduce + you to him, Will,” he added meaningly. “Guess you can help him some—you + understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bixby!” cried Mr. Wetherell, putting down his knife and fork. + </p> + <p> + “There!” said Mr. Bixby, reassuringly; “'twon't be no bother. I know him + as well as I do you—call each other by our given names. Guess I was + the first man he sent for last spring. He knows I go through all them + river towns. He says, 'Bije, you get 'em.' I understood.” + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell began to realize the futility of trying to convince Mr. + Bixby of his innocence in political matters, and glanced at Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't think he was listenin', would you, Will?” Mr. Bixby + remarked. + </p> + <p> + “Listening?” + </p> + <p> + “Ears are sharp as a dog's. Callate he kin hear as far as the governor's + table, and he don't look as if he knows anything. One way he built up his + power—listenin' when they're talkin' sly out there in the rotunda. + They're almighty surprised when they l'arn he knows what they're up to. + Guess you understand how to go along by quiet and listen when they're + talkin' sly.” + </p> + <p> + “I never did such a thing in my life,” cried William Wetherell, + indignantly aghast. + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Bixby winked. + </p> + <p> + “So long, Will,” he said, “see you in Number 7.” + </p> + <p> + Never, since the days of Pompadour and Du Barry, until modern American + politics were invented, has a state been ruled from such a place as Number + 7 in the Pelican House—familiarly known as the Throne Room. In this + historic cabinet there were five chairs, a marble-topped table, a pitcher + of iced water, a bureau, a box of cigars and a Bible, a chandelier with + all the gas jets burning, and a bed, whereon sat such dignitaries as + obtained an audience,—railroad presidents, governors and + ex-governors and prospective governors, the Speaker, the President of the + Senate, Bijah Bixby, Peleg Hartington, mighty chiefs from the North + Country, and lieutenants from other parts of the state. These sat on the + bed by preference. Jethro sat in a chair by the window, and never took any + part in the discussions that raged, but listened. Generally there was some + one seated beside him who talked persistently in his ear; as at present, + for instance, Mr. Chauncey Weed, Chairman of the Committee on Corporations + of the House, who took the additional precaution of putting his hand to + his mouth when he spoke. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Stephen Merrill was in the Throne Room that evening, and + confidentially explained to the bewildered William Wetherell the exact + situation in the Truro Franchise fight. Inasmuch as it has become our duty + to describe this celebrated conflict,—in a popular and engaging + manner, if possible,—we shall have to do so through Mr. Wetherell's + eyes, and on his responsibility. The biographies of some of the gentlemen + concerned have since been published, and for some unaccountable reason + contain no mention of the Truro franchise. + </p> + <p> + “All Gaul,” said Mr. Merrill—he was speaking to a literary man—“all + Gaul is divided into five railroads. I am one, the Grand Gulf and + Northern, the impecunious one. That is the reason I'm so nice to + everybody, Mr. Wetherell. The other day a conductor on my road had a shock + of paralysis when a man paid his fare. Then there's Batch, president of + the 'Down East' road, as we call it. Batch and I are out of this fight,—we + don't care whether Isaac D. Worthington gets his franchise or not, or I + wouldn't be telling you this. The two railroads which don't want him to + get it, because the Truro would eventually become a competitor with them, + are the Central and the Northwestern. Alexander Duncan is president of the + Central.” + </p> + <p> + “Alexander Duncan!” exclaimed Wetherell. “He's the richest man in the + state, isn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Merrill, “and he lives in a big square house right here in + the capital. He ain't a bad fellow, Duncan. You'd like him. He loves + books. I wish you could see his library.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid there's not much chance of that,” answered Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “Well, as I say, there's Duncan, of the Central, and the other is Lovejoy, + of the Northwestern. Lovejoy's a bachelor and a skinflint. Those two, + Duncan and Lovejoy, are using every means in their power to prevent + Worthington from getting that franchise. Have I made myself clear?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think Mr. Worthington will get it?” asked Wetherell, who had in + mind a certain nocturnal visit at his store. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill almost leaped out of his chair at the question. Then he mopped + his face, and winked very deliberately at the storekeeper. Then Mr. + Merrill laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” he said, “for a man who comes down here to stay with Jethro + Bass to ask me that!” Whereupon Mr. Wetherell flushed, and began to + perspire himself. “Didn't you hear Isaac D. Worthington's virtuous appeal + to the people at Brampton?” said Mr. Merrill. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Wetherell, getting redder. + </p> + <p> + “I like you, Will,” said Mr. Merrill, unexpectedly, “darned if I don't. + I'll tell you what I know about it, and you can have a little fun while + you're here, lookin' on, only it won't do to write about it to the + Newcastle Guardian. Guess Willard wouldn't publish it, anyhow. I suppose + you know that Jethro pulls the strings, end we little railroad presidents + dance. We're the puppets now, but after a while, when I'm crowded out, all + these little railroads will get together and there'll be a row worth + looking at, or I'm mistaken. But to go back to Worthington,” continued Mr. + Merrill, “he made a little mistake with his bill in the beginning. Instead + of going to Jethro, he went to Heth Sutton, and Heth got the bill as far + as the Committee on Corporations, and there she's been ever since, with + our friend Chauncey Weed, who's whispering over there.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Sutton couldn't even get it out of the Committee!” exclaimed + Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “Not an inch. Jethro saw this thing coming about a year ago, and he took + the precaution to have Chauncey Weed and the rest of the Committee in his + pocket—and of course Heth Sutton's always been there.” + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell thought of that imposing and manly personage, the + Honorable Heth Sutton, being in Jethro's pocket, and marvelled. Mr. + Chauncey Weed seemed of a species better able to thrive in the atmosphere + of pockets. + </p> + <p> + “Well, as I say, there was the Truro Franchise Bill sound asleep in the + Committee, and when Isaac D. Worthington saw that his little arrangement + with Heth Sutton wasn't any good, and that the people of the state didn't + have anything more to say about it than the Crow Indians, and that the end + of the session was getting nearer and nearer, he got desperate and went to + Jethro, I suppose. You know as well as I do that Jethro has agreed to put + the bill through.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why doesn't he get the Committee to report it and put it through?” + asked Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “Bless your simple literary nature,” exclaimed Mr Merrill, “Jethro's got + more power than any man in the state, but that isn't saying that he + doesn't have to fight occasionally. He has to fight now. He has seven of + the twelve senators hitched, and the governor. But Duncan and Lovejoy have + bought up all the loose blocks of representatives, and it is supposed that + the franchise forces only control a quorum. The end of the session is a + week off, and never in all my experience have I seen a more praiseworthy + attendance on the part of members.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that they are being paid to remain in their seats?” cried the + amazed Mr. Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” answered Mr. Merrill, with a twinkle in his eye, “that is a little + bald and—and unparliamentary, perhaps, but fairly accurate. Our + friend Jethro is confronted with a problem to tax even his faculties, and + to look at him, a man wouldn't suspect he had a care in the world.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro was apparently quite as free from anxiety the next morning when he + offered, after breakfast, to show Wetherell and Cynthia the sights of the + town, though Wetherell could not but think that the Throne Room and the + Truro Franchise Bill were left at a very crucial moment to take care of + themselves. Jethro talked to Cynthia—or rather, Cynthia talked to + Jethro upon innumerable subject's; they looked upon the statue of a great + statesman in the park, and Cynthia read aloud the quotation graven on the + rock of the pedestal, “The People's Government, made for the People, made + by the People, and answerable to the People.” After that they went into + the state library, where Wetherell was introduced to the librarian, Mr. + Storrow. They did not go into the State House because, as everybody knows, + Jethro Bass never went there. Mr. Bijah Bixby and other lieutenants might + be seen in the lobbies, and the governor might sign bills in his own + apartment there, but the real seat of government was that Throne Room into + which we have been permitted to enter. + </p> + <p> + They walked out beyond the outskirts of the town, where there was a grove + or picnic ground which was also used as a park by some of the inhabitants. + Jethro liked the spot, and was in the habit sometimes of taking refuge + there when the atmosphere of the Pelican House became too thick. The three + of them had sat down on one of the board benches to rest, when presently + two people were seen at a little distance walking among the trees, and the + sight of them, for some reason, seemed to give Jethro infinite pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” exclaimed Cynthia, “one of them is that horrid girl everybody was + looking at in the dining room last night.” + </p> + <p> + “D-don't like her, Cynthy?” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Cynthia, “I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty—hain't she—pretty?” + </p> + <p> + “She's brazen,” declared Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + It was, indeed, Miss Cassandra Hopkins, daughter of that Honorable Alva + who—according to Mr. Bixby was all ready with a certain sum of money + to be the next governor. Miss Cassandra was arrayed fluffily in cool, pink + lawn, and she carried a fringed parasol, and she was gazing upward with + telling effect into the face of the gentleman by her side. This would have + all been very romantic if the gentleman had been young and handsome, but + he was certainly not a man to sweep a young girl off her feet. He was + tall, angular, though broad-shouldered, with a long, scrawny neck that + rose out of a very low collar, and a large head, scantily covered with + hair—a head that gave a physical as well as a mental effect of + hardness. His smooth-shaven face seemed to bear witness that its owner was + one who had pushed frugality to the borders of a vice. It was not a + pleasant face, but now it wore an almost benign expression under the + influence of Miss Cassandra's eyes. So intent, apparently, were both of + them upon each other that they did not notice the group on the bench at + the other side of the grove. William Wetherell ventured to ask Jethro who + the man was. + </p> + <p> + “N-name's Lovejoy,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Lovejoy!” ejaculated the storekeeper, thinking of what Mr. Merrill had + told him of the opponents of the Truro Franchise Bill. “President of the + 'Northwestern' Railroad?” + </p> + <p> + Jethro gave his friend a shrewd look. + </p> + <p> + “G-gettin' posted—hain't you, Will?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Is she going to marry that old man?” asked Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + Jethro smiled a little. “G-guess not,” said he, “g-guess not, if the old + man can help it. Nobody's married him yet, and hain't likely to.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro was unusually silent on the way back to the hotel, but he did not + seem to be worried or displeased. He only broke his silence once, in fact, + when Cynthia called his attention to a large poster of some bloodhounds on + a fence, announcing the fact in red letters that “Uncle Tom's Cabin” would + be given by a certain travelling company at the Opera House the next + evening. + </p> + <p> + “L-like to go, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Uncle Jethro, do you think we can go?” + </p> + <p> + “Never b'en to a show—hev you—never b'en to a show?” + </p> + <p> + “Never in my life,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “We'll all go,” said Jethro, and he repeated it once or twice as they came + to Main Street, seemingly greatly tickled at the prospect. And there was + the Truro Franchise Bill hanging over him, with only a week left of the + session, and Lovejoy's and Duncan's men sitting so tight in their seats! + William Wetherell could not understand it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + Half an hour later, when Mr. Wetherell knocked timidly at Number 7,—drawn + thither by an irresistible curiosity,—the door was opened by a + portly person who wore a shining silk hat and ample gold watch chain. The + gentleman had, in fact, just arrived; but he seemed perfectly at home as + he laid down his hat on the marble-topped bureau, mopped his face, took a + glass of iced water at a gulp, chose a cigar, and sank down gradually on + the bed. Mr. Wetherell recognized him instantly as the father of the + celebrated Cassandra. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Jethro,” said the gentleman, “I've got to come into the Throne Room + once a day anyhow, just to make sure you don't forget me—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “A-Alvy,” said Jethro, “I want you to shake hands with a particular friend + of mine, Mr. Will Wetherell of Coniston. Er—Will, the Honorable Alvy + Hopkins of Gosport.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hopkins rose from the bed as gradually as he had sunk down upon it, + and seized Mr. Wetherell's hand impressively. His own was very moist. + </p> + <p> + “Heard you was in town, Mr. Wetherell,” he said heartily. “If Jethro calls + you a particular friend, it means something, I guess. It means something + to me, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “Will hain't a politician,” said Jethro. “Er—Alvy?” + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” said Mr. Hopkins. + </p> + <p> + “Er—Will don't talk.” + </p> + <p> + “If Jethro had been real tactful,” said the Honorable Alvy, sinking down + again, “he'd have introduced me as the next governor of the state. + Everybody knows I want to be governor, everybody knows I've got twenty + thousand dollars in the bank to pay for that privilege. Everybody knows + I'm going to be governor if Jethro says so.” + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell was a little taken aback at this ingenuous statement of + the gentleman from Gosport. He looked out of the window through the + foliage of the park, and his eye was caught by the monument there in front + of the State House, and he thought of the inscription on the base of it, + “The People's Government.” The Honorable Alva had not mentioned the people—undoubtedly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Wetherell, twenty thousand dollars.” He sighed. “Time was when a + man could be governor for ten. Those were the good old days—eh, + Jethro?” + </p> + <p> + “A-Alvy, 'Uncle Tom's Cabin's' comin' to town tomorrow—to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't tell me,” said the Honorable Alva, acquiescing cheerfully in + the change of subject. “We'll go. Pleased to have you, too, Mr. + Wetherell.” + </p> + <p> + “Alvy,” said Jethro, again, “'Uncle Tom's Cabin' comes to town to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hopkins stopped fanning himself, and glanced at Jethro questioningly. + </p> + <p> + “A-Alvy, that give you an idea?” said Jethro, mildly. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wetherell looked blank: it gave him no idea whatsoever, except of + little Eva and the bloodhounds. For a few moments the Honorable Alva + appeared to be groping, too, and then his face began to crease into a + smile of comprehension. + </p> + <p> + “By Godfrey, Jethro, but you are smart.” he exclaimed, with involuntary + tribute; “you mean buy up the theatre?” + </p> + <p> + “C-callate you'll find it's bought up.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean pay for it?” said Mr. Hopkins. + </p> + <p> + “You've guessed it, Alvy, you've guessed it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hopkins gazed at him in admiration, leaned out of the perpendicular, + and promptly drew from his trousers' pocket a roll of stupendous + proportions. Wetting his thumb, he began to push aside the top bills. + </p> + <p> + “How much is it?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + But Jethro put up his hand. + </p> + <p> + “No hurry, Alvy—n-no hurry. H-Honorable Alvy Hopkins of Gosport—p-patron + of the theatre. Hain't the first time you've b'en a patron, Alvy.” + </p> + <p> + “Jethro,” said Mr. Hopkins, solemnly, putting up his money, “I'm much + obliged to you. I'm free to say I'd never have thought of it. If you ain't + the all-firedest smartest man in America to-day,—I don't except any, + even General Grant,—then I ain't the next governor of this state.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon he lapsed into an even more expressive silence, his face still + glowing. + </p> + <p> + “Er—Alvy,” said Jethro presently, “what's the name of your gal?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mr. Hopkins, “I guess you've got me. We did christen her Lily, + but she didn't turn out exactly Lily. She ain't the type,” said Mr. + Hopkins, slowly, not without a note of regret, and lapsed into silence. + </p> + <p> + “W-what did you say her name was, Alvy?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess her name's Cassandra,” said the Honorable Alva. + </p> + <p> + “C-Cassandry?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see,” he explained a trifle apologetically, “she's kind of + taken some matters in her own hands, my gal. Didn't like Lily, and it + didn't seem to fit her anyway, so she called herself Cassandra. Read it in + a book. It means, 'inspirer of love,' or some such poetry, but I don't + deny that it goes with her better than Lily would.” + </p> + <p> + “Sh-she's a good deal of a gal, Alvy—fine-appearin' gal, Alvy.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word, Jethro, I didn't know you ever looked at a woman. But I + suppose you couldn't help lookin' at my gal—she does seem to draw + men's eyes as if she was magnetized some way.” Mr. Hopkins did not speak + as though this quality of his daughter gave him unmixed delight. “But + she's a good-hearted gal, Cassy is, high-spirited, and I won't deny she's + handsome and smart.” + </p> + <p> + “She'll kind of grace my position when I'm governor. But to tell you the + truth, Jethro, one old friend to another, durned if I don't wish she was + married. It's a terrible thing for a father to say, I know, but I'd feel + easier about her if she was married to some good man who could hold her. + There's young Joe Turner in Gosport, he'd give his soul to have her, and + he'd do. Cassy says she's after bigger game than Joe. She's young—that's + her only excuse. Funny thing happened night before last,” continued Mr. + Hopkins, laughing. “Lovejoy saw her, and he's b'en out of his head ever + since. Al must be pretty near my age, ain't he? Well, there's no fool like + an old fool.” + </p> + <p> + “A-Alvy introduce me to Cassandry sometime will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly,” answered Mr. Hopkins, heartily, “I'll bring her in here. + And now how about gettin' an adjournment to-morrow night for 'Uncle Tom's + Cabin'? These night sessions kind of interfere.” + </p> + <p> + Half an hour later, when the representatives were pouring into the rotunda + for dinner, a crowd was pressing thickly around the desk to read a placard + pinned on the wall above it. The placard announced the coming of Mr. + Glover's Company for the following night, and that the Honorable Alva + Hopkins of Gosport, ex-Speaker of the House, had bought three hundred and + twelve seats for the benefit of the members. And the Honorable Alva + himself, very red in the face and almost smothered, could be dimly + discerned at the foot of the stairs trying to fight his way out of a group + of overenthusiastic friends and admirers. Alva—so it was said on all + sides—was doing the right thing. + </p> + <p> + So it was that one sensation followed another at the capital, and the + politicians for the moment stopped buzzing over the Truro Franchise Bill + to discuss Mr. Hopkins and his master-stroke. The afternoon Chronicle + waxed enthusiastic on the subject of Mr. Hopkins's generosity, and + predicted that, when Senator Hartington made the motion in the upper house + and Mr. Jameson in the lower, the General Court would unanimously agree + that there would be no evening session on the following day. The Honorable + Alva was the hero of the hour. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon Cynthia and her father walked through the green park to + make their first visit to the State House. They stood hand in hand on the + cool, marble-paved floor of the corridor, gazing silently at the stained + and battered battle-flags behind the glass, and Wetherell seemed to be + listening again to the appeal of a great President to a great Country in + the time of her dire need—the soul calling on the body to fight for + itself. Wetherell seemed to feel again the thrill he felt when he saw the + blue-clad men of this state crowded in the train at Boston: and to hear + again the cheers, and the sobs, and the prayers as he looked upon the + blood that stained stars and stripes alike with a holy stain. With that + blood the country had been consecrated, and the state—yes, and the + building where they stood. So they went on up the stairs, reverently, nor + heeded the noise of those in groups about them, and through a door into + the great hall of the representatives of the state. + </p> + <p> + Life is a mixture of emotions, a jumble of joy and sorrow and reverence + and mirth and flippancy, of right feeling and heresy. In the morning + William Wetherell had laughed at Mr. Hopkins and the twenty thousand + dollars he had put in the bank to defraud the people; but now he could + have wept over it, and as he looked down upon the three hundred members of + that House, he wondered how many of them represented their neighbors who + supposedly had sent them here—and how many Mr. Lovejoy's railroad, + Mr. Worthington's railroad, or another man's railroad. + </p> + <p> + But gradually he forgot the battle-flags, and his mood changed. Perhaps + the sight of Mr. Speaker Sutton towering above the House, the very essence + and bulk of authority, brought this about. He aroused in Wetherell + unwilling admiration and envy when he arose to put a question in his deep + voice, or rapped sternly with his gavel to silence the tumult of voices + that arose from time to time; or while some member was speaking, or the + clerk was reading a bill at breathless speed, he turned with wonderful + nonchalance to listen to the conversation of the gentlemen on the bench + beside him, smiled, nodded, pulled his whiskers, at once conscious and + unconscious of his high position. And, most remarkable of all to the + storekeeper, not a man of the three hundred, however obscure, could rise + that the Speaker did not instantly call him by name. + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell was occupied by such reflections as these when suddenly + there fell a hush through the House. The clerk had stopped reading, the + Speaker had stopped conversing, and, seizing his gavel, looked expectantly + over the heads of the members and nodded. A sleek, comfortably dressed + mail arose smilingly in the middle of the House, and subdued laughter + rippled from seat to seat as he addressed the chair. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Jameson of Wantage.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jameson cleared his throat impressively and looked smilingly about + him. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Speaker and gentlemen of the House,” he said, “if I desired to arouse + the enthusiasm—the just enthusiasm—of any gathering in this + House, or in this city, or in this state, I should mention the name of the + Honorable Alva Hopkins of Gosport. I think I am right.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jameson was interrupted, as he no doubt expected, by applause from + floor and gallery. He stood rubbing his hands together, and it seemed to + William Wetherell that the Speaker did not rap as sharply with his gavel + as he had upon other occasions. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen of the House,” continued Mr. Jameson, presently, “the Honorable + Alva Hopkins, whom we all know and love, has with unparalleled generosity—unparalleled, + I say—bought up three hundred and twelve seats in Fosters Opera + House for to-morrow night” (renewed applause), “in order that every member + of this august body may have the opportunity to witness that most classic + of histrionic productions, 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'.” (Loud applause, causing + the Speaker to rap sharply.) “That we may show a proper appreciation of + this compliment—I move you, Mr. Speaker, that the House adjourn not + later than six o'clock to-morrow, Wednesday evening, not to meet again + until Thursday morning.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Jameson of Wantage handed the resolution to a page and sat down amidst + renewed applause. Mr. Wetherell noticed that many members turned in their + seats as they clapped, and glancing along the gallery he caught a flash of + red and perceived the radiant Miss Cassandra herself leaning over the + rail, her hands clasped in ecstasy. Mr. Lovejoy was not with her—he + evidently preferred to pay his attentions in private. + </p> + <p> + “There she is again,” whispered Cynthia, who had taken an instinctive and + extraordinary dislike to Miss Cassandra. Then Mr. Sutton rose majestically + to put the question. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, are you ready for the question?” he cried. “All those in favor + of the resolution of the gentleman from Wantage, Mr. Jameson—” the + Speaker stopped abruptly. The legislators in the front seats swung around, + and people in the gallery craned forward to see a member standing at his + seat in the extreme rear of the hall. He was a little man in an + ill-fitting coat, his wizened face clean-shaven save for the broom-shaped + beard under his chin, which he now held in his hand. His thin, nasal voice + was somehow absurdly penetrating as he addressed the chair. Mr. Sutton was + apparently, for once, taken by surprise, and stared a moment, as though + racking his brain for the name. + </p> + <p> + “The gentleman from Suffolk, Mr. Heath,” he said, and smiling a little, + sat down. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman from Suffolk, still holding on to his beard, pitched in + without preamble. + </p> + <p> + “We farmers on the back seats don't often get a chance to be heard, Mr. + Speaker,” said he, amidst a general tittering from the front seats. “We + come down here without any l'arnin' of parli'ment'ry law, and before we + know what's happened the session's over, and we hain't said nothin'.” + (More laughter.) “There's b'en a good many times when I wanted to say + somethin', and this time I made up my mind I was a-goin' to—law or + no law.” + </p> + <p> + (Applause, and a general show of interest in the gentleman from Suffolk.) + “Naow, Mr. Speaker, I hain't ag'in' 'Uncle Tom's Cabin.' It's a good play, + and it's done an almighty lot of good. And I hain't sayin' nothin' ag'in' + Alvy Hopkins nor his munificence. But I do know there's a sight of little + bills on that desk that won't be passed if we don't set to-morrow night—little + bills that are big bills for us farmers. That thar woodchuck bill, for + one.” (Laughter.) “My constituents want I should have that bill passed. We + don't need a quorum for them bills, but we need time. Naow, Mr. Speaker, I + say let all them that wants to go and see 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' go and see + it, but let a few of us fellers that has woodchuck bills and other things + that we've got to get through come down here and pass 'em. You kin put 'em + on the docket, and I guess if anything comes along that hain't jest right + for everybody, somebody can challenge a quorum and bust up the session. + That's all.” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman from Suffolk sat down amidst thunderous applause, and before + it died away Mr. Jameson was on his feet, smiling and rubbing his hands + together, and was recognized. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Speaker,” he said, as soon as he could be heard, “if the gentleman + from Suffolk desires to pass woodchuck bills” (renewed laughter), “he can + do so as far as I'm concerned. I guess I know where most of the members of + this House will be to-morrow night-” (Cries of 'You're right', and sharp + rapping of the gavel.) “Mr. Speaker, I withdraw my resolution.” + </p> + <p> + “The gentleman from Wantage,” said the Speaker, smiling broadly now, + “withdraws his resolution.” + </p> + <p> + As William Wetherell was returning to the Pelican House, pondering over + this incident, he almost ran into a distinguished-looking man walking + briskly across Main Street. + </p> + <p> + “It was Mr. Worthington!” said Cynthia, looking after him. + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Worthington had a worried look on his face, and was probably too + much engrossed in his own thoughts to notice his acquaintances. He had, in + fact, just come from the Throne Room, where he had been to remind Jethro + that the session was almost over, and to ask him what he meant to do about + the Truro Bill. Jethro had given him no satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Duncan and Lovejoy have their people paid to sit there night and day,” + Mr. Worthington had said. “We've got a bare majority on a full House; but + you don't seem to dare to risk it. What are you going to do about it, Mr. + Bass?” + </p> + <p> + “W-want the bill to pass—don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” Mr. Worthington had cried, on the edge of losing his temper. + </p> + <p> + “L-left it to me—didn't you? + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I'm entitled to know what's being done. I'm paying for it.” + </p> + <p> + “H-hain't paid for it yet—hev you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I most assuredly haven't.” + </p> + <p> + “B-better wait till you do.” + </p> + <p> + There was very little satisfaction in this, and Mr. Worthington had at + length been compelled to depart, fuming, to the house of his friend the + enemy, Mr. Duncan, there to attempt for the twentieth time to persuade Mr. + Duncan to call off his dogs who were sitting with such praiseworthy + pertinacity in their seats. As the two friends walked on the lawn, Mr. + Worthington tried to explain, likewise for the twentieth time, that the + extension of the Truro Railroad could in no way lessen the Canadian + traffic of the Central, Mr. Duncan's road. But Mr. Duncan could not see it + that way, and stuck to his present ally, Mr. Lovejoy, and refused + point-blank to call off his dogs. Business was business. + </p> + <p> + It is an apparently inexplicable fact, however, that Mr. Worthington and + his son Bob were guests at the Duncan mansion at the capital. Two + countries may not be allies, but their sovereigns may be friends. In the + present instance, Mr. Duncan and Mr. Worthington's railroads were opposed, + diplomatically, but another year might see the Truro Railroad and the + Central acting as one. And Mr. Worthington had no intention whatever of + sacrificing Mr. Duncan's friendship. The first citizen of Brampton + possessed one quality so essential to greatness—that of looking into + the future, and he believed that the time would come when an event of some + importance might create a perpetual alliance between himself and Mr. + Duncan. In short, Mr. Duncan had a daughter, Janet, and Mr. Worthington, + as we know, had a son. And Mr. Duncan, in addition to his own fortune, had + married one of the richest heiresses in New England. Prudens futuri, that + was Mr. Worthington's motto. + </p> + <p> + The next morning Cynthia, who was walking about the town alone, found + herself gazing over a picket fence at a great square house with a very + wide cornice that stood by itself in the centre of a shade-flecked lawn. + There were masses of shrubbery here and there, and a greenhouse, and a + latticed summer-house: and Cynthia was wondering what it would be like to + live in a great place like that, when a barouche with two shining horses + in silver harness drove past her and stopped before the gate. Four or five + girls and boys came laughing out on the porch, and one of them, who held a + fishing-rod in his hand, Cynthia recognized. Startled and ashamed, she + began to walk on as fast as she could in the opposite direction, when she + heard the sound of footsteps on the lawn behind her, and her own name + called in a familiar voice. At that she hurried the faster; but she could + not run, and the picket fence was half a block long, and Bob Worthington + had an advantage over her. Of course it was Bob, and he did not scruple to + run, and in a few seconds he was leaning over the fence in front of her. + Now Cynthia was as red as a peony by this time, and she almost hated him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, of all people, Cynthia Wetherell!” he cried; “didn't you hear me + calling after you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you stop?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't want to,” said Cynthia, glancing at the distant group on the + porch, who were watching them. Suddenly she turned to him defiantly. “I + didn't know you were in that house, or in the capital,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “And I didn't know you were,” said Bob, upon whose masculine intelligence + the meaning of her words was entirely lost. “If I had known it, you can + bet I would have looked you up. Where are you staying?” + </p> + <p> + “At the Pelican House.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” said Bob, “with all the politicians? How did you happen to go + there?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bass asked my father and me to come down for a few days,” answered + Cynthia, her color heightening again. Life is full of contrasts, and + Cynthia was becoming aware of some of them. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro?” said Bob. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Uncle Jethro,” said Cynthia, smiling in spite of herself. He always + made her smile. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro owns the Pelican House,” said Bob. + </p> + <p> + “Does he? I knew he was a great man, but I didn't know how great he was + until I came down here.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia said this so innocently that Bob repented his flippancy on the + spot. He had heard occasional remarks of his elders about Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean quite that,” he said, growing red in his turn. “Uncle + Jethro—Mr. Bass—is a great man of course. That's what I + meant.” + </p> + <p> + “And he's a very good man,” said Cynthia, who understood now that he had + spoken a little lightly of Jethro, and resented it. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure of it,” said Bob, eagerly. Then Cynthia began to walk on, + slowly, and he followed her on the other side of the fence. “Hold on,” he + cried, “I haven't said half the things I want to say—yet.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want to say?” asked Cynthia, still walking. “I have to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, you don't! Wait just a minute—won't you?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia halted, with apparent unwillingness, and put out her toe between + the pickets. Then she saw that there was a little patch on that toe, and + drew it in again. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want to say?” she repeated. “I don't believe you have + anything to say at all.” And suddenly she flashed a look at him that made + his heart thump. + </p> + <p> + “I do—I swear I do!” he protested. “I'm coming down to the Pelican + to-morrow morning to get you to go for a walk.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia could not but think that the remoteness of the time he set was + scarce in keeping with his ardent tone. + </p> + <p> + “I have something else to do to-morrow morning,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll come to-morrow afternoon,” said Bob, instantly. + </p> + <p> + “Who lives here?” she asked irrelevantly. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Duncan. I'm visiting the Duncans.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment a carryall joined the carriage at the gate. Cynthia glanced + at the porch again. The group there had gown larger, and they were still + staring. She began to feel uncomfortable again, and moved on slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Mayn't I come?” asked Bob, going after her; and scraping the butt of the + rod along the palings. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't there enough girls here to satisfy you?” asked Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “They're enough—yes,” he said, “but none of 'em could hold a candle + to you.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia laughed outright. + </p> + <p> + “I believe you tell them all something like that,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I don't do any such thing,” he retorted, and then he laughed himself, and + Cynthia laughed again. + </p> + <p> + “I like you because you don't swallow everything whole,” said Bob, “and—well, + for a good many other reams.” And he looked into her face with such frank + admiration that Cynthia blushed and turned away. + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe a word you say,” she answered, and started to walk off, + this time in earnest. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on,” cried Bob. They were almost at the end of the fence by this, + and the pickets were sharp and rather high, or he would have climbed them. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia paused hesitatingly. + </p> + <p> + “I'll come at two o'clock to-morrow,” said he; “We're going on a picnic + to-day, to Dalton's Bend, on the river. I wish I could get out of it.” + </p> + <p> + Just then there came a voice from the gateway. + </p> + <p> + “Bob! Bob Worthington!” + </p> + <p> + They both turned involuntarily. A slender girl with light brown hair was + standing there, waving at him. + </p> + <p> + “Who's that?” asked Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “That?” said Bob, in some confusion, “oh, that's Janet Duncan.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “I'm coming to-morrow,” he called after her, but she did not turn. In a + little while she heard the carryall behind her clattering down the street, + its passengers laughing and joking merrily. Her face burned, for she + thought that they were laughing at her; she wished with all her heart that + she had not stopped to talk with him at the palings. The girls, indeed, + were giggling as the carryall passed, and she heard somebody call out his + name, but nevertheless he leaned out of the seat and waved his hat at her, + amid a shout of laughter. Poor Cynthia! She did not look at him. Tears of + vexation were in her eyes, and the light of her joy at this visit to the + capital flickered, and she wished she were back in Coniston. She thought + it would be very nice to be rich, and to live in a great house in a city, + and to go on picnics. + </p> + <p> + The light flickered, but it did not wholly go out. If it has not been + shown that Cynthia was endowed with a fair amount of sense, many of these + pages have been written in vain. She sat down for a while in the park and + thought of the many things she had to be thankful for—not the least + of which was Jethro's kindness. And she remembered that she was to see + “Uncle Tom's Cabin” that evening. + </p> + <p> + Such are the joys and sorrows of fifteen! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Amos Cuthbert named it so—our old friend Amos who lives high up + in the ether of Town's End ridge, and who now represents Coniston in the + Legislature. He is the same silent, sallow person as when Jethro first + took a mortgage on his farm, only his skin is beginning to resemble dried + parchment, and he is a trifle more cantankerous. On the morning of that + memorable day when, “Uncle Tom's Cabin” came to the capital, Amos had + entered the Throne Room and given vent to his feelings in regard to the + gentleman in the back seat who had demanded an evening sitting on behalf + of the farmers. + </p> + <p> + “Don't that beat all?” cried Amos. “Let them have their darned woodchuck + session; there won't nobody go to it. For cussed, crisscross contrariness, + give me a moss-back Democrat from a one-boss, one-man town like Suffolk. + I'm a-goin' to see the show.” + </p> + <p> + “G-goin' to the show, be you, Amos?” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I be,” answered Amos, bitterly. “I hain't agoin' nigh the house + to-night.” And with this declaration he departed. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if he really is going?” queried Mr. Merrill looking at the + ceiling. And then he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn't he go?” asked William Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill's answer to this question was a wink, whereupon he, too, + departed. And while Wetherell was pondering over the possible meaning of + these words the Honorable Alva Hopkins entered, wreathed in smiles, and + closed the door behind him. + </p> + <p> + “It's all fixed,” he said, taking a seat near Jethro in the window. + </p> + <p> + “S-seen your gal—Alvy—seen your gal?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hopkins gave a glance at Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “Will don't talk,” said Jethro, and resumed his inspection through the + lace curtains of what was going on in the street. + </p> + <p> + “Cassandry's, got him to go,” said Mr. Hopkins. “It's all fixed, as sure + as Sunday. If it misses fire, then I'll never mention the governorship + again. But if it don't miss fire,” and the Honorable Alva leaned over and + put his hand on Jethro's knee, “if it don't miss fire, I get the + nomination. Is that right?” + </p> + <p> + “Y-you've guessed it, Alvy.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all I want to know,” declared the Honorable Alva; “when you say + that much, you never go back on it. And, you can go ahead and give the + orders, Jethro. I have to see that the boys get the tickets. Cassandry's + got a head on her shoulders, and she kind of wants to be governor, too.” + He got as far as the door, when he turned and bestowed upon Jethro a + glance of undoubted tribute. “You've done a good many smart things,” said + he, “but I guess you never beat this, and never will.” + </p> + <p> + “H-hain't done it yet, Alvy,” answered Jethro, still looking out through + the window curtains at the ever ganging groups of gentlemen in the street. + These groups had a never ceasing interest for Jethro Bass. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wetherell didn't talk, but had he been the most incurable of gossips + he felt that he could have done no damage to this mysterious affair, + whatever it was. In a certain event, Mr. Hopkins was promised the + governorship: so much was plain. And it was also evident that Miss + Cassandra Hopkins was in some way to be instrumental. William Wetherell + did not like to ask Jethro, but he thought a little of sounding Mr. + Merrill, and then he came to the conclusion that it would be wiser for him + not to know. + </p> + <p> + “Er—Will,” said Jethro, presently, “you know Heth Sutton—Speaker + Heth Sutton?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—wouldn't mind askin' him to step in and see me before the + session—if he was comin' by—would you?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—if he was comin' by,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wetherell found Mr. Speaker Sutton glued to a pillar in the rotunda + below. He had some difficulty in breaking through the throng that pressed + around him, and still more in attracting his attention, as Mr. Sutton took + no manner of notice of the customary form of placing one's hand under his + elbow and pressing gently up. Summoning up his courage, Mr. Wetherell + tried the second method of seizing him by the buttonhole. He paused in his + harangue, one hand uplifted, and turned and glanced at the storekeeper + abstractedly. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bass asked me to tell you to drop into Number 7,” said Wetherell, and + added, remembering express instructions, “if you were going by.” + </p> + <p> + Wetherell had not anticipated the magical effect this usual message would + have on Mr. Sutton, nor had he thought that so large and dignified a body + would move so rapidly. Before the astonished gentlemen who had penned him + could draw a breath, Mr. Sutton had reached the stairway and, was mounting + it with an agility that did him credit. Five minutes later Wetherell saw + the Speaker descending again, the usually impressive quality of his face + slightly modified by the twitching of a smile. + </p> + <p> + Thus the day passed, and the gentlemen of the Lovejoy and Duncan factions + sat, as tight as ever in their seats, and the Truro Franchise bill still + slumbered undisturbed in Mr. Chauncey Weed's committee. + </p> + <p> + At supper there was a decided festal air about the dining room of the + Pelican House, the little band of agricultural gentlemen who wished to + have a session not being patrons of that exclusive hotel. Many of the + Solons had sent home for their wives; that they might do the utmost + justice to the Honorable Alva's hospitality. Even Jethro, as he ate his + crackers and milk, had a new coat with bright brass buttons, and Cynthia, + who wore a fresh gingham which Miss Sukey Kittredge of Coniston had helped + to design, so far relented in deference to Jethro's taste as to tie a red + bow at her throat. + </p> + <p> + The middle table under the chandelier was the immediate firmament of Miss + Cassandra Hopkins. And there, beside the future governor, sat the + president of the “Northwestern” Railroad, Mr. Lovejoy, as the chief of the + revolving satellites. People began to say that Mr. Lovejoy was hooked at + last, now that he had lost his head in such an unaccountable fashion as to + pay his court in public; and it was very generally known that he was to + make one of the Honorable Alva's immediate party at the performance of + “Uncle Tam's Cabin.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Speaker Sutton, of course, would have to forego the pleasure of the + theatre as a penalty of his high position. Mr. Merrill, who sat at + Jethro's table next to Cynthia that evening, did a great deal of joking + with the Honorable Heth about having to preside aver a woodchuck session, + which the Speaker, so Mr. Wetherell thought, took in astonishingly good + part, and seemed very willing to make the great sacrifice which his duty + required of him. + </p> + <p> + After supper Mr. Wetherell took a seat in the rotunda. As an observer of + human nature, he had begun to find a fascination in watching the group of + politicians there. First of all he encountered Mr. Amos Cuthbert, his + little coal-black eyes burning brightly, and he was looking very irritable + indeed. + </p> + <p> + “So you're going to the show, Amos?” remarked the storekeeper, with an + attempt at cordiality. + </p> + <p> + To his bewilderment, Amos turned upon him fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “Who said I was going to the show?” he snapped. + </p> + <p> + “You yourself told me.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd ought to know whether I'm a-goin' or not,” said Amos, and walked + away. + </p> + <p> + While Mr. Wetherell sat meditating, upon this inexplicable retort, a + retired, scholarly looking gentleman with a white beard, who wore + spectacles, came out of the door leading from the barber shop and quietly + took a seat beside him. The storekeeper's attention was next distracted by + the sight of one who wandered slowly but ceaselessly from group to group, + kicking up his heels behind, and halting always in the rear of the + speakers. Needless to say that this was our friend Mr. Bijah Bixby, who + was following out his celebrated tactics of “going along by when they were + talkin' sly.” Suddenly Mr. Bixby's eye alighted on Mr. Wetherell, who by a + stretch of imagination conceived that it expressed both astonishment and + approval, although he was wholly at a loss to understand these sentiments. + Mr. Bixby winked—Mr. Wetherell was sure of that. But to his + surprise, Bijah did not pause in his rounds to greet him. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wetherell was beginning to be decidedly uneasy, and was about to go + upstairs, when Mr. Merrill came down the rotunda whistling, with his hands + in his pockets. He stopped whistling when he spied the storekeeper, and + approached him in his usual hearty manner. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, this is fortunate,” said Mr. Merrill; “how are you, Duncan? I + want you to know Mr. Wetherell. Wetherell writes that weekly letter for + the Guardian you were speaking to me about last year. Will, this is Mr. + Alexander Duncan, president of the 'Central.'” + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Mr. Wetherell?” said the scholarly gentleman with the + spectacles, putting out his hand. “I'm glad to meet you, very glad, + indeed. I read your letters with the greatest pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wetherell, as he took Mr. Duncan's hand, had a variety of emotions + which may be imagined, and need not be set down in particular. + </p> + <p> + “Funny thing,” Mr. Merrill continued, “I was looking for you, Duncan. It + occurred to me that you would like to meet Mr. Wetherell. I was afraid you + were in Boston.” + </p> + <p> + “I have just got back,” said Mr. Duncan. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted Wetherell to see your library. I was telling him about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I should be delighted to show it to him,” answered Mr. Duncan. That + library, as is well known, was a special weakness of Mr. Duncan's. + </p> + <p> + Poor William Wetherell, who was quite overwhelmed by the fact that the + great Mr. Duncan had actually read his letters and liked them, could + scarcely utter a sensible word. Almost before he realized what had + happened he was following Mr. Duncan out of the Pelican House, when the + storekeeper was mystified once more by a nudge and another wink from Mr. + Bixby, conveying unbounded admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you write a book, Mr. Wetherell?” inquired the railroad + president, when they were crossing the park. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think I could do it,” said Mr. Wetherell, modestly. Such incense + was overpowering, and he immediately forgot Mr. Bixby. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you can,” said Mr. Duncan, “only you don't know it. Take your + letters for a beginning. You can draw people well enough, when you try. + There was your description of the lonely hill-farm on the spur—I + shall always remember that: the gaunt farmer, toiling every minute between + sun and sun; the thin, patient woman bending to a task that never charged + or lightened; the children growing up and leaving one by one, some to the + cities, some to the West, until the old people are left alone in the + evening of life—to the sunsets and the storms. Of course you must + write a book.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Duncan quoted other letters, and William Wetherell thrilled. Poor man! + he had had little enough incense in his time, and none at all from the + great. They came to the big square house with the cornice which Cynthia + had seen the day before, and walked across the lawn through the open door. + William Wetherell had a glimpse of a great drawing-room with high windows, + out of which was wafted the sound of a piano and of youthful voice and + laughter, and then he was in the library. The thought of one man owning + all those books overpowered him. There they were, in stately rows, from + the floor to the high ceiling, and a portable ladder with which to reach + them. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Duncan, understanding perhaps something of the storekeeper's + embarrassment, proceeded to take down his treasures: first editions from + the shelves, and folios and mistrals from drawers in a great iron safe in + one corner and laid them on the mahogany desk. It was the railroad + president's hobby, and could he find an appreciative guest, he was happy. + It need scarcely be said that he found William Wetherell appreciative, and + possessed of knowledge of Shaksperiana and other matters that astonished + his host as well as pleased him. For Wetherell had found his tongue at + last. + </p> + <p> + After a while Mr. Duncan drew out his watch and gave a start. + </p> + <p> + “By George!” he exclaimed, “it's after eight o'clock. I'll have to ask you + to excuse me to-night, Mr. Wetherell. I'd like to show you the rest of + them—can't you come around to-morrow afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wetherell, who had forgotten his own engagement and “Uncle Tom's + Cabin,” said he would be happy to come. And they went out together and + began to walk toward the State House. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't often I find a man who knows anything at all about these + things,” continued Mr. Duncan, whose heart was quite won. “Why do you bury + yourself in Coniston?” + </p> + <p> + “I went there from Briton for my health,” said the storekeeper. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro Bass lives there, doesn't he” said Mr. Duncan, with a laugh. “But + I suppose you don't know anything about politics.” + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing at all,” said Mr. Wetherell, which was quite true. He had + been in dreamland, but now the fact struck him again, with something of a + shock, that this mild-mannered gentleman was one of those who had been + paying certain legislators to remain in their seats. Wetherell thought of + speaking to Mr. Duncan of his friendship with Jethro Bass, but the + occasion passed. + </p> + <p> + “I wish to heaven I didn't have to know anything about politics,” Mr. + Duncan was saying; “they disgust me. There's a little matter on now, about + an extension of the Truro Railroad to Harwich, which wouldn't interest + you, but you can't conceive what a nuisance it has been to watch that + House day and night, as I've had to. It's no joke to have that townsman of + yours; Jethro Bass, opposed to you. I won't say anything against him, for + he many be a friend of yours, and I have to use him sometimes myself.” Mr. + Duncan sighed. “It's all very sordid and annoying. Now this evening, for + instance, when we might have enjoyed ourselves with those books, I've' got + to go to the House, just because some backwoods farmers want to talk about + woodchucks. I suppose it's foolish,” said Mr. Duncan; “but Bass has + tricked us so often that I've got into the habit of being watchful. I + should have been here twenty minutes ago.” + </p> + <p> + By this time they had come to the entrance of the State House, and + Wetherell followed Mr. Duncan in, to have a look at the woodchuck session + himself. Several members hurried by and up the stairs, some of them in + their Sunday black; and the lobby above seemed, even to the storekeeper's + unpractised eye, a trifle active for a woodchuck session. Mr. Duncan + muttered something, and quickened his gait a little on the steps that led + to the gallery. This place was almost empty. They went down to the rail, + and the railroad president cast his eye over the House. + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” he said sharply, “there's almost a quorum here.” He ran his + eye over the members. “There is a quorum here.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Duncan stood drumming nervously with his fingers on the rail, scanning + the heads below. The members were scattered far and wide through the + seats, like an army in open order, listening in silence to the droning + voice of the clerk. Moths burned in the gas flames, and June bugs hummed + in at the high windows and tilted against the walls. Then Mr. Duncan's + finger nails whitened as his thin hands clutched the rail, and a sense of + a pending event was upon Wetherell. Slowly he realized that he was + listening to the Speaker's deep voice. + </p> + <p> + “'The Committee on Corporations, to whom was referred House Bill Number + 109, entitled, 'An Act to extend the Truro Railroad to Harwich, having + considered the same, report the same with the following resolution: + Resolved, that the bill ought to pass. Chauncey Weed, for the Committee.'” + </p> + <p> + The Truro Franchise! The lights danced, and even a sudden weakness came + upon the storekeeper. Jethro's trick! The Duncan and Lovejoy + representatives in the theatre, the adherents of the bill here! Wetherell + saw Mr. Duncan beside him, a tense figure leaning on the rail, calling to + some one below. A man darted up the centre, another up the side aisle. + Then Mr. Duncan flashed at William Wetherell from his blue eye such a look + of anger as the storekeeper never forgot, and he, too, was gone. Tingling + and perspiring, Wetherell leaned out over the railing as the Speaker + rapped calmly for order. Hysteric laughter, mingled with hoarse cries, ran + over the House, but the Honorable Heth Sutton did not even smile. + </p> + <p> + A dozen members were on their feet shouting to the chair. One was + recognized, and that man Wetherell perceived with amazement to be Mr. + Jameson of Wantage, adherent of Jethro's—he who had moved to adjourn + for “Uncle Tom's Cabin”! A score of members crowded into the aisles, but + the Speaker's voice again rose above the tumult. + </p> + <p> + “The doorkeepers will close the doors! Mr. Jameson of Wantage moves that + the report of the Committee be accepted, and on this motion a roll-call is + ordered.” + </p> + <p> + The doorkeepers, who must have been inspired, had already slammed the + doors in the faces of those seeking wildly to escape. The clerk already + had the little, short-legged desk before him and was calling the roll with + incredible rapidity. Bewildered and excited as Wetherell was, and knowing + as little of parliamentary law as the gentleman who had proposed the + woodchuck session, he began to form some sort of a notion of Jethro's + generalship, and he saw that the innocent rural members who belonged to + Duncan and Lovejoy's faction had tried to get away before the roll-call, + destroy the quorum, and so adjourn the House. These, needless to say, were + not parliamentarians, either. They had lacked a leader, they were stunned + by the suddenness of the onslaught, and had not moved quickly enough. Like + trapped animals, they wandered blindly about for a few moments, and then + sank down anywhere. Each answered the roll-call sullenly, out of + necessity, for every one of them was a marked man. Then Wetherell + remembered the two members who had escaped, and Mr. Duncan, and fell to + calculating how long it would take these to reach Fosters Opera House, + break into the middle of an act, and get out enough partisans to come back + and kill the bill. Mr. Wetherell began to wish he could witness the scene + there, too, but something held him here, shaking with excitement, + listening to each name that the clerk called. + </p> + <p> + Would the people at the theatre get back in time? + </p> + <p> + Despite William Wetherell's principles, whatever these may have been, he + was so carried away that he found himself with his watch in his hand, + counting off the minutes as the roll-call went on. Fosters Opera House was + some six squares distant, and by a liberal estimate Mr. Duncan and his + advance guard ought to get back within twenty minutes of the time he left. + Wetherell was not aware that people were coming into the gallery behind + him; he was not aware that one sat at his elbow until a familiar voice + spoke, directly into his ear. + </p> + <p> + “Er—Will—held Duncan pretty tight—didn't you? He's a + hard one to fool, too. Never suspected a mite, did he? Look out for your + watch!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bixby seized it or it would have fallen. If his life had depended on + it, William Wetherell could not have spoken a word to Mr. Bixby then. + </p> + <p> + “You done well, Will, sure enough,” that gentleman continued to whisper. + “And Alvy's gal done well, too—you understand. I guess she's the + only one that ever snarled up Al Lovejoy so that he didn't know where he + was at. But it took a fine, delicate touch for her job and yours, Will. + Godfrey, this is the quickest roll-call I ever seed! They've got halfway + through Truro County. That fellow can talk faster than a side-show, + ticket-seller at a circus.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk was, indeed, performing prodigies of pronunciation. When he + reached Wells County, the last, Mr. Bixby so far lost his habitual sang + froid as to hammer on the rail with his fist. + </p> + <p> + “If there hain't a quorum, we're done for,” he said. “How much time has + gone away? Twenty minutes! Godfrey, some of 'em may break loose and git + here is five minutes!” + </p> + <p> + “Break loose?” Wetherell exclaimed involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bixby screwed up his face. + </p> + <p> + “You understand. Accidents is liable to happen.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Wetherell didn't understand in the least, but just then the clerk + reached the last name on the roll; an instant of absolute silence, save + for the June-bugs, followed, while the assistant clerk ran over his + figures deftly and handed them to Mr. Sutton, who leaned forward to + receive them. + </p> + <p> + “One hundred and twelve gentlemen have voted in the affirmative and + forty-eight in the negative, and the report of the Committee is accepted.” + </p> + <p> + “Ten more'n a quorum!” ejaculated Mr. Bixby, in a voice of thanksgiving, + as the turmoil below began again. It seemed as though every man in the + opposition was on his feet and yelling at the chair: some to adjourn; some + to indefinitely postpone; some demanding roll-calls; others swearing at + these—for a division vote would have opened the doors. Others tried + to get out, and then ran down the aisles and called fiercely on the + Speaker to open the doors, and threatened him. But the Honorable Heth + Sutton did not lose his head, and it may be doubted whether he ever + appeared to better advantage than at that moment. He had a voice like one + of the Clovelly bulls that fed in his own pastures in the valley, and by + sheer bellowing he got silence, or something approaching it,—the + protests dying down to a hum; had recognised another friend of the bill, + and was putting another question. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Gibbs of Wareham moves that the rules of the House be so far + suspended that this bill be read a second and third time by its title, and + be put upon its final passage at this time. And on this motion,” thundered + Mr. Sutton, above the tide of rising voices, “the yeas and nays are called + for. The doorkeepers will keep the doors shut.” + </p> + <p> + “Abbey of Ashburton.” + </p> + <p> + The nimble clerk had begun on the roll almost before the Speaker was + through, and checked off the name. Bijah Bixby mopped his brow with a blue + pocket-handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “My God,” he said, “what a risk Jethro's took! they can't git through + another roll-call. Jest look at Heth! Ain't he carryin' it magnificent? + Hain't as ruffled as I be. I've knowed him ever sence he wahn't no + higher'n that desk. Never would have b'en in politics if it hadn't b'en + for me. Funny thing, Will—you and I was so excited we never thought + to look at the clock. Put up your watch. Godfrey, what's this?” + </p> + <p> + The noise of many feet was heard behind them. Men and women were crowding + breathlessly into the gallery. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't take it long to git noised araound,” said Mr. Bixby. “Say, Will, + they're bound to have got at 'em in the thea'tre. Don't see how they held + 'em off, c-cussed if I do.” + </p> + <p> + The seconds ticked into minutes, the air became stifling, for now the + front of the gallery was packed. Now, if ever, the fate of the Truro + Franchise hung in the balance, and, perhaps, the rule of Jethro Bass. And + now, as in the distance, came a faint, indefinable stir, not yet to be + identified by Wetherell's ears as a sound, but registered somewhere in his + brain as a warning note. Bijah Bixby, as sensitive as he, straightened up + to listen, and then the whispering was hushed. The members below raised + their heads, and some clutched the seats in front of them and looked up at + the high windows. Only the Speaker sat like a wax statue of himself, and + glanced neither to the right nor to the left. + </p> + <p> + “Harkness of Truro,” said the clerk. + </p> + <p> + “He's almost to Wells County again,” whispered Bijah, excitedly. “I didn't + callate he could do it. Will?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Will—you hear somethin'?” + </p> + <p> + A distant shout floated with the night breeze in at the windows; a man on + the floor got to his feet and stood straining: a commotion was going on at + the back of the gallery, and a voice was heard crying out:— + </p> + <p> + “For the love of God, let me through!” + </p> + <p> + Then Wetherell turned to see the crowd at the back parting a little, to + see a desperate man in a gorgeous white necktie fighting his way toward + the rail. He wore no hat, his collar was wilted, and his normally ashen + face had turned white. And, strangest of all, clutched tightly in his hand + was a pink ribbon. + </p> + <p> + “It's Al Lovejoy,” said Bijah, laconically. + </p> + <p> + Unmindful of the awe-stricken stares he got from those about him when his + identity became known, Mr. Lovejoy gained the rail and shoved aside a man + who was actually making way for him. Leaning far out, he scanned the house + with inarticulate rage while the roll-call went monotonously on. Some of + the members looked up at him and laughed; others began to make frantic + signs, indicative of helplessness; still others telegraphed him obvious + advice about reenforcements which, if anything, increased his fury. Mr. + Bixby was now fanning himself with the blue handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “I hear 'em!” he said, “I hear 'em, Will!” + </p> + <p> + And he did. The unmistakable hum of the voices of many men and the sound + of feet on stone flagging shook the silent night without. The clerk read + off the last name on the roll. + </p> + <p> + “Tompkins of Ulster.” + </p> + <p> + His assistant lost no time now. A mistake would have been fatal, but he + was an old hand. Unmindful of the rumble on the wooden stairs below, Mr. + Sutton took the list with an admirable deliberation. + </p> + <p> + “One hundred and twelve gentlemen have voted in the affirmative, + forty-eight in the negative, the rules of the House are suspended, and” + (the clerk having twice mumbled the title of the bill) “the question is: + Shall the bill pass? As many as are of opinion that the bill pass will say + Aye, contrary minded No.” + </p> + <p> + Feet were in the House corridor now, and voices rising there, and noises + that must have been scuffling—yes, and beating of door panels. + Almost every member was standing, and it seemed as if they were all + shouting,—“personal privilege,” “fraud,” “trickery,” “open the + doors.” Bijah was slowly squeezing the blood out of William Wetherell's + arm. + </p> + <p> + “The doorkeepers has the keys in their pockets!” Mr. Bixby had to shout, + for once. + </p> + <p> + Even then the Speaker did not flinch. By a seeming miracle he got a + semblance of order, recognized his man, and his great voice rang through + the hall and drowned all other sounds. + </p> + <p> + “And on this question a roll-call is ordered. The doorkeepers will close + the doors!” + </p> + <p> + Then, as in reaction, the gallery trembled with a roar of laughter. But + Mr. Sutton did not smile. The clerk scratched off the names with lightning + rapidity, scarce waiting for the answers. Every man's color was known, and + it was against the rules to be present and fail to vote. The noise in the + corridors grew louder, some one dealt a smashing kick on a panel, and + Wetherell ventured to ask Mr. Bixby if he thought the doors would hold. + </p> + <p> + “They can break in all they've a mind to now,” he chuckled; “the Truro + Franchise is safe.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” Wetherell demanded excitedly. + </p> + <p> + “If a member hain't present when a question is put, he can't git into a + roll-call,” said Bijah. + </p> + <p> + The fact that the day was lost was evidently brought home to those below, + for the strife subsided gradually, and finally ceased altogether. The + whispers in the gallery died down, the spectators relayed a little. + Lovejoy alone remained tense, though he had seated himself on a bench, and + the hot anger in which he had come was now cooled into a vindictiveness + that set the hard lines of his face even harder. He still clutched the + ribbon. The last part of that famous roll-call was conducted so quietly + that a stranger entering the House would have suspected nothing unusual. + It was finished in absolute silence. + </p> + <p> + “One hundred and twelve gentlemen have voted in the affirmative, + forty-eight in the negative, and the bill passes. The House will attend to + the title of the bill.” + </p> + <p> + “An act to extend the Truro Railroad to Harwich,” said the clerk, glibly. + </p> + <p> + “Such will be the title of the bill unless otherwise ordered by the + House,” said Mr. Speaker Sutton. “The doorkeepers will open the doors.” + </p> + <p> + Somebody moved to adjourn, the motion was carried, and thus ended what has + gone down to history as the Woodchuck Session. Pandemonium reigned. One + hundred and forty belated members fought their way in at the four + entrances, and mingled with them were lobbyists of all sorts and + conditions, residents and visitors to the capital, men and women to whom + the drama of “Uncle Tom's Cabin” was as nothing to that of the Truro + Franchise Bill. It was a sight to look down upon. Fierce wrangles began in + a score of places, isolated personal remarks rose above the din, but your + New Englander rarely comes to blows; in other spots men with broad smiles + seized others by the hands and shook them violently, while Mr. Speaker + Sutton seemed in danger of suffocation by his friends. His enemies, for + the moment, could get nowhere near him. On this scene Mr. Bijah Bixby + gazed with pardonable pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Guess there wahn't a mite of trouble about the river towns,” he said, “I + had 'em in my pocket. Will, let's amble round to the theatre. We ought to + git in two acts.” + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell went. There is no need to go into the psychology of the + matter. It may have been numbness; it may have been temporary insanity + caused by the excitement of the battle he had witnessed, for his brain was + in a whirl; or Mr. Bixby may have hypnotized him. As they walked through + the silent streets toward the Opera House, he listened perforce to Mr. + Bixby's comments upon some of the innumerable details which Jethro had + planned and quietly carried out while sitting, in the window of the Throne + Room. A great light dawned on William Wetherell, but too late. + </p> + <p> + Jethro's trusted lieutenants (of whom, needless to say, Mr. Bixby was one) + had been commanded to notify such of their supporters whose fidelity and + secrecy could be absolutely depended upon to attend the Woodchuck Session; + and, further to guard against surprise, this order had not gone out until + the last minute (hence Mr. Amos Cuthbert's conduct). The seats of these + members at the theatre had been filled by accommodating townspeople and + visitors. Forestalling a possible vote on the morrow to recall and + reconsider, there remained some sixty members whose loyalty was + unquestioned, but whose reputation for discretion was not of the best. So + much for the parliamentary side of the affair, which was a revelation of + generalship and organization to William Wetherell. By the time he had + grasped it they were come in view of the lights of Fosters Opera House, + and they perceived, among a sprinkling of idlers, a conspicuous and + meditative gentleman leaning against a pillar. He was ludicrously tall and + ludicrously thin, his hands were in his trousers pockets, and the skirts + of his Sunday broadcloth coat hung down behind him awry. One long foot was + crossed over the other and rested on the point of the toe, and his head + was tilted to one side. He had, on the whole, the appearance of a rather + mournful stork. Mr. Bixby approached him gravely, seized him by the lower + shoulder, and tilted him down until it was possible to speak into his ear. + The gentleman apparently did not resent this, although he seemed in + imminent danger of being upset. + </p> + <p> + “How be you, Peleg? Er—you know Will?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the gentleman. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bixby seized Mr. Wetherell under the elbow, and addressed himself to + the storekeeper's ear. + </p> + <p> + “Will, I want you to shake hands with Senator Peleg Hartington, of + Brampton. This is Will Wetherell, Peleg,—from Coniston—you + understand.” + </p> + <p> + The senator took one hand from his pocket. + </p> + <p> + “How be you?” he said. Mr. Bixby was once more pulling down on his + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “H-haow was it here?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Almighty funny,” answered Senator Hartington, sadly, and waved at the + lobby. “There wahn't standin' room in the place.” + </p> + <p> + “Jethro Bass Republican Club come and packed the entrance,” explained Mr. + Bixby with a wink. “You understand, Will? Go on, Peleg.” + </p> + <p> + “Sidewalk and street, too,” continued Mr. Hartington, slowly. “First come + along Ball of Towles, hollerin' like blazes. They crumpled him all up and + lost him. Next come old man Duncan himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Will kep' Duncan,” Mr. Bixby interjected. + </p> + <p> + “That was wholly an accident,” exclaimed Mr. Wetherell, angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Will wahn't born in the country,” said Mr. Bixby. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hartington bestowed on the storekeeper a mournful look, and continued:— + </p> + <p> + “Never seed Duncan sweatin' before. He didn't seem to grasp why the boys + was there.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't seem to understand,” put in Mr. Bixby, sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + “'For God's sake, gentlemen,' says he, 'let me in! The Truro Bill!' 'The + Truro Bill hain't in the theatre, Mr. Duncan,' says Dan Everett. Cussed if + I didn't come near laughin'. 'That's “Uncle Tom's Cabin,” Mr. Duncan,' + says Dan. 'You're a dam fool,' says Duncan. I didn't know he was profane. + 'Make room for Mr. Duncan,' says Dan, 'he wants to see the show.' 'I'm + a-goin' to see you in jail for this, Everett,' says Duncan. They let him + push in about half a rod, and they swallowed him. He was makin' such a + noise that they had to close the doors of the theatre—so's not to + disturb the play-actors.” + </p> + <p> + “You understand,” said Mr. Bixby to Wetherell. Whereupon he gave another + shake to Mr. Hartington, who had relapsed into a sort of funereal + meditation. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” resumed that personage, “there was some more come, hollerin' about + the Truro Bill. Not many. Guess they'll all have to git their wimmen-folks + to press their clothes to-morrow. Then Duncan wanted to git out again, but + 'twan't exactly convenient. Callated he was suffocatin'—seemed to + need air. Little mite limp when he broke loose, Duncan was.” + </p> + <p> + The Honorable Peleg stopped again, as if he were overcome by the + recollection of Mr. Duncan's plight. + </p> + <p> + “Er—er—Peleg!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hartington started. + </p> + <p> + “What'd they do?—what'd they do?” + </p> + <p> + “Do?” + </p> + <p> + “How'd they git notice to 'em?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Mr. Hartington, “cussed if that wuhn't funny. Let's see, where + was I? After awhile they went over t'other side of the street, talkin' + sly, waitin' for the act to end. But goldarned if it ever did end.” + </p> + <p> + For once Mr. Bixby didn't seem to understand. + </p> + <p> + “D-didn't end?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” explained Mr. Hartington; “seems they hitched a kind of nigger + minstrel show right on to it—banjos and thingumajigs in front of the + curtain while they was changin' scenes, and they hitched the second act + right on to that. Nobody come out of the theatre at all. Funny notion, + wahn't it?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bixby's face took on a look of extreme cunning. He smiled broadly and + poked Mr. Wetherell in an extremely sensitive portion of his ribs. On such + occasions the nasal quality of Bijah's voice seemed to grow. + </p> + <p> + “You see?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Know that little man, Gibbs, don't ye?” inquired Mr. Hartington. + </p> + <p> + “Airley Gibbs, hain't it? Runs a livery business daown to Rutgers, on + Lovejoy's railroad,” replied Mr. Bixby, promptly. “I know him. Knew old + man Gibbs well's I do you. Mean cuss.” + </p> + <p> + “This Airley's smart—wahn't quite smart enough, though. His bright + idea come a little mite late. Hunted up old Christy, got the key to his + law office right here in the Duncan Block, went up through the skylight, + clumb down to the roof of Randall's store next door, shinned up the + lightnin' rod on t'other side, and stuck his head plump into the Opery + House window.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know!” ejaculated Mr. Bixby. + </p> + <p> + “Somethin' terrible pathetic was goin' on on the stage,” resumed Mr. + Hartington, “the folks didn't see him at first,—they was all cryin' + and everythin' was still, but Airley wahn't affected. As quick as he got + his breath he hollered right out loud's he could: 'The Truro Bill's up in + the House, boys. We're skun if you don't git thar quick.' Then they tell + me' the lightnin' rod give way; anyhow, he came down on Randall's gravel + roof considerable hard, I take it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hartington, apparently, had an aggravating way of falling into + mournful revery and of forgetting his subject. Mr. Bixby was forced to jog + him again. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they did,” he said, “they did. They come out like the theatre was + afire. There was some delay in gettin' to the street, but not much—not + much. All the Republican Clubs in the state couldn't have held 'em then, + and the profanity they used wahn't especially edifyin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Peleg's a deacon—you understand,” said Mr. Bixby. “Say, Peleg, + where was Al Lovejoy?” + </p> + <p> + “Lovejoy come along with the first of 'em. Must have hurried some—they + tell me he was settin' way down in front alongside of Alvy Hopkins's gal, + and when Airley hollered out she screeched and clutched on to Al, and Al + said somethin' he hadn't ought to and tore off one of them pink gew-gaws + she was covered with. He was the maddest man I ever see. Some of the club + was crowded inside, behind the seats, standin' up to see the show. Al was + so anxious to git through he hit Si Dudley in the mouth—injured him + some, I guess. Pity, wahn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Si hain't in politics, you understand,” said Mr. Bixby. “Callate Si paid + to git in there, didn't he, Peleg?” + </p> + <p> + “Callate he did,” assented Senator Hartington. + </p> + <p> + A long and painful pause followed. There seemed, indeed, nothing more to + be said. The sound of applause floated out of the Opera House doors, + around which the remaining loiterers were clustered. + </p> + <p> + “Goin' in, be you, Peleg?” inquired Mr. Bixby. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hartington shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Will and me had a notion to see somethin' of the show,” said Mr. Bixby, + almost apologetically. “I kep' my ticket.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mr. Hartington, reflectively, “I guess you'll find some of + the show left. That hain't b'en hurt much, so far as I can ascertain.” + </p> + <p> + The next afternoon, when Mr. Isaac D. Worthington happened to be sitting + alone in the office of the Truro Railroad at the capital, there came a + knock at the door, and Mr. Bijah Bixby entered. Now, incredible as it may + seem, Mr. Worthington did not know Mr. Bixby—or rather, did not + remember him. Mr. Worthington had not had at that time much of an + experience in politics, and he did not possess a very good memory for + faces. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bixby, who had, as we know, a confidential and winning manner, seated + himself in a chair very close to Mr. Worthington—somewhat to that + gentleman's alarm. “How be you?” said Bijah, “I-I've got a little bill + here—you understand.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington didn't understand, and he drew his chair away from Mr. + Bixby's. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know anything about it, sir,” answered the president of the Truro + Railroad, indignantly; “this is neither the manner nor the place to + present a bill. I don't want to see it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bixby moved his chair up again. “Callate you will want to see this + bill, Mr. Worthington,” he insisted, not at all abashed. “Jethro Bass sent + it—you understand—it's engrossed.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Mr. Bixby drew from his capacious pocket a roll, tied with white + ribbon, and pressed it into Mr. Worthington's hands. It was the Truro + Franchise Bill. + </p> + <p> + It is safe to say that Mr. Worthington understood. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + There are certain instruments used by scientists so delicate that they + have to be wrapped in cotton wool and kept in ductless places, and so + sensitive that the slightest shock will derange them. And there are + certain souls which cannot stand the jars of life—souls created to + register thoughts and sentiments too fine for those of coarser + construction. Such was the soul of the storekeeper of Coniston. Whether or + not he was one of those immortalized in the famous Elegy, it is not for us + to say. A celebrated poet who read the letters to the Guardian—at + Miss Lucretia Penniman's request—has declared Mr. Wetherell to have + been a genius. He wrote those letters, as we know, after he had piled his + boxes and rolled his barrels into place; after he had added up the columns + in his ledger and recorded, each week, the small but ever increasing + deficit which he owed to Jethro Bass. Could he have been removed from the + barrels and the ledgers, and the debts and the cares and the implications, + what might we have had from his pen? That will never be known. + </p> + <p> + We left him in the lobby of the Opera House, but he did not go in to see + the final act of “Uncle Tom's Cabin.” He made his way, alone, back to the + hotel, slipped in by a side entrance, and went directly to his room, where + Cynthia found him, half an hour later, seated by the open window in the + dark. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you well, Dad?” she asked anxiously. “Why didn't you come to see + the play?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I was detained Cynthia,” he said. “Yes—I am well.” + </p> + <p> + She sat down beside him and felt his forehead and his hands, and the + events of the evening which were on her lips to tell him remained + unspoken. + </p> + <p> + “You ought not to have left Coniston,” she said; “the excitement is too + much for you. We will go back tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Cynthia, we will go back to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “In the morning?” + </p> + <p> + “On the early train,” said Wetherell, “and now you must go to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad,” said Cynthia, as she kissed him good night. “I have enjoyed + it here, and I am grateful to Uncle Jethro for bringing us, but—but + I like Coniston best.” + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell could have slept but a few hours. When he awoke the + sparrows were twittering outside, the fresh cool smells of the morning + were coming in at his windows, and the sunlight was just striking across + the roofs through the green trees of the Capitol Park. The remembrance of + a certain incident of the night before crept into his mind, and he got up, + and drew on his clothes and thrust his few belongings into the carpet-bag, + and knocked on Cynthia's door. She was already dressed, and her eyes + rested searchingly on his face. + </p> + <p> + “Dad, you aren't well. I know it,” she said. + </p> + <p> + But he denied that he was not. + </p> + <p> + Her belongings were in a neat little bundle under her arm. But when she + went to put them in the bag she gave an exclamation, knelt down, took + everything out that he had packed, and folded each article over again with + amazing quickness. Then she made a rapid survey of the room lest she had + forgotten anything, closed the bag, and they went out and along the + corridor. But when Wetherell turned to go down the stairs, she stopped + him. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you going to say goodby to Uncle Jethro?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I would rather go on and get in the train, Cynthia,” he said. + “Jethro will understand.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia was worried, but she did not care to leave him; and she led him, + protesting, into the dining room. He had a sinking fear that they might + meet Jethro there, but only a few big-boned countrymen were scattered + about, attended by sleepy waitresses. Lest Cynthia might suspect how his + head was throbbing, Wetherell tried bravely to eat his breakfast. He did + not know that she had gone out, while they were waiting, and written a + note to Jethro, explaining that her father was ill, and that they were + going back to Coniston. After breakfast, when they went to the desk, the + clerk stared at them in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Going, Mr. Wetherell?” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “I find that I have to get back,” stammered the storekeeper. “Will you + tell me the amount of my bill?” + </p> + <p> + “Judge Bass gave me instructions that he would settle that.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very kind of Mr. Bass,” said Wetherell, “but I prefer to pay it + myself.” + </p> + <p> + The man hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “The judge will be very angry, Mr. Wetherell.” + </p> + <p> + “Kindly give me the bill.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk made it out and handed it over in silence. Wetherell had in his + pocket the money from several contributions to the Guardian, and he paid + him. Then they set out for the station, bought their tickets and hurried + past the sprinkling of people there. The little train for Truro was + standing under the sheds, the hissing steam from the locomotive rising + perpendicular in the still air of the morning, and soon they were settled + in one of the straight-backed seats. The car was almost empty, for few + people were going up that day, and at length, after what, seemed an + eternity of waiting, they started, and soon were in the country once more + in that wonderful Truro valley with its fruit trees and its clover scents; + with its sparkling stream that tumbled through the passes and mirrored + between green meadow-banks the blue and white of the sky. How hungrily + they drank in the freshness of it. + </p> + <p> + They reached Truro village at eleven. Outside the little tavern there, + after dinner, the green stage was drawn up; and Tom the driver cracked his + long whip over the Morgan leaders and they started, swaying in the sand + ruts and jolting over the great stones that cropped out of the road. Up + they climbed, through narrow ways in the forest—ways hedged with + alder and fern and sumach and wild grape, adorned with oxeye daisies and + tiger lilies, and the big purple flowers which they knew and loved so + well. They passed, too, wild lakes overhung with primeval trees, where the + iris and the waterlily grew among the fallen trunks and the water-fowl + called to each other across the blue stretches. And at length, when the + sun was beginning visibly to fall, they came out into an open cut on the + western side and saw again the long line of Coniston once more against the + sky. + </p> + <p> + “Dad,” said Cynthia, as she gazed, “don't you love it better than any + other place in the world?” + </p> + <p> + He did. But he could not answer her. + </p> + <p> + An hour later, from the hilltops above Isaac Worthington's mills, they saw + the terraced steeple of Brampton church, and soon the horses were standing + with drooping heads and wet sides in front of Mr. Sherman's tavern in + Brampton Street; and Lem Hallowell, his honest face aglow with joy, was + lifting Cynthia out of the coach as if she were a bundle of feathers. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word,” he cried, “this is a little might sudden! What's the + matter with the capital, Will? Too wicked and sophisticated down thar to + suit ye?” By this time, Wetherell, too, had reached the ground, and as Lem + Hallowell gazed into his face the laughter in his own died away and gave + place to a look of concern. “Don't wonder ye come back,” he said, “you're + as white as Moses's hoss.” + </p> + <p> + “He isn't feeling very well, Lem;” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Jest tuckered, that's all,” answered Lem; “you git him right into the + stage, Cynthy, I won't be long. Hurry them things off, Tom,” he called, + and himself seized a huge crate from the back of the coach and flung it on + his shoulder. He had his cargo on in a jiffy, clucked to his horses, and + they turned into the familiar road to Coniston just as the sun was dipping + behind the south end of the mountain. + </p> + <p> + “They'll be surprised some, and disappointed some,” said Lem, cheerily; + “they was kind of plannin' a little celebration when you come back, Will—you + and Cynthy. Amandy Hatch was a-goin' to bake a cake, and the minister was + callatin' to say some word of welcome. Wahn't goin' to be anything grand—jest + homelike. But you was right to come if you was tuckered. I guess Cynthy + fetched you. Rias he kep' store and done it well,—brisker'n I ever + see him, Rias was. Wait till I put some of them things back, and make you + more comfortable, Will.” + </p> + <p> + He moved a few parcels and packages from Wetherell's feet and glanced at + Cynthia as he did so. The mountain cast its vast blue shadow over forest + and pasture, and above the pines the white mist was rising from Coniston + Water—rising in strange shapes. Lem's voice seemed to William + Wetherell to have given way to a world-wide silence, in the midst of which + he sought vainly for Cynthia and the stage driver. Most extraordinary of + all, out of the silence and the void came the checker-paned windows of the + store at Coniston, then the store itself, with the great oaks bending over + it, then the dear familiar faces,—Moses and Amandy, Eph Prescott + limping toward them, and little Rias Richardson in an apron with a scoop + shovel in his hand, and many others. They were not smiling at the + storekeeper's return—they looked very grave. Then somebody lifted + him tenderly from the stage and said:— + </p> + <p> + “Don't you worry a mite, Cynthy. Jest tuckered, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell was “just tuckered.” The great Dr. Coles, authority on + pulmonary troubles, who came all the way from Boston, could give no better + verdict than that. It was Jethro Bass who had induced Dr. Coles to come to + Coniston—much against the great man's inclination, and to the + detriment of his patients: Jethro who, on receiving Cynthia's note, had + left the capital on the next train and had come to Coniston, and had at + once gone to Boston for the specialist. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know why I came,” said the famous physician to Dr. Abraham + Rowell of Tarleton, “I never shall know. There is something about that man + Jethro Bass which compels you to do his will. He has a most extraordinary + personality. Is this storekeeper a great friend of his?” + </p> + <p> + “The only intimate friend he had in the world,” answered Dr. Rowell; “none + of us could ever understand it. And as for the girl, Jethro Bass worships + her.” + </p> + <p> + “If nursing could cure him, I'd trust her to do it. She's a natural-born + nurse.” + </p> + <p> + The two physicians were talking in low tones in the little garden behind + the store when Jethro came out of the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “He looks as if he were suffering too,” said the Boston physician, and he + walked toward Jethro and laid a hand upon his shoulders. “I give him until + winter, my friend,” said Dr. Coles. + </p> + <p> + Jethro Bass sat down on the doorstep—on that same millstone where he + had talked with Cynthia many years before—and was silent for a long + while. The doctor was used to scenes of sorrow, but the sight of this + man's suffering unnerved him, and he turned from it. + </p> + <p> + “D-doctor?” said Jethro, at last. + </p> + <p> + The doctor turned again: “Yes?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “D-doctor—if Wetherell hadn't b'en to the capital would he have + lived—if he hadn't been to the capital?” + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” said Dr. Coles, “if Mr. Wetherell had always lived in a warm + house, and had always been well fed, and helped over the rough places and + shielded from the storms, he might have lived longer. It is a marvel to me + that he has lived so long.” + </p> + <p> + And then the doctor went way, back to Boston. Many times in his long + professional life had the veil been lifted for him—a little. But as + he sat in the train he said to himself that in this visit to the hamlet of + Coniston he had had the strangest glimpse of all. William Wetherell + rallied, as Dr. Coles had predicted, from that first sharp attack, and one + morning they brought up a reclining chair which belonged to Mr. Satterlee, + the minister, and set it in the window. There, in the still days of the + early autumn, Wetherell looked down upon the garden he had grown to love, + and listened to the song of Coniston Water. There Cynthia, who had + scarcely left his side, read to him from Keats and Shelley and Tennyson—yet + the thought grew on her that he did not seem to hear. Even that wonderful + passage of Milton's, beginning “So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed,” + which he always used to beg her to repeat, did not seem to move him now. + </p> + <p> + The neighbors came and sat with him, but he would not often speak. Cheery + Lem Hallowell and his wife, and Cousin Ephraim, to talk about the war, + hobbling slowly up the stairs—for rheumatism had been added to that + trouble of the Wilderness bullet now, and Ephraim was getting along in + years; and Rias Richardson stole up in his carpet slippers; and Moses, + after his chores were done, and Amandy with her cakes and delicacies, + which he left untouched—though Amandy never knew it. Yes, and Jethro + came. Day by day he would come silently into the room, and sit silently + for a space, and go as silently out of it. The farms were neglected now on + Thousand Acre Hill. William Wetherell would take his hand, and speak to + him, but do no more than that. + </p> + <p> + There were times when Cynthia leaned over him, listening as he breathed to + know whether he slept or were awake. If he were not sleeping, he would + speak her name: he repeated it often in those days, as though the sound of + it gave him comfort; and he would fall asleep with it on his lips, holding + her hand, and thinking, perhaps, of that other Cynthia who had tended and + nursed and shielded him in other days. Then she would steal down the + stairs to Jethro on the doorstep: to Jethro who would sit there for hours + at a time, to the wonder and awe of his neighbors. Although they knew that + he loved the storekeeper as he loved no other man, his was a grief that + they could not understand. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia used to go to Jethro in the garden. Sorrow had brought them very + near together; and though she had loved him before, now he had become her + reliance and her refuge. The first time Cynthia saw him; when the worst of + the illness had passed and the strange and terrifying apathy had come, she + had hidden her head on his shoulder and wept there. Jethro kept that coat, + with the tear stains on it, to his dying day, and never wore it again. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes—sometimes I think if he hadn't gone to the capital, + Cynthy, this mightn't hev come,” he said to her once. + </p> + <p> + “But the doctor said that didn't matter, Uncle Jethro,” she answered, + trying to comfort him. She, too, believed that something had happened at + the capital. + </p> + <p> + “N-never spoke to you about anything there—n-never spoke to you, + Cynthia?” + </p> + <p> + “No, never,” she said. “He—he hardly speaks at all, Uncle Jethro.” + </p> + <p> + One bright morning after the sun had driven away the frost, when the + sumacs and maples beside Coniston Water were aflame with red, Bias + Richardson came stealing up the stairs and whispered something to Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Dad,” she said, laying down her book, “it's Mr. Merrill. Will you see + him?” + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell gave her a great fright. He started up from his pillows, + and seized her wrist with a strength which she had not thought remained in + his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Merrill!” he cried—“Mr. Merrill here!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Cynthia, agitatedly, “he's downstairs—in the store.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask him to come up,” said Wetherell, sinking back again, “ask him to come + up.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia, as she stood in the passage, was of two minds about it. She was + thoroughly frightened, and went first to the garden to ask Jethro's + advice. But Jethro, so Milly Skinner said, had gone off half an hour + before, and did not know that Mr. Merrill had arrived. Cynthia went back + again to her father. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Mr. Merrill?” asked Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “Dad, do you think you ought to see him? He—he might excite you.” + </p> + <p> + “I insist upon seeing him, Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell had never said anything like that before. But Cynthia + obeyed him, and presently led Mr. Merrill into the room. The kindly little + railroad president was very serious now. The wasted face of the + storekeeper, enhanced as it was by the beard, gave Mr. Merrill such a + shock that he could not speak for a few moments—he who rarely lacked + for cheering words on any occasion. A lump rose in his throat as he went + over and stood by the chair and took the sick man's hand. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you came, Mr. Merrill,” said Wetherell, simply, “I wanted to + speak to you. Cynthia, will you leave us alone for a few minutes?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia went, troubled and perplexed, wondering at the change in him. He + had had something on his mind—now she was sure of it—something + which Mr. Merrill might be able to relieve. + </p> + <p> + It was Mr. Merrill who spoke first when she was gone. + </p> + <p> + “I was coming up to Brampton,” he said, “and Tom Collins, who drives the + Truro coach, told me you were sick. I had not heard of it.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill, too, had something on his mind, and did not quite know how to + go on. There was in William Wetherell, as he sat in the chair with his + eyes fixed on his visitor's face, a dignity which Mr. Merrill had not seen + before—had not thought the man might possess. + </p> + <p> + “I was coming to see you, anyway,” Mr. Merrill said. + </p> + <p> + “I did you a wrong—though as God judges me, I did not think of it at + the time. It was not until Alexander Duncan spoke to me last week that I + thought of it at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” continued Mr. Merrill wiping his brow, for he found the matter + even more difficult than he had imagined, “it was not until Duncan told me + how you had acted in his library that I guessed the truth—that I + remembered myself how you had acted. I knew that you were not mixed up in + politics, but I also knew that you were an intimate friend of Jethro's, + and I thought that you had been let into the secret of the woodchuck + session. I don't defend the game of politics as it is played, Mr. + Wetherell, but all of us who are friends of Jethro's are generally willing + to lend a hand in any little manoeuvre that is going on, and have a + practical joke when we can. It was not until I saw you sitting there + beside Duncan that the idea occurred to me. It didn't make a great deal of + difference whether Duncan or Lovejoy got to the House or not, provided + they didn't learn of the matter too early, because some of their men had + been bought off that day. It suited Jethro's sense of humor to play the + game that way—and it was very effective. When I saw you there beside + Duncan I remembered that he had spoken about the Guardian letters, and the + notion occurred to me to get him to show you his library. I have explained + to him that you were innocent. I—I hope you haven't been worrying.” + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell sat very still for a while, gazing out of the window, + but a new look had come into his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro Bass did not know that you—that you had used me?” he asked + at length. + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Mr. Merrill thickly, “no. He didn't know a thing about it—he + doesn't know it now, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + A smile came upon Wetherell's face, but Mr. Merrill could not look at it. + </p> + <p> + “You have made me very happy,” said the storekeeper, tremulously. “I—I + have no right to be proud—I have taken his money—he has + supported my daughter and myself all these years. But he had never asked + me to—to do anything, and I liked to think that he never would.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill could not speak. The tears were streaming down his cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “I want you to promise me, Mr. Merril!” he went on presently, “I want you + to promise me that you will never speak to Jethro, of this, or to my + daughter, Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill merely nodded his head in assent. Still he could not speak. + </p> + <p> + “They might think it was this that caused my death. It was not. I know + very well that I am worn out, and that I should have gone soon in any + case. And I must leave Cynthia to him. He loves her as his own child.” + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell, his faith in Jethro restored, was facing death as he + had never faced life. Mr. Merrill was greatly affected. + </p> + <p> + “You must not speak of dying, Wetherell,” said he, brokenly. “Will you + forgive me?” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing to forgive, now that you have explained matters, Mr. + Merrill” said the storekeeper, and he smiled again. “If my fibre had been + a little tougher, this thing would never have happened. There is only one + more request I have to make. And that is, to assure Mr. Duncan, from me, + that I did not detain him purposely.” + </p> + <p> + “I will see him on my way to Boston,” answered Mr. Merrill. + </p> + <p> + Then Cynthia was called. She was waiting anxiously in the passage for the + interview to be ended, and when she came in one glance at her father's + face told her that he was happier. She, too, was happier. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would come every day, Mr. Merrill” she said, when they + descended into the garden after the three had talked awhile. “It is the + first time since he fell ill that he seems himself.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill's answer was to take her hand and pat it. He sat down on the + millstone and drew a deep breath of that sparkling air and sighed, for his + memory ran back to his own innocent boyhood in the New England country. He + talked to Cynthia until Jethro came. + </p> + <p> + “I have taken a fancy to this girl, Jethro,” said the little railroad + president, “I believe I'll steal her; a fellow can't have too many of 'em, + you know. I'll tell you one thing,—you won't keep her always shut up + here in Coniston. She's much too good to waste on the desert air.” Perhaps + Mr. Merrill, too, had been thinking of the Elegy that morning. “I don't + mean to run down Coniston it's one of the most beautiful places I ever + saw. But seriously, Jethro, you and Wetherell ought to send her to school + in Boston after a while. She's about the age of my girls, and she can live + in my house: Ain't I right?” + </p> + <p> + “D-don't know but what you be, Steve,” Jethro answered slowly. + </p> + <p> + “I am right,” declared Mr. Merrill “you'll back me in this, I know it. + Why, she's like your own daughter. You remember what I say. I mean it.—What + are you thinking about, Cynthia?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't leave Dad and Uncle Jethro,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Why, bless your soul,” said Mr. Merrill “bring Dad along. We'll find room + for him. And I guess Uncle Jethro will get to Boston twice a month if + you're there.” + </p> + <p> + And Mr. Merrill got into the buggy with Mr. Sherman and drove away to + Brampton, thinking of many things. + </p> + <p> + “S-Steve's a good man,” said Jethro. “C-come up here from Brampton to see + your father—did he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Cynthia, “he is very kind.” She was about to tell Jethro + what a strange difference this visit had made in her father's spirits, but + some instinct kept her silent. She knew that Jethro had never ceased to + reproach himself for inviting Wetherell to the capital, and she was sure + that something had happened there which had disturbed her father and + brought on that fearful apathy. But the apathy was dispelled now, and she + shrank from giving Jethro pain by mentioning the fact. + </p> + <p> + He never knew, indeed, until many years afterward, what had brought + Stephen Merrill to Coniston. When Jethro went up the stairs that + afternoon, he found William Wetherell alone, looking out over the garden + with a new peace and contentment in his eyes. Jethro drew breath when he + saw that look, as if a great load had been lifted from his heart. + </p> + <p> + “F-feelin' some better to-day, Will?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I am well again, Jethro,” replied the storekeeper, pressing Jethro's hand + for the first time in months. + </p> + <p> + “S-soon be, Will,” said Jethro, “s-soon be.” + </p> + <p> + Wetherell, who was not speaking of the welfare of the body, did not + answer. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro,” he said presently, “there is a little box lying in the top of my + trunk over there in the corner. Will you get it for me.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro rose and opened the rawhide trunk and handed the little rosewood + box to his friend. Wetherell took it and lifted the lid reverently, with + that same smile on his face and far-off look in his eyes, and drew out a + small daguerreotype in a faded velvet frame. He gazed at the picture a + long time, and then he held it out to Jethro; and Jethro looked at it, and + his hand trembled. + </p> + <p> + It was a picture of Cynthia Ware. And who can say what emotions it awoke + in Jethro's heart? She was older than the Cynthia he had known, and yet + she did not seem so. There was the same sweet, virginal look in the gray + eyes, and the same exquisite purity in the features. He saw her again—as + if it were yesterday—walking in the golden green light under the + village maples, and himself standing in the tannery door; he saw the face + under the poke bonnet on the road to Brampton, and heard the thrush + singing in the woods. And—if he could only blot out that scene from + his life!—remembered her, a transformed Cynthia,—remembered + that face in the lantern-light when he had flung back the hood that shaded + it; and that hair which he had kissed, wet, then, from the sleet. Ah, God, + for that briefest of moments she had been his! + </p> + <p> + So he stared at the picture as it lay in the palm of his hand, and forgot + him who had been her husband. But at length he started, as from a dream, + and gave it back to Wetherell, who was watching him. Her name had never + been mentioned between the two men, and yet she had been the one woman in + the world to both. + </p> + <p> + “It is strange,” said William Wetherell, “it is strange that I should have + had but two friends in my life, and that she should have been one and you + the other. She found me destitute and brought me back to life and married + me, and cared for me until she died. And after that—you cared for + me.” + </p> + <p> + “You—you mustn't think of that, Will, 'twahn't much what I did—no + more than any one else would hev done!” + </p> + <p> + “It was everything,” answered the storekeeper, simply; “each of you came + between me and destruction. There is something that I have always meant to + tell you, Jethro,—something that it may be a comfort for you to + know. Cynthia loved you.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro Bass did not answer. He got up and stood in the window, looking + out. + </p> + <p> + “When she married me,” Wetherell continued steadily, “she told me that + there was one whom she had never been able to drive from her heart. And + one summer evening, how well I recall it!—we were walking under the + trees on the Mall and we met my old employer, Mr. Judson, the jeweller. He + put me in mind of the young countryman who had come in to buy a locket, + and I asked her if she knew you. Strange that I should have remembered + your name, wasn't it? It was then that she led me to a bench and confessed + that you were the man whom she could not forget. I used to hate you then—as + much as was in me to hate. I hated and feared you when I first came to + Coniston. But now I can tell you—I can even be happy in telling + you.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro Bass groaned. He put his hand to his throat as though he were + stifling. Many, many years ago he had worn the locket there. And now? Now + an impulse seized him, and he yielded to it. He thrust his hand in his + coat and drew out a cowhide wallet, and from the wallet the oval locket + itself. There it was, tarnished with age, but with that memorable + inscription still legible,—“Cynthy, from Jethro”; not Cynthia, but + Cynthy. How the years fell away as he read it! He handed it in silence to + the storekeeper, and in silence went to the window again. Jethro Bass was + a man who could find no outlet for his agony in speech or tears. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Wetherell, “I thought you would have kept it. Dear, dear, how + well I remember it! And I remember how I patronized you when you came into + the shop. I believed I should live to be something in the world, then. + Yes, she loved you, Jethro. I can die more easily now that I have told you—it + has been on my mind all these years.” + </p> + <p> + The locket fell open in William Wetherell's hand, for the clasp had become + worn with time, and there was a picture of little Cynthia within: of + little Cynthia,—not so little now,—a photograph taken in + Brampton the year before. Wetherell laid it beside the daguerreotype. + </p> + <p> + “She looks like her,” he said aloud; “but the child is more vigorous, more + human—less like a spirit. I have always thought of Cynthia Ware as a + spirit.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro turned at the words, and came and stood looking over Wetherell's + shoulder at the pictures of mother and daughter. In the rosewood box was a + brooch and a gold ring—Cynthia Ware's wedding ring—and two + small slips of yellow paper. William Wetherell opened one of these, + disclosing a little braid of brown hair. He folded the paper again and + laid it in the locket, and handed that to Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “It is all I have to give you,” he said, “but I know that you will cherish + it, and cherish her, when I am gone. She—she has been a daughter to + both of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jethro, “I will.” + </p> + <p> + William Wetherell lived but a few days longer. They laid him to rest at + last in the little ground which Captain Timothy Prescott had hewn out of + the forest with his axe, where Captain Timothy himself lies under his + slate headstone with the quaint lettering of bygone days.—That same + autumn Jethro Bass made a pilgrimage to Boston, and now Cynthia Ware + sleeps there, too, beside her husband, amid the scenes she loved so well. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK III + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + One day, in the November following William Wetherell's death, Jethro Bass + astonished Coniston by moving to the little cottage in the village which + stood beside the disused tannery, and which had been his father's. It was + known as the tannery house. His reasons for this step, when at length + discovered, were generally commended: they were, in fact, a disinclination + to leave a girl of Cynthia's tender age alone on Thousand Acre 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 a Christian, from his + square-toed boots to the bleaching yellow hair around his temples, offered + to become her teacher. For by this time Cynthia had exhausted the + resources of the little school among the birches. + </p> + <p> + The four years of her life in the tannery house which are now briefly to + be chronicled were, for her, full of happiness and peace. Though the young + may sorrow, they do not often mourn. Cynthia missed her father; at times, + when the winds kept her wakeful at night, she wept for him. But she loved + Jethro Bass and served him with a devotion that filled his heart with + strange ecstasies—yes, and forebodings. In all his existence he had + never known a love like this. He may have imagined it once, back in the + bright days of his youth; but the dreams of its fulfilment had fallen far + short of the exquisite touch of the reality in which he now spent his days + at home. In summer, when she sat, in the face of all the conventions of + the village, reading under the butternut tree before the house, she would + feel his eyes upon her, and the mysterious yearning in them would startle + her. Often during her lessons with Mr. Satterlee in the parlor of the + parsonage she would hear a noise outside and perceive Jethro leaning + against the pillar. Both Cynthia and Mr. Satterlee knew that he was there, + and both, by a kind of tacit agreement, ignored the circumstance. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia, in this period, undertook Jethro's education, too. She could have + 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 value beyond + price, he might have been seen seated on the ground with his back to the + butternut tree while Cynthia read aloud from the well-worn books which had + been her father's treasures, books that took on marvels of meaning from + her lips. Cynthia's powers of selection were not remarkable at this + period, and perhaps it was as well that she never knew the effect of the + various works upon the hitherto untamed soul of her listener. Milton and + Tennyson and Longfellow awoke in him by their very music troubled and + half-formed regrets; Carlyle's “Frederick the Great” set up tumultuous + imaginings; but the “Life of Jackson” (as did the story of Napoleon long + ago) stirred all that was masterful in his blood. Unlettered as he was, + Jethro had a power which often marks the American of action—a + singular grasp of the application of any sentence or paragraph to his own + life; and often, about this time, he took away the breath of a judge or a + senator by flinging at them a chunk of Carlyle or Parton. + </p> + <p> + It was perhaps as well that Cynthia was not a woman at this time, and that + she had grown up with him, as it were. His love, indeed, was that of a + father for a daughter; but it held within it as a core the revived love of + his youth for Cynthia, her mother. Tender as were the manifestations of + this love, Cynthia never guessed the fires within, for there was in truth + something primeval in the fierceness of his passion. She was his now—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 who was to come + in the fulness of her years, he burned with a hatred which it is given few + men to feel. It was well for Jethro that these thoughts came not often. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, in the summer afternoons, they took long drives through the + town behind Jethro's white horse on business. “Jethro's gal,” as Cynthia + came to be affectionately called, held the reins while Jethro went in to + talk to the men folk. One August evening found Cynthia thus beside a + poplar in front of Amos Cuthbert's farmhouse, a poplar that shimmered + green-gold in the late afternoon, and from the buggy-seat Cynthia looked + down upon a thousand purple hilltops and mountain peaks of another state. + The view aroused in the girl visions of the many wonders which life was to + hold, and she did not hear the sharp voice beside her until the woman had + spoken twice. Jethro came out in the middle of the conversation, nodded to + Mrs. Cuthbert, and drove off. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro,” asked Cynthia, presently, “what is a mortgage?” + </p> + <p> + Jethro struck the horse with the whip, an uncommon action with him, and + the buggy was jerked forward sharply over the boulders. + </p> + <p> + “Er—who's b'en talkin' about mortgages, Cynthy?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Cuthbert said that when folks had mortgage held over them they had + to take orders whether they liked them or not. She said that Amos had to + do what you told him because there was a mortgage. That isn't so is it?” + </p> + <p> + Jethro did not speak. Presently Cynthia laid her hand over his. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Cuthbert is a spiteful woman,” she said. “I know the reason why + people obey you—it's because you're so great. And Daddy used to tell + me so.” + </p> + <p> + A tremor shook Jethro's frame and the hand on which hers rested, and all + the way down the mountain valleys to Coniston village he did not speak + again. But Cynthia was used to his silences, and respected them. + </p> + <p> + To Ephraim Prescott, who, as the days went on, found it more and more + difficult to sew harness on account of his rheumatism, Jethro was not only + a great man but a hero. For Cynthia was vaguely troubled at having found + one discontent. She was wont to entertain Ephraim on the days when his + hands failed him, when he sat sunning himself before his door; and she + knew that he was honest. + </p> + <p> + “Who's b'en talkin' to you, Cynthia?” he cried. “Why, Jethro's the biggest + man I know, and the best. I don't like to think where some of us would + have b'en if he hadn't given us a lift.” + </p> + <p> + “But he has enemies, Cousin Eph,” said Cynthia, still troubled. “What + great man hain't?” exclaimed the soldier. “Jethro's enemies hain't worth + thinkin' about.” + </p> + <p> + The thought that Jethro had enemies was very painful to Cynthia, and she + wanted to know who they were that she might show them a proper contempt if + she met them. Lem Hallowell brushed aside the subject with his usual bluff + 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 the Rev. Mr. + Satterlee faced the question once, during a history lesson. The nation's + heroes came into inevitable comparison with Jethro Bass. Was Washington so + good a man? and would not Jethro have been as great as the Father of his + Country if he had had the opportunities? + </p> + <p> + The answers sorely tried Mr. Satterlee's conscience, albeit he was not a + man of the world. It set him thinking. He liked Jethro, this man of rugged + power whose word had become law in the state. He knew best that side of + him which Cynthia saw; and—if the truth be told—as a native of + Coniston Mr. Satterlee felt in the bottom of his heart a certain pride in + Jethro. The minister's opinions well represented the attitude of his time. + He had not given thought to the subject—for such matters had came to + be taken for granted. A politician now was a politician, his ways and + standards set apart from those of other citizens, and not to be judged by + men without the pale of public life. Mr. Satterlee in his limited vision + did not then trace the matter to its source, did not reflect that Jethro + Bass himself was almost wholly responsible in that state for the condition + 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 their townsman more + firmly than ever before in the seat of power. Every statesman who drove + into their little mountain village and stopped at the tannery house made + their blood beat faster. Senators came, and representatives, and judges, + and governors, “to git their orders,” as Rias Richardson briefly put it, + and Jethro could make or unmake them at a word. Each was scanned from the + store where Rias now reigned supreme, and from the harness shop across the + road. Some drove away striving to bite from their lips the tell-tale smile + which arose in spite of them; others tried to look happy, despite the + sentence of doom to which they had listened. + </p> + <p> + Jethro Bass was indeed a great man to make such as these tremble or + rejoice. When he went abroad with Cynthia awheel or afoot, some took off + their 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 their + remarks; if he lingered for a moment in front of the house of Amanda + Hatch, the whole village was advised of the circumstance before nightfall. + </p> + <p> + Two personages worthy of mention here visited the tannery house during the + years that Cynthia lived with Jethro. The Honorable Heth Sutton drove over + from Clovelly attended by his prime minister, Mr. Bijah Bixby. The + Honorable Heth did not attempt to conceal the smile with which he went + away, and he stopped at the store long enough to enable Rias to produce + certain refreshments from depths unknown to the United States Internal + Revenue authorities. Mr. Sutton shook hands with everybody, including Jake + Wheeler. Well he might. He came to Coniston a private citizen, and drove + away to all intents and purposes a congressman: the darling wish of his + life realized after heaven knows how many caucuses and conventions of + disappointment, when Jethro had judged it expedient for one reason or + another that a north countryman should go. By the time the pair reached + Brampton, Chamberlain Bixby was introducing his chief as Congressman + Sutton, and by this title he was known for many years to come. + </p> + <p> + Another day, when the snow lay in great billows on the ground and filled + the mountain valleys, when the pines were rusty from the long winter, two + other visitors drove to Coniston in a two-horse sleigh. The sun was + shining brightly, the wind held its breath, and the noon-day warmth was + almost like that of spring. Those who know the mountain country will + remember the joy of many such days. Cynthia, standing in the sun on the + porch, breathing deep of the pure air, recognized, as the sleigh drew + near, the somewhat portly gentleman driving, and the young woman beside + him regally clad in furs who looked patronizingly at the tannery house as + she took the reins. The young woman was Miss Cassandra Hopkins, and the + portly gentleman, the Honorable Alva himself, patron of the drama, who had + entered upon his governorship and now wished to be senator. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro Bass home?” he called out. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bass is home,” answered Cynthia. The girl in the sleigh murmured + something, laughing a little, and Cynthia flushed. Mr. Hopkins gave a + somewhat peremptory knock at the door and was admitted by Millicent + Skinner, but Cynthia stood staring at Cassandra in the sleigh, some + instinct warning her of a coming skirmish. + </p> + <p> + “Do you live here all the year round?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + Miss Cassandra shrugged as though that were beyond her comprehension. + </p> + <p> + “I'd die in a place like this,” she said. “No balls, or theatres. Doesn't + your father take you around the state?” + </p> + <p> + “My father's dead,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “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 at + Andover.” + </p> + <p> + 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 for + the girl in the sleigh decidedly increased. How was she, in her + inexperience, to know that the radiant beauty in furs was what the boys at + Phillips Andover called an “old stager.” + </p> + <p> + “So you live with Jethro Bass,” was Miss Cassandra's next remark. “He's + rich enough to take you round the state and give you everything you want.” + </p> + <p> + “I have everything I want,” replied Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't call living here having everything I wanted,” declared Miss + Hopkins, with a contemptuous glance at the tannery house. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you wouldn't,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + Miss Hopkins was nettled. She was out of humor that day, besides she + shared some of her father's political ambition. If he went to Washington, + she went too. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you know Jethro Bass was rich?” she demanded, imprudently. “Why, + my father gave twenty thousand dollars to be governor, and Jethro Bass + must have got half of it.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia's eyes were of that peculiar gray which, lighted by love or anger, + once seen, are never forgotten. One hand was on the dashboard of the + cutter, the other had seized the seat. Her voice was steady, and the three + words she spoke struck Miss Hopkins with startling effect. + </p> + <p> + Miss Hopkins's breath was literally taken away, and for once she found no + retort. Let it be said for her that this was a new experience with a new + creature. 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 the + Honorable Alva interrupted their talk, and without so much as a glance at + Cynthia he got hurriedly into the sleigh and drove off. When Cynthia + turned, the points of color still high in her cheeks and the light still + ablaze in her eyes, she surprised Jethro gazing at her from the porch, and + some sorrow she felt rather than beheld stopped the confession on her + lips. It would be unworthy of her even to repeat such slander, and the + color surged again into her face for very shame of her anger. Cassandra + Hopkins had not been worthy of it. + </p> + <p> + Jethro did not speak, but slipped his hand into hers, and thus they stood + for a long time gazing at the snow fields between the pines on the heights + of Coniston. + </p> + <p> + The next summer, was the first which the painter—pioneer of summer + visitors there—spent at Coniston. He was an unsuccessful painter, + who became, by a process which he himself does not to-day completely + understand, a successful writer of novels. As a character, however, he + himself confesses his inadequacy, and the chief interest in him for the + readers of this narrative is that he fell deeply in love with Cynthia + Wetherell at nineteen. It is fair to mention in passing that other young + men were in love with Cynthia at this time, notably Eben Hatch—history + repeating itself. Once, in a moment of madness, Eben confessed his love, + the painter never did: and he has to this day a delicious memory which has + made Cynthia the heroine of many of his stories. He boarded with Chester + Perkins, and he was humored by the village as a harmless but amiable + lunatic. + </p> + <p> + The painter had never conceived that a New England conscience and a temper + of no mean proportions could dwell together in the body of a wood nymph. + When he had first seen Cynthia among the willows by Coniston Water, he had + thought her a wood nymph. But she scolded him for his impropriety with so + unerring a choice of words that he fell in love with her intellect, too. + He spent much of his time to the neglect of his canvases under the + butternut tree in front of Jethro's house trying to persuade Cynthia to + sit for her portrait; and if Jethro himself had not overheard one of these + arguments, the portrait never would have been painted. Jethro focussed a + look upon the painter. + </p> + <p> + “Er—painter-man, be you? Paint Cynthy's picture?” + </p> + <p> + “But I don't want to be painted, Uncle Jethro. I won't be painted!” + </p> + <p> + “H-how much for a good picture? Er—only want the best—only + want the best.” + </p> + <p> + The painter said a few things, with pardonable heat, to the effect—well, + never mind the effect. His remarks made no impression whatever upon + Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Er—-paint the picture—paint the picture, and then we'll talk + about the price. Er—wait a minute.” + </p> + <p> + He went into the house, and they heard him lumbering up the stairs. + Cynthia sat with her back to the artist, pretending to read, but presently + she turned to him. + </p> + <p> + “I'll never forgive you—never, as long as I live,” she cried, “and I + won't be painted!” + </p> + <p> + “N-not to please me, Cynthy?” It was Jethro's voice. + </p> + <p> + Her look softened. She laid down the book and went up to him on the porch + and put her hand on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Do you really want it so much as all that, Uncle Jethro?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Callate I do, Cynthy,” he answered. He held a bundle covered with + newspaper in his hand, he looked down at Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + He seated himself on the edge of the porch and for the moment seemed lost + in 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 of + cardinal cloth. + </p> + <p> + “Call this to mind, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “H-how's this for the dress, Mr. Painter-man?” said Jethro, with a pride + that was ill-concealed. + </p> + <p> + The painter started up from his seat and took the material in his hands + and looked at Cynthia. He belonged to a city club where he was popular for + his knack of devising costumes, and a vision of Cynthia as the daughter of + a Doge of Venice arose before his eyes. Wonder of wonders, the daughter of + a Doge discovered in a New England hill village! The painter seized his + pad and pencil and with a few strokes, guided by inspiration, sketched the + costume then and there and held it up to Jethro, who blinked at it in + astonishment. But Jethro was suspicious of his own sensations. + </p> + <p> + “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 he held it up for her inspection. + </p> + <p> + “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 honor + that nobody in Coniston shall know about it, 'Mr. Painter-man'.” + </p> + <p> + After this she always called him “Mr. Painter-man,”—when she was + pleased with him. + </p> + <p> + So the cardinal cloth was come to its usefulness at last. It was + inevitable that Sukey Kittredge, the village seamstress, should be taken + into confidence. It was no small thing to take Sukey into confidence, for + she 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 a + form of oath which would hold Sukey silent. Sukey, however, got no small + consolation 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 cut the + cloth and sew it together. He sent to friends of his in the city for + certain paste jewels and ornaments, and one day Cynthia stood in the old + tannery shed—hastily transformed into a studio—before a + variously moved audience. Sukey, having adjusted the last pin, became + hysterical over her handiwork, Millicent Skinner stared openmouthed, words + having failed her for once, and Jethro thrust his hands in his pockets in + a quiet ecstasy of approbation. + </p> + <p> + “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'll surprise + 'em some.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess it would, Uncle Jethro,” said Cynthia, laughing. + </p> + <p> + Jethro postponed two political trips of no small importance to be present + at the painting of that picture, and he would sit silently by the hour in + a corner of the shed watching every stroke of the brush. Never stood + Doge's daughter in her jewels and seed pearls amidst stranger + surroundings,—the beam, and the centre post around which the old + white horse had toiled in times gone by, and all the piled-up, disused + machinery of forgotten days. And never was Venetian lady more unconscious + of her environment than Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + The portrait was of the head and shoulders alone, and when he had given it + the last touch, the painter knew that, for once in his life, he had done a + good thing. Never before; perhaps, had the fire of such inspiration been + given him. Jethro, who expressed himself in terms (for him) of great + enthusiasm, was for going to Boston immediately to purchase a frame + commensurate with the importance of such a work of art, but the artist had + his own views on that subject and sent to New York for this also. + </p> + <p> + The day after the completion of the picture a rugged figure in rawhide + boots and coonskin cap approached Chester Perkins's house, knocked at the + door, and inquired for the “Painter-man.” It was Jethro. The “Painter-man” + forthwith went out into the rain behind the shed, where a somewhat curious + colloquy took place. + </p> + <p> + “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 to + with the frame?” + </p> + <p> + The artist was past taking offence, since Jethro had long ago become for + him an engrossing study. + </p> + <p> + “I will send you the bill for the frame, Mr. Bass,” he said, “the picture + belongs to Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + “Earn your livin' by paintin', don't you—earn your livin'?” + </p> + <p> + The painter smiled a little bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, “if I did, I shouldn't be—alive. Mr. Bass, have you + ever done anything the pleasure of doing which was pay enough, and to + spare?” + </p> + <p> + Jethro looked at him, and something very like admiration came into the + face that was normally expressionless. + </p> + <p> + He put up his wallet a little awkwardly, and held out his hand more + awkwardly. + </p> + <p> + “You be more of a feller than I thought for,” he said, and strode off + through the drizzle toward Coniston. The painter walked slowly to the + kitchen, where Chester Perkins and his wife were sitting down to supper. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro got a mortgage on you, too?” asked Chester. + </p> + <p> + The artist had his reward, for when the picture was hung at length in the + little parlor of the tannery house it became a source of pride to Coniston + second only to Jethro himself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + Time passes, and the engines of the Truro Railroad are now puffing in and + out of the yards of Worthington's mills in Brampton, and a fine layer of + dust covers the old green stage which has worn the road for so many years + over 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 livery + stable, now owned by Mr. Sherman of the Brampton House. + </p> + <p> + Conventions and elections had come and gone, and the Honorable Heth Sutton + had departed triumphantly to Washington, cheered by his neighbors in + Clovelly. Chamberlain Bixby was left in charge there, supreme. Who could + be more desirable as a member of Congress than Mr. Sutton, who had so ably + served his party (and Jethro) by holding the House against the insurgents + in the matter of the Truro Bill? Mr. Sutton was, moreover, a gentleman, an + owner of cattle and land, a man of substance whom lesser men were proud to + mention as a friend—a very hill-Rajah with stock in railroads and + other enterprises, who owed allegiance and paid tribute alone to the Great + Man of Coniston. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sutton was one who would make himself felt even in the capital of the + United States—felt and heard. And he had not been long in the Halls + of Congress before he made a speech which rang under the very dome of the + Capitol. So said the Brampton and Harwich papers, at least, though rivals + and detractors of Mr. Sutton declared that they could find no matter in it + which related to the subject of a bill, but that is neither here nor + there. The oration began with a lengthy tribute to the resources and + history of his state, and ended by a declaration that the speaker was in + Congress at no man's bidding, but as the servant of the common people of + his district. + </p> + <p> + Under the lamp of the little parlor in the tannery house, Cynthia (who has + now arrived at the very serious age of nineteen) was reading the papers to + Jethro and came upon Mr. Sutton's speech. There were four columns of it, + but Jethro seemed to take delight in every word; and portions of the + noblest parts of it, indeed, he had Cynthia read over again. Sometimes, in + the privacy of his home, Jethro was known to chuckle, and to Cynthia's + surprise he chuckled more than usual that evening. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro,” she said at length, when she had laid the paper down, “I + thought that you sent Mr. Sutton to Congress.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro leaned forward. + </p> + <p> + “What put that into your head, Cynthy?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” answered the girl, “everybody says so,—Moses Hatch, Rias, and + Cousin Eph. Didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + Jethro looked at her, as she thought, strangely. + </p> + <p> + “You're too young to know anything about such things, Cynthy,” he said, + “too young.” + </p> + <p> + “But you make all the judges and senators and congressmen in the state, I + know you do. Why,” exclaimed Cynthia, indignantly, “why does Mr. Sutton + say the people elected him when he owes everything to you?” + </p> + <p> + Jethro, arose abruptly and flung a piece of wood into the stove, and then + he stood with his back to her. Her instinct told her that he was + suffering, though she could not fathom the cause, and she rose swiftly and + drew him down into the chair beside her. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she said anxiously. “Have you got rheumatism, too, like + Cousin Eph? All old men seem to have rheumatism.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Cynthy, it hain't rheumatism,” he managed to answer; “wimmen folks + hadn't ought to mix up in politics. They—they don't understand 'em, + Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + “But I shall understand them some day, because I am your daughter—now + that—now that I have only you, I am your daughter, am I not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” he answered huskily, with his hand on her hair. + </p> + <p> + “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 + of history, and I know some of the Constitution by heart. I know why old + Timothy 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 be trusted to do what is right, can't they, Uncle Jethro?” + </p> + <p> + Jethro was silent, but Cynthia did not seem to notice that. After a space + she spoke again:—“I've been thinking it all out about you, Uncle + Jethro.” + </p> + <p> + “A-about me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know why you are able to send men to Congress and make judges of + them. It's because the people have chosen you to do all that for them—you + are so great and good.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro did not answer. + </p> + <p> + Although the month was March, it was one of those wonderful still nights + that sometimes come in the mountain-country when the wind is silent in the + notches and the stars seem to burn nearer to the earth. Cynthia awoke and + lay staring for an instant at the red planet which hung over the black and + ragged ridge, and then she arose quickly and knocked at the door across + the passage. + </p> + <p> + “Are you ill, Uncle Jethro?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered, “no, Cynthy. Go to bed. Er—I was just thinkin'—thinkin', + that's all, Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + Though all his life he had eaten sparingly, Cynthia noticed that he + scarcely touched his breakfast the next morning, and two hours later he + went unexpectedly to the state capital. That day, too, Coniston was + clothed in clouds, and by afternoon a wild March snowstorm was sweeping + down the face of the mountain, piling against doorways and blocking the + roads. Through the storm Cynthia fought her way to the harness shop, for + Ephraim Prescott had taken to his bed, bound hand and foot by rheumatism. + </p> + <p> + Much of that spring Ephraim was all but helpless, and Cynthia spent many + days nursing him and reading to him. Meanwhile the harness industry + languished. Cynthia and Ephraim knew, and Coniston guessed, that Jethro + was taking care of Ephraim, and strong as was his affection for Jethro the + old soldier found dependence hard to bear. He never spoke of it to + Cynthia, but he used to lie and dream through the spring days of what he + might have done if the war had not crippled him. For Ephraim Prescott, + like his grandfather, was a man of action—a keen, intelligent + American whose energy, under other circumstances, might have gone toward + the making of the West. Ephraim, furthermore, had certain principles which + some in Coniston called cranks; for instance, he would never apply for a + pension, though he could easily have obtained one. Through all his + troubles, he held grimly to the ideal which meant more to him than ease + and comfort,—that he had served his country for the love of it. + </p> + <p> + With the warm weather he was able to be about again, and occasionally to + mend a harness, but Doctor Rowell shook his head when Jethro stopped his + buggy in the road one day to inquire about Ephraim. Whereupon Jethro went + on to the harness shop. The inspiration, by the way, had come from + Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Er—Ephraim, how'd you like to, be postmaster? H-haven't any + objections to that kind of a job, hev you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why no,” said Ephraim. “We hain't agoin' to hev a post-office at Coniston—air + we?” + </p> + <p> + “H-how'd you like to be postmaster at Brampton?” demanded Jethro, + abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Ephraim dropped the trace he was shaving. + </p> + <p> + “Postmaster at Brampton!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “H-how'd you like it?” said Jethro again. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Ephraim, “I hain't got any objections.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro started out of the shop, but paused again at the door. + </p> + <p> + “W-won't say nothin' about it, will you, Eph?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Not till I git it,” answered Ephraim. The sorrows of three years were + suddenly lifted from his shoulders, and for an instant Ephraim wanted to + dance until he remembered the rheumatism and the Wilderness leg. Suddenly + a thought struck him, and he hobbled to the door and called out after + Jethro's retreating figure. Jethro returned. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said, “well?” + </p> + <p> + “What's the pay?” said Ephraim, in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + Jethro named the sum instantly, also in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “You don't tell me!” said Ephraim, and sank stupefied into the chair in + front of the shop, where lately he had spent so much of his time. + </p> + <p> + Jethro chuckled twice on his way home: he chuckled twice again to + Cynthia's delight at supper, and after supper he sent Millicent Skinner to + find Jake Wheeler. Jake as usual, was kicking his heels in front of the + store, talking to Rias and others about the coming Fourth of July + celebration at Brampton. Brampton, as we know, was famous for its Fourth + of July celebrations. Not neglecting to let it be known that Jethro had + sent for him, Jake hurried off through the summer twilight to the tannery + house, bowed ceremoniously to Cynthia under the butternut tree, and + discovered Jethro behind the shed. It was usually Jethro's custom to allow + the other man to begin the conversation, no matter how trivial the subject—a + method which had commended itself to Mr. Bixby and other minor politicians + who copied him. And usually the other man played directly into Jethro's + hands. Jake Wheeler always did, and now, to cover the awkwardness of the + silence, he began on the Brampton celebration. + </p> + <p> + “They tell me Heth Sutton's a-goin' to make the address—seems + prouder than ever sence he went to Congress. I guess you'll tell him what + to say when the time comes, Jethro.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—goin' to Clovelly after wool this week, Jake?” + </p> + <p> + “I kin go to-morrow,” said Jake, scenting an affair. + </p> + <p> + “Er—goin' to Clovelly after wool this week, Jake?” + </p> + <p> + Jake reflected. He saw it was expedient that this errand should not smell + of haste. + </p> + <p> + “I was goin' to see Cutter on Friday,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Er—if you should happen to meet Heth—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” interrupted Jake. + </p> + <p> + “If by chance you should happen to meet Heth, or Bije” (Jethro knew that + Jake never went to Clovelly without a conference with one or the other of + these personages, if only to be able to talk about it afterward at the + store), “er—what would you say to 'em?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said Jake, scratching his head for the answer, “I'd tell him you + was at Coniston.” + </p> + <p> + “Think we'll have rain, Jake?” inquired Jethro, blandly. + </p> + <p> + Jake wended his way back to the store, filled with renewed admiration for + the great man. Jethro had given him no instructions whatever, could deny + before a jury if need be that he had sent him (Jake) to Clovelly to tell + Heth Sutton to come to Coniston for instructions on the occasion of his + Brampton speech. And Jake was filled with a mysterious importance when he + took his seat once more in the conclave. + </p> + <p> + Jake Wheeler, although in many respects a fool, was one of the most + efficient pack of political hounds that the state has ever known. By six + o'clock on Friday morning he was descending a brook valley on the Clovelly + side of the mountain, and by seven was driving between the forest and + river meadows of the Rajah's domain, and had come in sight of the big + white house with its somewhat pretentious bay-windows and Gothic doorway; + it might be dubbed the palace of these parts. The wide river flowed below + it, and the pastures so wondrously green in the morning sun were dotted + with fat cattle and sheep. Jake was content to borrow a cut of tobacco + from the superintendent and wonder aimlessly around the farm until Mr. + Sutton's family prayers and breakfast were accomplished. We shall not + concern ourselves with the message or the somewhat lengthy manner 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't know whether he + was going to Brampton or not—hadn't decided; didn't know whether he + could get to Coniston or not—his affairs were multitudinous now. In + short, he set Jake to thinking deeply as his horse walked up the western + heights of Coniston on the return journey. He had, let it be repeated, a + sure instinct once his nose was fairly on the scent, and he was convinced + that a war of great magnitude was in the air, and he; Jake Wheeler, was + probably the first in all the elate to discover it! His blood leaped at + the thought. + </p> + <p> + The hill-Rajah's defiance, boiled down, could only mean one thing,—that + somebody with sufficient power and money was about to lock horns with + Jethro Bass. Not for a moment did Jake believe that, for all his pomp and + circumstance, the Honorable Heth Sutton was a big enough man to do this. + Jake paid to the Honorable Heth all the outward respect that his high + position demanded, but he knew the man through and through. He thought of + the Honorable Heth's reform speech in Congress, and laughed loudly in the + echoing woods. No, Mr. Sutton was not the man to lead a fight. But to whom + had he promised his allegiance? This question puzzled Mr. Wheeler all the + way home, and may it be said finally for many days thereafter. He slid + into Coniston in the dusk, big with impending events, which he could not + fathom. As to giving Jethro the careless answer of the hill-Rajah, that + was another matter. + </p> + <p> + The Fourth of July came at last, nor was any contradiction made in the + Brampton papers that the speech of the Honorable Heth Sutton had been + cancelled. Instead, advertisements appeared in the 'Brampton Clarion' + announcing the fact in large letters. When Cynthia read this advertisement + to Jethro, he chuckled again. They were under the butternut tree, for the + evenings were long now. + </p> + <p> + “Will you take me to Brampton, Uncle Jethro?” said she, letting fall the + paper on her lap. + </p> + <p> + “W-who's to get in the hay?” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “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 you + good.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia could see that Jethro was intensely amused, for his eyes had a way + of snapping on such occasions when he was alone with her. She was puzzled + and slightly offended, because, to tell the truth, Jethro had spoiled her. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” she said, “I'll go with the Painter-man.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro came and stood over her, his expression the least bit wistful. + </p> + <p> + “Er—Cynthy,” he said presently, “hain't fond of that Painter-man, be + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” said Cynthia, “aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “He's fond of you,” said Jethro, “sh-shouldn't be surprised if he was in + love with you.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia looked up at him, the corners of her mouth twitching, and then she + laughed. The Rev. Mr. Satterlee, writing his Sunday sermon in his study, + heard her and laid down his pen to listen. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro wiped his face with his blue cotton handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “Then you hain't a-goin' to marry the Painter-man?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to marry anybody,” cried Cynthia, contritely; “I'm going to + live with you and take care of you all my life.” + </p> + <p> + On the morning of the Fourth, Cynthia drove to Brampton with the + Painter-man, and when he perceived that she was dreaming, he ceased to + worry her with his talk. He liked her dreaming, and stole many glances at + her face of which she knew nothing at all. Through the cool and fragrant + woods, past the mill-pond stained blue and white by the sky, and scented + clover fields and wayside flowers nodding in the morning air—Cynthia + saw these things in the memory of another journey to Brampton. On that + Fourth her father had been with her, and Jethro and Ephraim and Moses and + Amanda Hatch and the children. And how well she recalled, too, standing + amidst the curious crowd before the great house which Mr. Worthington had + just built. + </p> + <p> + There are weeks and months, perhaps, when we do not think of people, when + our lives are full and vigorous, and then perchance a memory will bring + them vividly before us—so vividly that we yearn for them. There rose + before Cynthia now the vision of a boy as he stood on the Gothic porch of + the house, and how he had come down to the wondering country people with + his smile and his merry greeting, and how he had cajoled her into + lingering in front of the meeting-house. Had he forgotten her? With just a + suspicion of a twinge, Cynthia remembered that Janet Duncan she had seen + 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. That was + in the nature of things. + </p> + <p> + To some the great event of that day in Brampton was to be the speech of + the Honorable Heth Sutton in the meeting-house at eleven; others (and this + party was quite as numerous) had looked forward to the base-ball game + between Brampton and Harwich in the afternoon. The painter would have + preferred to walk up meeting-house hill with Cynthia, and from the cool + heights look down upon the amphitheatre in which the town was built. But + Cynthia was interested in history, and they went to the meeting-house + accordingly, where she listened for an hour and a half to the patriotic + eloquence of the representative. The painter was glad to see and hear so + great a man in the hour of his glory, though so much as a fragment of the + oration does not now remain in his memory. In size, in figure, in + expression, in the sonorous tones of his voice, Mr. Sutton was everything + that a congressman should be. “The people,” said Isaac D. Worthington in + presenting him, “should indeed be proud of such an able and high-minded + representative.” We shall have cause to recall that word high-minded. + </p> + <p> + Many persons greeted Cynthia outside the meetinghouse, for the girl seemed + genuinely loved by all who knew her—too much loved, her companion + thought, by certain spick-and-span young men of Brampton. But they ate the + lunch Cynthia had brought, far from the crowd, under the trees by Coniston + Water. It was she who proposed going to the base-ball game, and the + painter stifled a sigh and acquiesced. Their way brought them down + Brampton Street, past a house with great iron dogs on the lawn, so + imposing and cityfied that he hung back and asked who lived there. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Worthington,” answered Cynthia, making to move on impatiently. + </p> + <p> + Her escort did not think much of the house, but it interested him as the + type which Mr. Worthington had built. On that same Gothic porch, sublimely + unconscious of the covert stares and subdued comments of the passers-by, + the first citizen himself and the Honorable Heth Sutton might be seen. Mr. + Worthington, whose hawklike look had become more pronounced, sat upright, + while the Honorable Heth, his legs crossed, filled every nook and cranny + of an arm-chair, and an occasional fragrant whiff from his cigar floated + out to those on the tar sidewalk. Although the pedestrians were but twenty + feet away, what Mr. Worthington said never reached them; but the Honorable + Heth on public days carried his voice of the Forum around with him. + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” said Cynthia, in one of those startling little tempers she was + subject to; “don't stand there like an idiot.” + </p> + <p> + Then the voice of Mr. Sutton boomed toward them. + </p> + <p> + “As I understand, Worthington,” they heard him say, “you want me to + appoint young Wheelock for the Brampton post-office.” He stuck his thumb + into his vest pocket and recrossed his legs “I guess it can be arranged.” + </p> + <p> + When the painter at last overtook Cynthia the jewel paints he had so often + 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 on his + sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear what he said about the Brampton postoffice?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “The Brampton post-office?” he repeated; dazed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cynthia; “Uncle Jethro has promised it to Cousin Ephraim, who + will starve without it. Did you hear this man say he would give it to Mr. + Wheelock?” + </p> + <p> + Here was a new Cynthia, aflame with emotions on a question of politics of + which he knew nothing. He did, understand, however, her concern for + Ephraim Prescott, for he knew that she loved the soldier. She turned from + the painter now with a gesture which he took to mean that his profession + debarred him from such vital subjects, and she led the way to the + fair-grounds. There he meekly bought tickets, and they found themselves + hurried along in the eager crowd toward the stand. + </p> + <p> + The girl was still unaccountably angry over that mysterious affair of the + post-office, and sat with flushed cheeks staring out on the green field, + past the line of buggies and carryalls on the farther side to the southern + shoulder of Coniston towering, above them all. The painter, already, + beginning to love his New England folk, listened to the homely chatter + about him, until suddenly a cheer starting in one corner ran like a flash + of gunpowder around the field, and eighteen young men trotted across the + turf. Although he was not a devotee of sport, he noticed that nine of + these, as they took their places on the bench, wore blue,—the + Harwich Champions. Seven only of those scattering over the field wore + white; two young gentlemen, one at second base and the other behind the + batter, wore gray uniforms with crimson stockings, and crimson piping on + the caps, and a crimson H embroidered on the breast—a sight that + made the painter's heart beat a little faster, the honored livery of his + own college. + </p> + <p> + “What are those two Harvard men doing here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia, who was leaning forward, started, and turned to him a face which + showed him that his question had been meaningless. He repeated it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said she, “the tall one, burned brick-red like an Indian, is Bob + Worthington.” + </p> + <p> + “He's a good type,” the artist remarked. + </p> + <p> + “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 his chin. Mr. + Dodd kept the hardware store in Brampton. + </p> + <p> + “And who,” asked the painter, “is the bullet-headed little fellow, with + freckles and short red hair, behind the bat?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Cynthia, indifferently. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” exclaimed Mr. Dodd, with just a trace of awe in his voice, “that's + Somers 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 some day. + Duncan come up from Harvard with Bob.” + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes the game was in full swing, Brampton against Harwich, the + old rivalry in another form. Every advantage on either side awoke + thundering cheers from the partisans; beribboned young women sprang to + their feet and waved the Harwich blue at a home run, and were on the verge + of tears when the Brampton pitcher struck out their best batsman. But + beyond the facts that the tide was turning in Brampton's favor; that young + Mr. Worthington stopped a ball flying at a phenomenal speed and batted + another at a still more phenomenal speed which was not stopped; that his + name and Duncan's were mingled generously in the cheering, the painter + remembered little of the game. The exhibition of human passions which the + sight of it drew from an undemonstrative race: the shouting, the comments + wrung from hardy spirits off their guard, the joy and the sorrow,—such + things interested him more. High above the turmoil Coniston, as through + the ages, looked down upon the scene impassive. + </p> + <p> + He was aroused from these reflections by an incident. Some one had leaped + over the railing which separated the stand from the field and stood before + Cynthia,—a tanned and smiling young man in gray and crimson. His + honest eyes were alight with an admiration that was unmistakable to the + painter—perhaps to Cynthia also, for a glow that might have been of + annoyance or anger, and yet was like the color of the mountain sunrise, + answered in her cheek. Mr. Worthington reached out a large brown hand and + seized the girl's as it lay on her lap. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Cynthia,” he cried, “I've been looking for you all day. I thought + you might be here. Where were you?” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you look?” answered Cynthia, composedly, withdrawing her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Everywhere,” said Bob, “up and down the street, all through the hotel. I + asked Lem Hallowell, and he didn't know where you were. I only got here + last night myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I was in the meeting-house,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “The meeting-house!” he echoed. “You don't mean to tell me that you + listened to that silly speech of Sutton's?” + </p> + <p> + This remark, delivered in all earnestness, was the signal for uproarious + laughter from Mr. Dodd and others sitting near by, attending earnestly to + the conversation. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia bit her lip. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did,” she said; “but I'm sorry now.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think you would be,” said Bob; “Sutton's a silly, pompous old + fool. I had to sit through dinner with him. I believe I could represent + the district better myself.” + </p> + <p> + “By gosh!” exploded Mr. Dodd, “I believe you could!” + </p> + <p> + But Bob paid no attention to him. He was looking at Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia, you've grown up since I saw you,” he said. “How's Uncle Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “He's well—thanks,” said Cynthia, and now she was striving to put + down a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Still running the state?” said Bob. “You tell him I think he ought to + muzzle Sutton. What did he send him down to Washington for?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do after the game?” Bob demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going home of course,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + His face fell. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you come to the house for supper and stay for the fireworks?” he + begged pleadingly. “We'd be mighty glad to have your friend, too.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia introduced her escort. + </p> + <p> + “It's very good of you, Bob,” she said, with that New England demureness + which at times became her so well, “but we couldn't possibly do it. And + then I don't like Mr. Sutton.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hang him!” exclaimed Bob. He took a step nearer to her. “Won't you + stay this once? I have to go West in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you are very lucky,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + Bob scanned her face searchingly, and his own fell. + </p> + <p> + “Lucky!” he cried, “I think it's the worst thing that ever happened to me. + My father's so hard-headed when he gets his mind set—he's making me + do it. He wants me to see the railroads and the country, so I've got to go + with the Duncans. I wanted to stay—” He checked himself, “I think + it's a blamed nuisance.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I,” said a voice behind him. + </p> + <p> + It was not the first time that Mr. Somers Duncan had spoken, but Bob + either had not heard him or pretended not to. Mr. Duncan's freckled face + smiled at them from the top of the railing, his eyes were on Cynthia's + face, and he had been listening eagerly. Mr. Duncan's chief + characteristic, beyond his freckles, was his eagerness—a quality + probably amounting to keenness. + </p> + <p> + “Hello,” said Bob, turning impatiently, “I might have known you couldn't + keep away. You're the cause of all my troubles—you and your father's + private car.” + </p> + <p> + Somers became apologetic. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't my fault,” he said; “I'm sure I hate going as much as you do. + It's spoiled my summer, too.” + </p> + <p> + Then he coughed and looked at Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Bob, “I suppose I'll have to introduce you. This,” he added, + dragging his friend over the railing, “is Mr. Somers Duncan.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Yarns?” repeated Cynthia, with a look that set Mr. Duncan floundering. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” he stammered. “Worthy said that you were up here, but I + thought he was crazy the way he talked—I didn't think—” + </p> + <p> + “Think what?” inquired Cynthia, but she flushed a little. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, rot, Somers!” said Bob, blushing furiously under his tan; “you ought + never to go near a woman—you're the darndest fool with 'em I ever + saw.” + </p> + <p> + This time even the painter laughed outright, and yet he was a little + sorrowful, too, because he could not be even as these youths. But Cynthia + sat serene, the eternal feminine of all the ages, and it is no wonder that + Bob Worthington was baffled as he looked at her. He lapsed into an + awkwardness quite as bad as that of his friend. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you enjoyed the game,” he said at last, with a formality that was + not at all characteristic. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia did not seem to think it worth while to answer this, so the + painter tried to help him out. + </p> + <p> + “That was a fine stop you made, Mr. Worthington,” he said; “wasn't it, + Cynthia?” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody seemed to think so,” answered Cynthia, cruelly; “but if I were + a man and had hands like that” (Bob thrust them in his pockets), “I + believe I could stop a ball, too.” + </p> + <p> + Somers laughed uproariously. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” said Bob, with uneasy abruptness, “I've got to go into the + field now. When can I see you?” + </p> + <p> + “When you get back from the West—perhaps,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried Bob (they were calling him), “I must see you to-night!” He + vaulted over the railing and turned. “I'll come back here right after the + game,” he said; “there's only one more inning.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll come back right after the game,” repeated Mr. Duncan. + </p> + <p> + Bob shot one look at him,—of which Mr. Duncan seemed blissfully + unconscious,—and stalked off abruptly to second base. + </p> + <p> + The artist sat pensive for a few moments, wondering at the ways of women, + his sympathies unaccountably enlisted in behalf of Mr. Worthington. + </p> + <p> + “Weren't you a little hard on him?” he said. + </p> + <p> + For answer Cynthia got to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “I think we ought to be going home,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Going home!” he ejaculated in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “I promised Uncle Jethro I'd be there for supper,” and she led the way out + of the grand stand. + </p> + <p> + So they drove back to Coniston through the level evening light, and when + they came to Ephraim Prescott's harness shop the old soldier waved at them + cheerily from under the big flag which he had hung out in honor of the + day. The flag was silk, and incidentally Ephraim's most valued possession. + Then they drew up before the tannery house, and Cynthia leaped out of the + buggy and held out her hand to the painter with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “It was very good of you to take me,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Jethro Bass, rugged, uncouth, in rawhide boots and swallowtail and + coonskin cap, came down from the porch to welcome her, and she ran toward + him with an eagerness that started the painter to wondering afresh over + the contrasts of life. What, he asked himself, had Fate in store for + Cynthia Wetherell? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + “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, how + watchful they were, and how they told him often and again whether her + heart, too, was smiling. + </p> + <p> + “It was very gay,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “P-painter-man gay?” inquired Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia's eyes were on the orange line of the sunset over Coniston, but + she laughed a little, indulgently. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—that Painter-man hain't such a bad fellow—w-why didn't you + ask him in to supper?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll give you three guesses,” said Cynthia, but she did not wait for + them. “It was because I wanted to be alone with you. Milly's gone out, + hasn't she?” + </p> + <p> + “G-gone a-courtin',” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + She smiled, and went into the house to see whether Milly had done her duty + before she left. It was characteristic of Cynthia not to have mentioned + the subject which was agitating her mind until they were seated on + opposite sides of the basswood table. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro,” she said, “I thought you told Mr. Sutton to give Cousin + Eph the Brampton post-office? Do you trust Mr. Sutton?” she demanded + abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Er—why?” said Jethro. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I don't,” she answered with conviction; “I think he's a big + fraud. He must have deceived you, Uncle Jethro. I can't see why you ever + sent him to Congress.” + </p> + <p> + 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 defend Heth + to any one but Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “'D you see Heth, Cynthy?” he asked. “Yes,” replied the girl, disgustedly, + “I should say I did, but not to speak to him. He was sitting on Mr. + Worthington's porch, and I heard him tell Mr. Worthington he would give + the Brampton post-office to Dave Wheelock. I don't want you to think that + I was eavesdropping,” she added quickly; “I couldn't help hearing it.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “You'll make him give the post-office to Cousin Eph, won't you, Uncle + Jethro?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes;” said Jethro, very simply, “I will.” He meditated awhile, and then + said suddenly, “W-won't speak about it—will you, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “You know I won't,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + Let it not be thought by any chance that Coniston was given over to + revelry and late hours, even on the Fourth of July. By ten o'clock the + lights were out in the tannery house, but Cynthia was not asleep. She sat + at her window watching the shy moon peeping over Coniston ridge, and she + was thinking, to be exact, of how much could happen in one short day and + how little in a long month. She was aroused by the sound of wheels and the + soft beat of a horse's hoofs on the dirt road: then came stifled laughter, + and suddenly she sprang up alert and tingling. Her own name came floating + to her through the darkness. + </p> + <p> + The next thing that happened will be long remembered in Coniston. A + tentative chord or two from a guitar, and then the startled village was + listening with all its might to the voices of two young men singing “When + I first went up to Harvard”—probably meant to disclose the identity + of the serenaders, as if that were necessary! Coniston, never having + listened to grand opera, was entertained and thrilled, and thought the + rendering of the song better on the whole than the church choir could have + done it, or even the quartette that sung at the Brampton celebrations + behind the flowers. Cynthia had her own views on the subject. + </p> + <p> + There were five other songs—Cynthia remembers all of them, although + she would not confess such a thing. “Naughty, naughty Clara,” was another + one; the other three were almost wholly about love, some treating it + flippantly, others seriously—this applied to the last one, which had + many farewells in it. Then they went away, and the crickets and frogs on + Coniston Water took up the refrain. + </p> + <p> + Although the occurrence was unusual,—it might almost be said + epoch-making,—Jethro did not speak of it until they had reached the + sparkling heights of Thousand Acre Hill the next morning. Even then he did + not look at Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Know who that was last night, Cynthy?” he inquired, as though the matter + were a casual one. + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” said Cynthia heroically, “I believe it was a boy named Somers + Duncan-and Bob Worthington.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—Bob Worthington,” repeated Jethro, but said nothing more. + </p> + <p> + Of course Coniston, and presently Brampton, knew that Bob Worthington had + serenaded Cynthia—and Coniston and Brampton talked. It is noteworthy + that (with the jocular exceptions of Ephraim and Lem Hallowell) they did + not talk to the girl herself. The painter had long ago discovered that + Cynthia was an individual. She had good blood in her: as a mere child she + had shouldered the responsibility of her father; she had a natural + aptitude for books—a quality reverenced in the community; she + visited, as a matter of habit; the sick and the unfortunate; and lastly + (perhaps the crowning achievement) she had bound Jethro Bass, of all men, + with the fetters of love. Of course I have ended up by making her a + paragon, although I am merely stating what people thought of her. Coniston + decided at once that she was to marry the heir to the Brampton Mills. + </p> + <p> + But the heir had gone West, and as the summer wore on, the gossip died + down. Other and more absorbing gossip took its place: never distinctly + formulated, but whispered; always wishing for more definite news that + never came. The statesmen drove out from Brampton to the door of the + tannery house, as usual, only it was remarked by astute observers and Jake + Wheeler that certain statesmen did not come who had been in the habit of + coming formerly. In short, those who made it a custom to observe such + matters felt vaguely a disturbance of some kind. The organs of the people + felt it, and became more guarded in their statements. What no one knew, + except Jake and a few in high places, was that a war of no mean magnitude + was impending. + </p> + <p> + There were three men in the State—and perhaps only three—who + realized from the first that all former political combats would pale in + comparison to 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 to the tail of a long-suffering Constitution; political history in + the United States had to be written from an entirely new and unforeseen + standpoint, and the unsuspecting people had changed masters. + </p> + <p> + This was to be a war of extermination of one side or the other. No quarter + would be given or asked, and every weapon hitherto known to politics would + be used. Of the three men who realized this, and all that would happen if + one side or the other were victorious, one was Alexander Duncan, another + Isaac D. Worthington, and the third was Jethro Bass. + </p> + <p> + Jethro would never have been capable of being master of the state had he + not foreseen the time when the railroads, tired of paying tribute, would + turn and try to exterminate the boss. The really astonishing thing about + Jethro's foresight (known to few only) was that he perceived clearly that + the time would come when the railroads and other aggregations of capital + would exterminate the boss, or at least subserviate him. This alone, the + writer thinks, gives him some right to greatness. And Jethro Bass made up + his mind that the victory of the railroads, in his state at least, should + not come in his day. He would hold and keep what he had fought all his + life to gain. + </p> + <p> + Jethro knew, when Jake Wheeler failed to bring him a message back from + Clovelly, that the war had begun, and that Isaac D. Worthington, commander + of the railroad forces in the field, had captured his pawn, the + hill-Rajah. By getting through to Harwich, the Truro had made a sad muddle + in railroad affairs. It was now a connecting link; and its president, the + first citizen of Brampton, a man of no small importance in the state. This + fact was not lost upon Jethro, who perceived clearly enough the fight for + consolidation that was coming in the next Legislature. + </p> + <p> + Seated on an old haystack on Thousand Acre Hill, that sits in turn on the + lap of Coniston, Jethro smiled as he reflected that the first trial of + strength in this mighty struggle was to be over (what the unsuspecting + world would deem a trivial matter) the postmastership of Brampton. And + Worthington's first move in the game would be to attempt to capture for + his faction the support of the Administration itself. + </p> + <p> + 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 Maine coast, + but the blue-purple of the mountain, the color of the bloom on the Concord + grape. His eyes, sweeping the mountain from the notch to the granite ramp + of the northern buttress, fell on the weather-beaten little farmhouse in + which he had lived for many years, and rested lovingly on the orchard, + where the golden early apples shone among the leaves. But Jethro was not + looking at the apples. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthy,” he called out abruptly, “h-how'd you like to go to Washington?” + </p> + <p> + “Washington!” exclaimed Cynthia. “When?” + </p> + <p> + “N-now—to-morrow.” Then he added uneasily, “C-can't you get ready?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I'll go to-night, Uncle Jethro,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “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 of them + town ladies to put you to shame. Er—not that they would,” he added + hastily—“not that they would.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia climbed up beside him on the haystack. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro,” she said solemnly, “when you make a senator or a judge, I + don't interfere, do I?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her uneasily, for there were moments when he could not for + the life of him make out her drift. + </p> + <p> + “N-no,” he assented, “of course not, Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + “Why is it that I don't interfere?” + </p> + <p> + “I callate,” answered Jethro, still more uneasily, “I callate it's because + you're a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “And don't you think,” asked Cynthia, “that a woman ought to know what + becomes her best?” + </p> + <p> + Jethro reflected, and then his glance fell on her approvingly. + </p> + <p> + “G-guess you're right, Cynthy,” he said. “I always had some success in + dressin' up Listy, and that kind of set me up.” + </p> + <p> + On such occasions he spoke of his wife quite simply. He had been genuinely + fond of her, although she was no more than an episode in his life. Cynthia + smiled to herself as they walked through the orchard to the place where + the horse was tied, but she was a little remorseful. This feeling, on the + drive homeward, was swept away by sheer elation at the prospect of the + trip before her. She had often dreamed of the great world beyond Coniston, + and no one, not even Jethro, had guessed the longings to see it which had + at times beset her. Often she had dropped her book to summon up a picture + of what a great city was like, to reconstruct the Boston of her early + childhood. She remembered the Mall, where she used to walk with her + father, and the row of houses where the rich dwelt, which had seemed like + palaces. Indeed, when she read of palaces, these houses always came to her + mind. And now she was to behold a palace even greater than these,—and + the house where the President himself dwelt. But why was Jethro going to + Washington? + </p> + <p> + As if in answer to the question, he drove directly to the harness shop + instead of to the tannery house. Ephraim greeted them from within with a + cheery hail, and hobbled out and stood between the wheels of the buggy. + </p> + <p> + “That bridle bust again?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Er—Ephraim,” said Jethro, “how long since you b'en away from + Coniston—how long?” + </p> + <p> + Ephraim reflected. + </p> + <p> + “I went to Harwich with Moses before that bad spell I had in March,” he + answered. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia smiled from pure happiness, for she began to see the drift of + things now. + </p> + <p> + “H-how long since you've b'en in foreign parts?” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “'Sixty-five,” answered Ephraim, with astonishing promptness. + </p> + <p> + “Er—like to go to Washington with us to-morrow like to go to + Washington?” + </p> + <p> + Ephraim gasped, even as Cynthia had. + </p> + <p> + “Washin'ton!” he ejaculated. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthy and I was thinkin' of takin' a little trip,” said Jethro, almost + apologetically, “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. + </p> + <p> + 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 said + something appropriate if he had known how. What he actually said was:—“What + time to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “C-callate to take the nine o'clock from Brampton,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “I'll report for duty at seven,” said Ephraim, and it was then he squeezed + the hand that he found in his. He watched them calmly enough until they + had disappeared in the barn behind the tannery house, and then his + thoughts became riotous. Rumors had been rife that summer, prophecies of + changes to come, and the resignation of the old man who had so long been + postmaster at Brampton was freely discussed—or rather the matter of + his successor. As the months passed, Ephraim had heard David Wheelock + mentioned with more and more assurance for the place. He had had many + nights when sleep failed him, but it was characteristic of the old soldier + that he had never once broached the subject since Jethro had spoken to him + two months before. Ephraim had even looked up the law to see if he was + eligible, and found that he was, since Coniston had no post-office, and + was within the limits of delivery of the Brampton office. + </p> + <p> + The next morning Coniston was treated to a genuine surprise. After loading + up at the store, Lem Hallowell, instead of heading for Brampton, drove to + the tannery house, left his horses standing as he ran in, and presently + emerged with a little cowhide trunk that bore the letter W. Following the + trunk came a radiant Cynthia, following Cynthia, Jethro Bass in a + stove-pipe hat, with a carpetbag, and hobbling after Jethro, Ephraim + Prescott, with another carpet-bag. It was remarked in the buzz of query + that followed the stage's departure that Ephraim wore the blue suit and + the army hat with a cord around it which he kept for occasions. Coniston + longed to follow them, in spirit at least, but even Milly Skinner did not + know their destination. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately we can follow them. At Brampton station they got into the + little train that had just come over Truro Pass, and steamed, with many + stops, down the valley of Coniston Water until it stretched out into a + wide range of shimmering green meadows guarded by blue hills veiled in the + morning haze. Then, bustling Harwich, and a wait of half an hour until the + express from the north country came thundering through the Gap; then a + five-hours' journey down the broad river that runs southward between the + hills, dinner in a huge station amidst a pleasant buzz of excitement and + the ringing of many bells. Then into another train, through valleys and + factory towns and cities until they came, at nightfall, to the metropolis + itself. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia will always remember the awe with which that first view of New + York inspired her, and Ephraim confessed that he, too, had felt it, when + he had first seen the myriad lights of the city after the long, dusty ride + from the hills with his regiment. For all the flags and bunting it had + held in '61, Ephraim thought that city crueller than war itself. And + Cynthia thought so too, as she clung to Jethro's arm between the carriages + and the clanging street-cars, and looked upon the riches and poverty + around her. There entered her soul that night a sense of that which is the + worst cruelty of all—the cruelty of selfishness. Every man going his + own pace, seeking to gratify his own aims and desires, unconscious and + heedless of the want with which he rubs elbows. Her natural imagination + enhanced by her life among the hills, the girl peopled the place in the + street lights with all kinds of strange evil-doers of whose sins she knew + nothing, adventurers, charlatans, alert cormorants, who preyed upon the + unwary. She shrank closer to Ephraim from a perfumed lady who sat next to + her in the car, and was thankful when at last they found themselves in the + corridor of the Astor House standing before the desk. + </p> + <p> + Hotel clerks, especially city ones, are supernatural persons. This one + knew Jethro, greeted him deferentially as Judge Bass, and dipped the pen + in the ink and handed it to him that he might register. By half-past nine + Cynthia was dreaming of Lem Hallowell and Coniston, and Lem was driving a + yellow street-car full of queer people down the road to Brampton. + </p> + <p> + There were few guests in the great dining room when they breakfasted at + seven the next morning. New York, in the sunlight, had taken on a more + kindly expression, and those who were near by smiled at them and seemed + full of good-will. Persons smiled at them that day as they walked the + streets or stood spellbound before the shop windows, and some who saw them + felt a lump rise in their throats at the memories they aroused of + forgotten days: the three seemed to bring the very air of the hills with + them into that teeming place, and many who, had come to the city with high + hopes, now in the shackles of drudgery; looked after them. They were a + curious party, indeed: the straight, dark girl with the light in her eyes + and the color in her cheeks; the quaint, rugged figure of the elderly man + in his swallow-tail and brass buttons and square-toed, country boots; and + the old soldier hobbling along with the aid of his green umbrella, clad in + the blue he had loved and suffered for. Had they remained until Sunday, + they might have read an amusing account of their visit,—of Jethro's + suppers of crackers and milk at the Astor House, of their progress along + Broadway. The story was not lacking in pathos, either, and in real human + feeling, for the young reporter who wrote it had come, not many years + before, from the hills himself. But by that time they had accomplished + another marvellous span in their journey, and were come to Washington + itself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + Cynthia was deprived, too, of that thrilling first view of the capital + from the train which she had pictured, for night had fallen when they + reached Washington likewise. As the train slowed down, she leaned a little + out of the window and looked at the shabby houses and shabby streets + revealed by the flickering lights in the lamp-posts. Finally they came 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 a Lincoln elector, + Jethro was greeted as an old acquaintance by this clerk also. + </p> + <p> + “Glad to see you, Judge,” said he, genially. “Train late? You've come + purty nigh, missin' supper.” + </p> + <p> + A familiar of great men, the clerk was not offended when he got no + response to his welcome. Cynthia and Ephraim, intent on getting rid of + some of the dust of their journey, followed the colored hallboy up the + stairs. Jethro stood poring over the register, when a + distinguished-looking elderly gentleman with a heavy gray beard and eyes + full of shrewdness and humor paused at the desk to ask a question. + </p> + <p> + “Er—Senator?” + </p> + <p> + The senator (for such he was, although he did not represent Jethro's + state) turned and stared, and then held out his hand with unmistakable + warmth. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro Bass,” he exclaimed, “upon my word! What are you doing in + Washington?” + </p> + <p> + Jethro took the hand, but he did not answer the question. + </p> + <p> + “Er—Senator—when can I see the President?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” answered the senator, somewhat taken aback, “why, to-night, if you + like. I'm going to the White House in a few minutes and I think I can + arrange it.” + </p> + <p> + “T-to-morrow afternoon—t-to-morrow afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + The senator cast his eye over the swallow-tail coat and stove-pipe hat + tilted back, and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Thunder!” he exclaimed, “you haven't changed a bit. I'm beginning to look + like an old man; but that milk-and-crackers diet seems to keep you young, + Jethro. I'll fix it for to-morrow afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “W-what time—two?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll fix it for two to-morrow afternoon. I never could understand + you, 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?” + </p> + <p> + Jethro cast his eye around the corridor, where a few men were taking their + ease after supper, and looked at the senator mysteriously. + </p> + <p> + “Any place where we can talk?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “We can go into the writing room and shut the door,” answered the senator, + more amused than ever. + </p> + <p> + When Cynthia came downstairs, Jethro was standing with the gentleman in + the corridor leading to the dining room, and she heard the gentleman say + as 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.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia liked the gentleman's looks, and rightly surmised that he was one + of the big men of the nation. She was about to ask Jethro his name when + Ephraim came limping along and put the matter out of her mind, and the + three went into the almost empty dining room. There they were served with + elaborate attention by a darky waiter who had, in some mysterious way, + learned Jethro's name and title. Cynthia reflected with pride that Jethro, + too, was one of the nation's great men, who could get anything he wanted + simply by coming to the capital and asking for it. + </p> + <p> + Ephraim was very much excited on finding himself in Washington, the sight + of the place reviving in his mind a score of forgotten incidents of the + war. After supper they found seats in a corner of the corridor, where a + number of people were scattered about, smoking and talking. It did not + occur to Jethro or Cynthia, or even to Ephraim, that these people were all + of the male sex, and on the other hand the guests of the hotel were + apparently used once in a while to see a lady from the country seated + there. 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 back + rapt in meditation; Cynthia, her head awhirl, looked around her with + sparkling eyes; while Ephraim was smoking a cigar he had saved for just + such a festal occasion. He did not see the stout man with the button and + corded hat until he was almost on top of him. + </p> + <p> + “Eph Prescott, I believe!” exclaimed the stout one. “How be you, Comrade?” + </p> + <p> + Heedless of his rheumatism, Ephraim sprang to his feet and dropped the + cigar, which the stout one picked up with much difficulty. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Ephraim, in a voice that shook with unwonted emotion, “you + kin skin me if it ain't Amasy Beard!” His eye travelled around Amasa's + figure. “Wouldn't a-knowed you, I swan, I wouldn't. Why, when I seen you + last, Amasy, your stomach was havin' all it could do to git hold of your + backbone.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia laughed outright, and even Jethro sat up and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “When was it?” said Amasa, still clinging on to Ephraim's hand and + incidentally to the cigar, which Ephraim had forgotten; “Beaver Creek, + wahn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “July 10, 1863,” said Ephraim, instantly. + </p> + <p> + Gradually they reached a sitting position, the cigar was restored to its + rightful owner, and Mr. Beard was introduced, with some ceremony, to + Cynthia and Jethro. From Beaver Creek they began to fight the war over + again, backward and forward, much to Cynthia's edification, when her + attention was distracted by the entrance of a street band of wind + instruments. As the musicians made their way to another corner and began + tuning up, she glanced mischievously at Jethro, for she knew his + peculiarities by heart. One of these was a most violent detestation of any + 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 for good + music, Cynthia never knew—he certainly had not heard much of it. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a great volume of sound filled the corridor, and the band burst + forth into what many supposed to be “The Watch on the Rhine.” Some people + were plainly delighted; the veterans, once recovered from their surprise, + shouted their reminiscences above the music, undismayed; Jethro held on to + himself until the refrain, when he began to squirm, and as soon as the + tune was done and the scattering applause had died down, he reached over + and grabbed Mr. Amasa Beard by the knee. Mr. Beard did not immediately + respond, being at that moment behind logworks facing a rebel charge; he + felt vaguely that some one was trying to distract his attention, and in + some lobe of his brain was registered the fact that that particular knee + had gout in it. Jethro increased the pressure, and then Mr. Beard + abandoned his logworks and swung around with a snort of pain. + </p> + <p> + “H-how much do they git for that noise—h-how much do they git?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Beard tenderly lifted the hand from his knee and stared at Jethro with + his mouth open, like a man aroused from a bad dream. + </p> + <p> + “Who? What noise?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “The Dutchmen,” said Jethro. “H-how much do they git for that noise?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” Mr. Beard glanced at the band and began to laugh. He thought Jethro + a 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 had took + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “T-two dollars? Is that the price? Er—you say two dollars is their + price?” + </p> + <p> + “Thereabouts,” answered Mr. Beard, uneasily. Veteran as he was, Jethro's + appearance and earnestness were a little alarming. + </p> + <p> + “You say two dollars is their price?” + </p> + <p> + “Thereabouts,” shouted Mr. Beard, seating himself on the edge of his + chair. + </p> + <p> + But Jethro paid no attention to him. He rose, unfolding by degrees his six + feet two, and strode diagonally across the corridor toward the band + leader. Conversation was hushed at the sight of his figure, a titter ran + around the walls, but Jethro was oblivious to these things. He drew a + great calfskin wallet from an inside pocket of his coat, and the band + leader, a florid German, laid down his instrument and made an elaborate + bow. Jethro waited until the man had become upright and then held out a + two-dollar bill. + </p> + <p> + “Is that about right for the performance?” he said “is that about right?” + </p> + <p> + “Ja, mein Herr,” said the man, nodding vociferously. + </p> + <p> + “I want to pay what's right—I want to pay what's right,” said + Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “I thank you very much, sir,” said the leader, finding his English, “you + haf pay for all.” + </p> + <p> + “P-paid for everything—everything to-night?” demanded Jethro. + </p> + <p> + The leader spread out his hands. + </p> + <p> + “You haf pay for one whole evening,” said he, and bowed again. + </p> + <p> + “Then take it, take it,” said Jethro, pushing the bill into the man's + palm; “but don't you come back to-night—don't you come back + to-night.” + </p> + <p> + The amazed leader stared at Jethro—and words failed him. There was + something about this man that compelled him to obey, and he gathered up + his followers and led the way silently out of the hotel. Roars of laughter + and applause arose on all sides; but Jethro was as one who heard them not + as he made his way back to his seat again. + </p> + <p> + “You did a good job, my friend,” said Mr. Beard, approvingly. “I'm going + to take Eph Prescott down the street to see some of the boys. Won't you + come, too?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Beard doubtless accepted it as one of the man's eccentricities that + Jethro did not respond to him, for without more ado he departed arm in arm + with Ephraim. Jethro was looking at Cynthia, who was staring toward the + desk at the other end of the corridor, her face flushed, and her fingers + closed over the arms of her chair. It never occurred to Jethro that she + might have been embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “W-what's the matter, Cynthy?” he asked, sinking into the chair beside + her. + </p> + <p> + Her breath caught sharply, but she tried to smile at him. He did not + discover what was the matter until long afterward, when he recalled that + evening to mind. Jethro was a man used to hotel corridors, used to sitting + in an attitude that led the unsuspecting to believe he was half asleep; + 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 a host of + bell-boys with shawls and luggage. On the other hand, some of the + distinguished party had watched the proceeding of paying off the band with + no little amusement. Miss Janet Duncan had giggled audibly, her mother had + smiled, while her father and Mr. Worthington had pretended to be deeply + occupied with the hotel register. Somers was not there. Bob Worthington + laughed heartily with the rest until his eye, travelling down the line of + Jethro's progress, fell on Cynthia, and now he was striding across the + floor toward them. And even in the horrible confusion of that moment + Cynthia had a vagrant thought that his clothes had an enviable cut and + became him remarkably. + </p> + <p> + “Well, of all things, to find you here!” he cried; “this is the best luck + that ever happened. I am glad to see you. I was going to steal away to + Brampton for a couple of days before the term opened, and I meant to look + you up there. And Mr. Bass,” said Bob, turning to Jethro, “I'm glad to see + you too.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro looked at the young man and smiled and held out his hand. It was + evident that Bob was blissfully unaware that hostilities between powers of + no mean magnitude were about to begin; that the generals themselves were + on the ground, and that he was holding treasonable parley with the enemy. + The situation appealed to Jethro, especially as he glanced at the backs of + the two gentlemen facing the desk. These backs seemed to him full of + expression. “Th-thank you, Bob, th-thank you,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “I like the way you fixed that band,” said Bob; “I haven't laughed as much + for a year. You hate music, don't you? I hope you'll forgive that awful + noise we made outside of your house last July, Mr. Bass.” + </p> + <p> + “You—you make that noise, Bob, you—you make that?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Bob, “I'm afraid I did most of it. There was another fellow + that 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said she, “it was meant for a compliment, was it?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he answered, glad of the opportunity to turn his attention + entirely to her. “I was for slipping away right after supper, but my + father headed us off.” + </p> + <p> + “Slipping away?” repeated Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “You see, he had a kind of a reception and fireworks afterward. We didn't + get away till after nine, and then I thought I'd have a lecture when I got + home.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you?” asked Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Bob, “he didn't know where I'd been.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia felt the blood rush to her temples, but by habit and instinct she + knew when to restrain herself. + </p> + <p> + “Would it have made any difference to him where you had been?” she asked + calmly enough. + </p> + <p> + Bob had a presentiment that he was on dangerous ground. This new and + self-possessed Cynthia was an enigma to him—certainly a fascinating + enigma. + </p> + <p> + “My father world have thought I was a fool to go off serenading,” he + answered, flushing. Bob did not like a lie; he knew that his father would + have been angry if he had heard he had gone to Coniston; he felt, in the + small of his back, that his father was angry mow, and guessed the reason. + </p> + <p> + She regarded him gravely as he spoke, and then her eyes left his face and + became fixed upon an object at the far end of the corridor. Bob turned in + time to see Janet Duncan swing on her heel and follow her mother up the + stairs. He struggled to find words to tide over what he felt was an + awkward moment. + </p> + <p> + “We've had a fine trip;” he said, “though I should much rather have stayed + at home. The West is a wonderful country, with its canons and mountains + and great stretches of plain. My father met us in Chicago, and we came + here. I don't know why, because Washington's dead at this time of the + year. I suppose it must be on account of politics.” Looking at Jethro with + a sudden inspiration, “I hadn't thought of that.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro had betrayed no interest in the conversation. He was seated, as + usual, 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 the + corridor by another entrance; he saw Isaac D. Worthington draw him aside + and speak to him, and he saw the young man coming towards them. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Miss Wetherell?” cried the young man joyously, while still + ten feet away, “I'm awfully glad to see you, upon my word; I am. How long + are you going to be in Washington?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, Mr. Duncan,” answered Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Did Worthy know you were here?” demanded Mr. Duncan, suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “He did when he saw me,” said Cynthia, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Not till then?” asked Mr. Duncan. “Say, Worthy; your father wants to see + you right away. I'm going to be in Washington a day or two—will you + go walking with me to-morrow morning, Miss Wetherell?” + </p> + <p> + “She's going walking with me,” said Bob, not in the best of tempers. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll go along,” said Mr. Duncan, promptly. + </p> + <p> + By this time Cynthia got up and was holding out her hand to Bob + Worthington. “I'm not going walking with either of you,” she said “I have + another engagement. And I think I'll have to say good night, because I'm + very tired.” + </p> + <p> + “When can I see you?” Both the young men asked the question at once. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'll have plenty of chances,” she answered, and was gone. + </p> + <p> + The young men looked at each other somewhat blankly; and then down at + Jethro, who did not seem to know that they were there, and then they made + their way toward the desk. But Isaac D. Worthington and his friends had + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later the distinguished-looking senator with whom Jethro had + been in conversation before supper entered the hotel. He seemed + preoccupied, and heedless of the salutations he received; but when he + caught sight of Jethro he crossed the corridor rapidly and sat down beside + him. Jethro did not move. The corridor was deserted now, save for the two. + </p> + <p> + “Bass,” began the senator, “what's the row up in your state?” + </p> + <p> + “H-haven't heard of any row,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “What did you come to Washington for?” demanded the senator, somewhat + sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Er—vacation,” said Jethro, “vacation—to show my gal, Cynthy, + the capital.” + </p> + <p> + “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 little + honey for a friend, but I think I'm entitled to know why he wants it.” + </p> + <p> + “G-got the honey?” asked Jethro. + </p> + <p> + The senator took off his hat and wiped his brow, and then he stole a look + at Jethro, with apparently barren results. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro,” he said, “people say you run that state of yours right up to the + handle. What's all this trouble about a two-for-a-cent postmastership?” + </p> + <p> + “H-haven't heard of any trouble,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there is trouble,” said the senator, losing patience at last. “When + I told Grant you were here and mentioned that little Brampton matter to + him,—it didn't seem much to me,—the bees began to fly pretty + thick, I can tell you. I saw right away that somebody had been stirring + 'em up. It looks to me, Jethro,” said the senator gravely, “it looks to me + as if you had something of a rebellion on your hands.” + </p> + <p> + “W-what'd Grant say?” Jethro inquired. + </p> + <p> + “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 while he likes soldiers, he hasn't any use for the kind that want to + lie down and make the government support 'em. I'll tell you what I found + out. Worthington and Duncan wired the President this morning, and they've + gone up to the White House now. They've got a lot of railroad interests + back of them, and they've taken your friend Sutton into camp; but I + managed to get the President to promise not to do anything until he saw + you tomorrow afternoon at two.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro sat silent so long that the senator began to think he wasn't going + to answer him at all. In his opinion, he had told Jethro some very grave + facts. + </p> + <p> + “W-when are you going to see the President again?” said Jethro, at last. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow morning,” answered the senator; “he wants me to walk over with + him to see the postmaster-general, who is sick in bed.” + </p> + <p> + “What time do you leave the White House?—” + </p> + <p> + “At eleven,” said the senator, very much puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “Er—Grant ever pay any attention to an old soldier on the street?” + </p> + <p> + The senator glanced at Jethro, and a twinkle came into his eye. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes he has been known to,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “You—you ever pay any attention to an old soldier on the street?” + </p> + <p> + Then the senator's eyes began to snap. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I have been known to.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—suppose an old soldier was in front of the White House at eleven + o'clock—an old soldier with a gal suppose?” + </p> + <p> + The senator saw the point, and took no pains to restrain his admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro,” he said, slapping him on the shoulder, “I'm willing to bet a few + thousand dollars you'll run your state for a while yet.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + “Heard you say you was goin' for a walk this morning, Cynthy,” Jethro + remarked, as they sat at breakfast the next morning. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course,” answered Cynthia, “Cousin Eph and I are going out to see + Washington, and he is to show me the places that he remembers.” She looked + at Jethro appealingly. “Aren't you coming with us?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “M-meet you at eleven, Cynthy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Eleven!” exclaimed Cynthia in dismay, “that's almost dinner-time.” + </p> + <p> + “M-meet you in front of the White House at eleven,” said Jethro, “plumb in + front of it, under a tree.” + </p> + <p> + By half-past seven, Cynthia and Ephraim with his green umbrella were in + the street, but it would be useless to burden these pages with a + description of all the sights they saw, and with the things that Ephraim + said about them, and incidentally about the war. After New York, much of + Washington would then have seemed small and ragged to any one who lacked + ideals and a national sense, but Washington was to Cynthia as Athens to a + Greek. To her the marble Capitol shining on its hill was a sacred temple, + and the great shaft that struck upward through the sunlight, though yet + unfinished, a fitting memorial to him who had led the barefoot soldiers of + the colonies through ridicule to victory. They looked up many institutions + and monument, they even had time to go to the Navy Yard, and they saved + the contemplation of the White House till the last. The White House, which + Cynthia thought the finest and most graceful mansion in all the world, in + its simplicity and dignity, a fitting dwelling for the chosen 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: and wondrous emotions + played upon the girl's spirit, too, as she gazed. They forgot the present + in the past and the future, and they did not see the two gentlemen who had + left the portico some minutes before and were now coming toward them along + the sidewalk. + </p> + <p> + The two gentlemen, however, slowed their steps involuntarily at a sight + which was uncommon, even in Washington. The girl's arm was in the + soldier's, and her face, which even in repose had a true nobility, now was + alight with an inspiration that is seen but seldom in a lifetime. In + marble, could it have been wrought by a great sculptor, men would have + dreamed before it of high things. + </p> + <p> + 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 still held + it fast. For the honest face of the soldier reflected that spirit as truly + as a mirror. + </p> + <p> + Ephraim was aroused from his thoughts by Cynthia nudging his arm. He + started, put on his hat, and stared very hard at a man smoking a cigar who + was standing before him. Then he stiffened and raised his hand in an + involuntary salute. The man smiled. He was not very tall, he had a closely + trimmed light beard that was growing a little gray, he wore a soft 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. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Comrade?” he said, holding out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “General,” said Ephraim, “Mr. President,” he added, correcting himself, + “how be you?” He shifted the green umbrella, and shook the hand timidly + but warmly. + </p> + <p> + “General will do,” said the President, with a smiling glance at the tall + senator beside him, “I like to be called General.” + </p> + <p> + “You've growed some older, General,” said Ephraim, scanning his face with + a simple reverence and affection, “but you hain't changed so much as I'd a + thought since I saw you whittlin' under a tree beside the Lacy house in + the Wilderness.” + </p> + <p> + “My duty has changed some,” answered the President, quite as simply. He + added with a touch of sadness, “I liked those days best, Comrade.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess!” exclaimed Ephraim, “you're general over everything now, + but you're not a mite bigger man to me than you was.” + </p> + <p> + The President took the compliment as it was meant. + </p> + <p> + “I found it easier to run an army than I do to run a country,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Ephraim's blue eyes flamed with indignation. + </p> + <p> + “I don't take no stock in the bull-dogs and the gold harness at Long + Branch and—and all them lies the dratted newspapers print about + you,”—Ephraim hammered his umbrella on the pavement as an expression + of his feelings,—“and what's more, the people don't.” + </p> + <p> + The President glanced at the senator again, and laughed a little, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; Comrade,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You're a plain, common man,” continued Ephraim, paying the highest + compliment known to rural New England; “the people think a sight of you, + or they wouldn't hev chose you twice, General.” + </p> + <p> + “So you were in the Wilderness?” said the President, adroitly changing the + subject. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, General. I was pressed into orderly duty the first day—that's + when I saw you whittlin' under the tree, and you didn't seem to have no + more consarn than if it had been a company drill. Had a cigar then, too. + But the second day; May the 6th, I was with the regiment. I'll never + forget that day,” said Ephraim, warming to the subject, “when we was + fightin' Ewell up and down the Orange Plank Road, playin' hide-and-seek + with the Johnnies in the woods. You remember them woods, General?” + </p> + <p> + The President nodded, his cigar between his teeth. He looked as though the + scene were coming back to him. + </p> + <p> + “Never seen such woods,” said Ephraim, “scrub oak and pine and cedars and + young 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you wounded?” asked the President, quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I was hurt some, in the hip,” answered Ephraim. + </p> + <p> + “Some!” exclaimed Cynthia, “why, you have walked lame ever since.” She + knew the story by heart, but the recital of it never failed to stir her + blood! “They carried him out just as he was going to be burned up, in a + blanket hung from rifles, and he was in the hospital nine months, and had + to come home for a while.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthy,” said Ephraim in gentle reproof, “I callate the General don't + want to hear that.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia flushed, but the President looked at her with an added interest. + </p> + <p> + “My dear young lady,” he said, “that seems to me the vital part of the + story. If I remember rightly,” he added, turning again to Ephraim, “the + Fifth Corps was on the Orange turnpike. What brigade were you in?” + </p> + <p> + “The third brigade of the First Division,” answered Ephraim. + </p> + <p> + “Griffin's,” said the President. “There were several splendid New England + regiments in that brigade. I sent them with Griffin to help Sheridan at + Five Forks.” + </p> + <p> + “I was thar too,” cried Ephraim. + </p> + <p> + “What!” said the President, “with the lame hip?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, General, I went back, I couldn't help it. I couldn't stay away from + the boys—just couldn't. I didn't limp as bad then as I do now. I + wahn'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. I + remember 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 the + afternoon to git into position. The woods was just comin' a little green, + and the white dogwoods was bloomin' around. Sheridan, he galloped up to + the 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 a + fight. There was a man from a Maine regiment got shot in the head fust + thing. '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, thar in 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 his horse clean over + their logworks and landed right on top of the Johnnie's.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said the President, “that was Sheridan, sure enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. President,” said the senator, who stood by wonderingly while General + Grant had lost himself in this conversation, “do you realize what time it + is?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” said the President, “we must go on. What was your rank, + Comrade?” + </p> + <p> + “Sergeant, General.” + </p> + <p> + “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, but + this soldier bore the unmistakable stamp of simplicity and sincerity on + his face. + </p> + <p> + Ephraim hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “He never would ask for a pension, General,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “What!” exclaimed the President in real astonishment, “are you so rich as + all that?” and he glanced at the green umbrella. + </p> + <p> + “Well, General,” said Ephraim, uncomfortably, “I never liked the notion of + gittin' paid for it. You see, I was what they call a war-Democrat.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” said the President, but more to himself. “What do you do + now?” + </p> + <p> + “I callate to make harness,” answered Ephraim. + </p> + <p> + “Only he can't make it any more on account of his rheumatism, Mr. + President,” Cynthia put in. + </p> + <p> + “I think you might call me General, too,” he said, with the grace that + many simple people found inherent in him. “And may I ask your name, young + lady?” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia Wetherell—General,” she said smiling. + </p> + <p> + “That sounds more natural,” said the President, and then to Ephraim, “Your + daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't think more of her if she was,” answered Ephraim; “Cynthy's + pulled me through some tight spells. Her mother was my cousin, General. My + name's Prescott—Ephraim Prescott.” + </p> + <p> + “Ephraim Prescott!” ejaculated the President, sharply, taking his cigar + from his mouth, “Ephraim Prescott!” + </p> + <p> + “Prescott—that's right—Prescott, General,” repeated Ephraim, + sorely puzzled by these manifestations of amazement. + </p> + <p> + “What did you come to Washington for?” asked the President. + </p> + <p> + “Well, General, I kind of hate to tell you—I didn't intend to + mention that. I guess I won't say nothin' about it,” he added, “we've had + such a sociable time. I've always b'en a little mite ashamed of it, + General, ever since 'twas first mentioned.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” said the President again, and then he looked at Cynthia. + “What is it, Miss Cynthia?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + It was now Cynthia's turn to be a little confused. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro—that is, Mr. Bass” (the President nodded), “went to + Cousin Eph when he couldn't make harness any more and said he'd give him + the Brampton post-office.” + </p> + <p> + 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, while + Ephraim looked uncomfortable and mopped the perspiration from his brow. + </p> + <p> + “He said he'd give it to him, did he?” said the President. “Is Mr. Bass + your uncle?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, General,” replied Cynthia, “he's really no relation. He's done + everything for me, and I live with him since my father died. He was going + to meet us here,” she continued, looking around hurriedly, “I'm sure I + can't think what's kept him.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. President, we are half an hour late already,” said the senator, + hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” said the President, “I suppose I must go. Good-by, Miss + Cynthia,” said he, taking the girl's hand warmly. “Good-by, Comrade. If + ever you want to see General Grant, just send in your name. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + The President lifted his hat politely to Cynthia and passed. He said + something to the senator which they did not hear, and the senator laughed + heartily. Ephraim and Cynthia watched them until they were out of sight. + </p> + <p> + “Godfrey!” exclaimed Ephraim, “they told me he was hard to talk to. Why, + Cynthy, he's as simple as a child.” + </p> + <p> + “I've always thought that all great men must be simple,” said Cynthia; + “Uncle Jethro is.” + </p> + <p> + “To think that the President of the United States stood talkin' to us on + the 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 worth + more to me than all the post-offices in the Union to have that talk with + General Grant.” + </p> + <p> + They waited some time longer under the tree, happy in the afterglow of + this wonderful experience. Presently a clock struck twelve. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's dinner-time, Cynthy,” said Ephraim. “I guess Jethro haint' + a-comin'—must hev b'en delayed by some of them politicians.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the first time I ever knew him to miss an appointment,” said + Cynthia, as they walked back to the hotel. + </p> + <p> + Jethro was not in the corridor, so they passed on to the dining room and + looked eagerly from group to group. Jethro was not there, either, but + Cynthia heard some one laughing above the chatter of the guests, and drew + back into the corridor. She had spied the Duncans and the Worthingtons + making merry by themselves at a corner table, and it was Somers's laugh + that she heard. Bob, too, sitting next to Miss Duncan, was much amused + about something. Suddenly Cynthia's exaltation over the incident of the + morning seemed to leave her, and Bob Worthington's words which she had + pondered over in the night came back to her with renewed force. He did not + find it necessary to steal away to see Miss Duncan. Why should he have + “stolen away” to see her? Was it because she was a country girl, and poor? + That was true; but on the other hand, did she not live in the sunlight, as + it were, of Uncle Jethro's greatness, and was it not an honor to come to + his house and see any one? And why had Mr. Worthington turned hid back on + Jethro, and sent for Bob when he was talking to them? Cynthia could not + understand these things, and her pride was sorely wounded by them. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Jethro's in his room,” suggested Ephraim. + </p> + <p> + And indeed they found him there seated on the bed, poring over some + newspapers, and both in a breath demanded where he had been. Ephraim did + not wait for an answer. + </p> + <p> + “We seen General Grant, Jethro,” he cried; “while we was waitin' for you + under the tree he come up and stood talkin' to us half an hour. Full half + an hour, wahn't it, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” answered Cynthia, forgetting her own grievance at the + recollection; “only it didn't seem nearly that long.” + </p> + <p> + “W-want to know!” exclaimed Jethro, in astonishment, putting down his + paper. “H-how did it happen?” + </p> + <p> + “Come right up and spoke to us,” said Ephraim, in a tone he might have + used to describe a miracle, “jest as if he was common folk. Never had a + more sociable talk with anybody. Why, there was times when I clean forgot + he was President of the United States. The boys won't believe it when we + git back at Coniston.” + </p> + <p> + And Ephraim, full of his subject, began to recount from the beginning the + marvellous affair, occasionally appealing to Cynthia for confirmation. How + he had lived over again the Wilderness and Five Forks; how the General had + changed since he had seen him whittling under a tree; how the General had + asked about his pension. + </p> + <p> + “D-didn't mention the post-office, did you, Ephraim?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no,” replied Ephraim, “I didn't like to exactly. You see, we was + havin' such a good time I didn't want to spoil it, but Cynthy—” + </p> + <p> + “I told the President about it, Uncle Jethro; I told him how sick Cousin + Eph had been, and that you were going to give him the postmastership + because he couldn't work any more with his hands.” + </p> + <p> + The training of a lifetime had schooled Jethro not to betray surprise. + </p> + <p> + “K-kind of mixin' up in politics, hain't you, Cynthy? P-President say he'd + give you the postmastership, Eph?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “He didn't say nothin' about it, Jethro,” answered Ephraim slowly; “I + callate he has other views for the place, and he was too kind to come + right out with 'em and spoil our mornin'. You see, Jethro, I wahn't only a + sergeant, and Brampton's gittin' to be a big town.” + </p> + <p> + “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 want it for + him. Why, I had an idea that we came down for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Cynthy,” Ephraim put in, deprecatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Who else would get the post-office?” asked Cynthia. “Surely you're not + going to let Mr. Sutton have it for Dave Wheelock!” + </p> + <p> + “Er—Cynthy,” said Jethro, slyly, “w-what'd you say to me once about + interferin' with women's fixin's?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia saw the point. She perceived also that the mazes of politics were + not to be understood by a young woman, of even by an old soldier. She + laughed and seized Jethro's hands and pulled him from the bed. + </p> + <p> + “We won't get any dinner unless we hurry,” she said. + </p> + <p> + When they reached the dining room she was relieved to discover that the + party in the corner had gone. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon there were many more sights to be viewed, but they were + back in the hotel again by half-past four, because Ephraim's Wilderness + leg had its limits of endurance. Jethro (though he had not mentioned the + fact to them) had gone to the White House. + </p> + <p> + It was during the slack hours that our friend the senator, whose interest + in the matter of the Brampton post office out-weighed for the present + certain grave problems of the Administration in which he was involved, + hurried into the Willard Hotel, looking for Jethro Bass. He found him + without much trouble in his usual attitude, occupying one of the chairs in + the corridor. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” exclaimed the senator, with a touch of eagerness he did not often + betray, “did you see Grant? How about your old soldier? He's one of the + most delightful characters I ever met—simple as a child,” and he + laughed at the recollection. “That was a masterstroke of yours, Bass, + putting him under that tree with that pretty girl. I doubt if you ever did + anything better in your life. Did they tell you about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jethro, “they told me about it.” + </p> + <p> + “And how about Grant? What did he say to you?” + </p> + <p> + “W-well, I went up there and sent in my card. D-didn't have to wait a + great while, as I was pretty early, and soon he came in, smokin' a black + cigar, head bent forward a little. D-didn't ask me to sit down, and what + talkin' 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 got started, somehow; told him I was there to ask him to appoint Ephraim + Prescott to the Brampton postoffice—t-told him all about Ephraim + from the time he was locked in the cradle—never was so hard put that + I could remember. T-told him how Ephraim shook butternuts off my fathers + tree—for all I know. T-told him all about Ephraim's war record—leastways + all I could call to mind—and, by Godfrey! before I got through, I + wished I'd listened to more of it. T-told him about Ephraim's Wilderness + bullets—t-told him about Ephraim's rheumatism,—how it bothered + him when he went to bed and when he got up again.” + </p> + <p> + If Jethro had glanced at his companion, he would have seen the senator was + shaking with silent and convulsive laughter. + </p> + <p> + “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—looked + right at me. W-wouldn't wink—don't think he winked once while I was + in that room. I watched him as close as I could, and I watched to see if a + muscle moved or if I was makin' any impression. All he would do was to + stand there and look—look—look. K-kept me there ten minutes + and never opened his mouth at all. Hardest man to talk to I ever met—never + see a man before but what I could get him to say somethin', if it was only + a cuss word. I got tired of it after a while, made up my mind that I had + found one man I couldn't move. Then what bothered me was to get out of + that room. If I'd a had a Bible I believe I'd a read it to him. I didn't + know 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 pretty + busy man. H-hope you'll give Mr. Prescott that postmastership. Er—er + good-by.' + </p> + <p> + “'Wait, sir,' he said. + </p> + <p> + “'Yes,' I said, 'I-I'll wait.' + </p> + <p> + “Thought you was goin' to give him that postmastership, Mr. Bass,' he + said.” + </p> + <p> + At this point the senator could not control his mirth, and the empty + corridor echoed his laughter. + </p> + <p> + “By thunder! what did you say to that?” + </p> + <p> + “Er—I said, 'Mr. President, I thought I was until a while ago.' + </p> + <p> + “'And when did you change your mind?' says he.” + </p> + <p> + Then he laughed a little—not much—but he laughed a little. + </p> + <p> + “'I understand that your old soldier lives within the limits of the + delivery of the Brampton office,' said he.” + </p> + <p> + “'That's correct, Mr. President,' said I.” + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' said he, 'I will app'int him postmaster at Brampton, Mr. Bass.'” + </p> + <p> + “'When?' said I.” + </p> + <p> + Then he laughed a little more. + </p> + <p> + “I'll have the app'intment sent to your hotel this afternoon,' said he.” + </p> + <p> + “'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 I come + out.” + </p> + <p> + “Grant didn't say anything about Worthington or Duncan, did he?” asked the + senator, curiously, as he rose to go. + </p> + <p> + “G-guess I've told you all he said,” answered Jethro; “'twahn't a great + deal.” + </p> + <p> + The senator held out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Bass,” he said, laughing, “I believe you came pretty near meeting your + match. But if Grant's the hardest man in the Union to get anything out of, + I've a notion who's the second.” And with this parting shot the senator + took his departure, chuckling to himself as he went. + </p> + <p> + 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-looking + gentleman came briskly in from the street, nodding affably to the colored + porters and bell-boys, who greeted him by name. He wore a flowing Prince + Albert coat, which served to dignify a growing portliness, and his + coal-black whiskers glistened in the light. A voice, which appeared to + come from nowhere in particular, brought the gentleman up standing. + </p> + <p> + “How be you, Heth?” + </p> + <p> + It may not be that Mr. Sutton's hand trembled, but the ashes of his cigar + fell 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. + </p> + <p> + “Like Washington, Heth—like Washington?” + </p> + <p> + Then Mr. Sutton turned. His presence of mind, and that other presence of + which he was so proud, seemed for the moment to have deserted him. + </p> + <p> + “S-stick pretty close to business, Heth, comin' down here out of session + time. S-stick pretty close to business, don't you, since the people sent + you to Congress?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sutton might have offered another man a cigar or a drink, but (as is + well known) Jethro was proof against tobacco or stimulants. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Honorable Heth, catching his breath and making a dive, “I + am surprised to see you, Jethro,” which was probably true. + </p> + <p> + “Th-thought you might be,” said Jethro. “Er—glad to see me, Heth—glad + to see me?” + </p> + <p> + As has been recorded, it is peculiarly difficult to lie to people who are + not to be deceived. + </p> + <p> + “Why, certainly I am,” answered the Honorable Heth, swallowing hard, + “certainly I am, Jethro. I meant to have got to Coniston this summer, but + I was so busy—” + </p> + <p> + “Peoples' business, I understand. Er—hear you've gone in for + high-minded politics, Heth—r-read a highminded speech of yours—two + high-minded speeches. Always thought you was a high-minded man, Heth.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you like those speeches, Jethro?” asked Mr. Sutton, striving as + best he might to make some show of dignity. + </p> + <p> + “Th-thought they was high-minded,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Then there was a silence, for Mr. Sutton could think of nothing more to + say. And he yearned to depart with a great yearning, but something held + him there. + </p> + <p> + “Heth,” said Jethro after a while, “you was always very friendly and + obliging. You've done a great many favors for me in your life.” + </p> + <p> + “I've always tried to be neighborly, Jethro,” said Mr. Sutton, but his + voice sounded a little husky even to himself. + </p> + <p> + “And I may have done one or two little things for you, Heth,” Jethro + continued, “but I can't remember exactly. Er—can you remember, + Heth.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sutton was trying with becoming nonchalance to light the stump of his + cigar. He did not succeed this time. He pulled himself together with a + supreme effort. + </p> + <p> + “I think we've both been mutually helpful, Jethro,” he said, “mutually + helpful.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Jethro, reflectively, “I don't know as I could have put it as + well as that—there's somethin' in being an orator.” + </p> + <p> + There was another silence, a much longer one. The Honorable Heth threw his + butt away, and lighted another cigar. Suddenly, as if by magic, his aplomb + returned, and in a flash of understanding he perceived the situation. He + saw himself once more as the successful congressman, the trusted friend of + the railroad interests, and he saw Jethro as a discredited boss. He did + not stop to reflect that Jethro did not act like a discredited boss, as a + keener man might have done. But if the Honorable Heth had been a keener + man, he would not have been at that time a congressman. Mr. Sutton accused + himself of having been stupid in not grasping at once that the tables were + turned, and that now he was the one to dispense the gifts. + </p> + <p> + “K-kind of fortunate you stopped to speak to me, Heth. N-now I come to + think of it, I hev a little favor to ask of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” exclaimed Mr. Sutton, blowing out the smoke; “of course anything I + can do, Jethro—anything in reason.” + </p> + <p> + “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 the + Brampton post-office. You can fix that, Heth—can't you—you can + fix that?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sutton stuck his thumb into his vest pocket and cleared his throat. + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell you how sorry I am not to oblige you, Jethro, but I've + arranged to give that post-office to Dave Wheelock.” + </p> + <p> + “A-arranged it, hev You—a-arranged it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” said Mr. Sutton, scarcely believing his own ears. Could it be + possible that he was using this patronizingly kind tone to Jethro Bass? + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's too bad,” said Jethro; “g-got it all fixed, hev you?” + </p> + <p> + “Practically,” answered Mr. Sutton, grandly; “indeed, I may go as far as + to say that it is as certain as if I had the appointment here in my + pocket. I'm sorry not to oblige you, Jethro; but these are matters which a + member of Congress must look after pretty closely.” He held out his hand, + but Jethro did not appear to see it,—he had his in his pockets. + “I've an important engagement,” said the Honorable Heth, consulting a + large gold watch. “Are you going to be in Washington long?” + </p> + <p> + “G-guess I've about got through, Heth—g-guess I've about got + through,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you have time and there's any other little thing, I'm in Room + 29,” said Mr. Sutton, as he put his foot on the stairway. + </p> + <p> + “T-told Worthington you got that app'intment for Wheelock—t-told + Worthington?” Jethro called out after him. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sutton turned and waved his cigar and smiled in acknowledgment of this + parting bit of satire. He felt that he could afford to smile. A few + minutes later he was ensconced on the sofa of a private sitting room + reviewing the incident, with much gusto, for the benefit of Mr. Isaac D. + Worthington and Mr. Alexander Duncan. Both of these gentlemen laughed + heartily, for the Honorable Heth Sutton knew the art of telling a story + well, at least, and was often to be seen with a group around him in the + lobbies of Congress. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + About five o'clock that afternoon Ephraim was sitting in his shirt-sleeves + by the window of his room, and Cynthia was reading aloud to him an article + (about the war, of course) from a Washington paper, which his friend, Mr. + Beard, had sent him. There was a knock at the door, and Cynthia opened it + to discover a colored hall-boy with a roll in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Mistah Ephum Prescott?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Ephraim, “that's me.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia shut the door and gave him the roll, but Ephraim took it as though + he were afraid of its contents. + </p> + <p> + “Guess it's some of them war records from Amasy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cousin Eph,” exclaimed Cynthia, excitedly, “why don't you open it? If + you don't I will.” + </p> + <p> + “Guess you'd better, Cynthy,” and he held it out to her with a trembling + hand. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia did open it, and drew out a large document with seals and printing + and signatures. + </p> + <p> + “Cousin Eph,” she cried, holding it under his nose, “Cousin Eph, you're + postmaster of Brampton!” + </p> + <p> + Ephraim looked at the paper, but his eyes swam, and he could only make out + a dancing, bronze seal. + </p> + <p> + “I want to know!” he exclaimed. “Fetch Jethro.” + </p> + <p> + But Cynthia had already flown on that errand. Curiously enough, she ran + into Jethro in the hall immediately outside of Ephraim's door. Ephraim got + to his feet; it was very difficult for him to realize that his troubles + were ended, that he was to earn his living at last. He looked at Jethro, + and his eyes filled with tears. “I guess I can't thank you as I'd ought + to, Jethro,” he said, “leastways, not now.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll thank him for you, Cousin Eph,” said Cynthia. And she did. + </p> + <p> + “D-don't thank me,” said Jethro, “I didn't have much to do with it, Eph. + Thank the President.” + </p> + <p> + 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 the + art of literature largely consists in belief in what one is writing, and + Ephraim's letter had this quality of sincerity, and no lack of vividness + as well. He spent most of the evening in composing it. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia, too, had received a letter that day—a letter which she had + read several times, now with a smile, and again with a pucker of the + forehead which was meant for a frown. “Dear Cynthia,” it said. “Where do + you keep yourself? I am sure you would not be so cruel if you knew that I + was aching to see you.” Aching! Cynthia repeated the word, and remembered + the glimpse she had had of him in the dining room with Miss Janet Duncan. + “Whenever I have been free” (Cynthia repeated this also, somewhat + ironically, although she conceded it the merit of frankness), “Whenever I + have been free, I have haunted the corridors for a sight of you. Think of + me as haunting the hotel desk for an answer to this, telling me when I can + see you—and where. P.S. I shall be around all evening.” And it was + signed, “Your friend and playmate, R. Worthington.” + </p> + <p> + It is a fact—not generally known—that Cynthia did answer the + letter—twice. But she sent neither answer. Even at that age she was + given to reflection, and much as she may have approved of the spirit of + the letter, she liked the tone of it less. Cynthia did not know a great + deal of the world, it is true, but the felt instinctively that something + was wrong when Bob resorted to such means of communication. And she was + positively relieved, or thought that she was, when she went down to supper + and discovered that the table in the corner was empty. + </p> + <p> + After supper Ephraim had his letter to write, and Jethro wished to sit in + the corridor. But Cynthia had learned that the corridor was not the place + for a girl, so she explained—to Jethro that he would find her in the + parlor if he wanted her, and that she was going there to read. That parlor + Cynthia thought a handsome room, with its high windows and lace curtains, + its long mirrors and marble-topped tables. She established herself under a + light, on a sofa in one corner, and sat, with the book on her lap watching + the people who came and went. She had that delicious sensation which comes + to the young when they first travel—the sensation of being a part of + the great world; and she wished that she knew these people, and which were + the great, and which the little ones. Some of them looked at her intently, + she thought too intently, and at such times she pretended to read. She was + aroused by hearing some one saying:—“Isn't this Miss Wetherell?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia looked up and caught her breath, for the young lady who had spoken + was none other than Miss Janet Duncan herself. Seen thus startlingly at + close range, Miss Duncan was not at all like what Cynthia had expected—but + then most people are not. Janet Duncan was, in fact, one of those strange + persons who do not realize the picture which their names summon up. She + was undoubtedly good-looking; her hair, of a more golden red than her + brother's, was really wonderful; her neck was slender; and she had a + strange, dreamy face that fascinated Cynthia, who had never seen anything + like it. + </p> + <p> + She put down her book on the sofa and got up, not without a little tremor + at this unexpected encounter. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'm Cynthia Wetherell,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + To add to her embarrassment, Miss Duncan seized both her hands impulsively + and gazed into her face. + </p> + <p> + “You're really very beautiful,” she said. “Do you know it?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia's only answer to this was a blush. She wondered if all city girls + were like Miss Duncan. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Stories!” exclaimed Cynthia, drawing away her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Romances,” said Miss Duncan—“real romances. Sometimes I think I'm + going to be a novelist, because I'm always weaving stories about people + that I see people who interest me, I mean. And you look as if you might be + the heroine of a wonderful romance.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia's breath was now quite taken away. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, “I—had never thought that I looked like that.” + </p> + <p> + “But you do,” said Miss Duncan; “you've got all sorts of possibilities in + your face—you look as if you might have lived for ages.” + </p> + <p> + “As old as that?” exclaimed Cynthia, really startled. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I don't express myself very well” said the other, hastily; “I + wish you could see what I've written about you already. I can do it so + much better with pen and ink. I've started quite a romance already.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Cynthia, not without interest. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down on the sofa and I'll tell you,” said Miss Duncan; “I've done it + all from your face, too. I've made you a very poor girl brought up by + peasants, only you are really of a great family, although nobody knows it. + A rich duke sees you one day when he is hunting and falls in love with + you, and you have to stand a lot of suffering and persecution because of + it, and say nothing. I believe you could do that,” added Janet, looking + critically at Cynthia's face. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I could if I had to,” said Cynthia, “but I shouldn't like it.” + </p> + <p> + “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 another story + about that quaint old man who paid the musicians to go away, and who made + us all laugh so much.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia's eye kindled. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bass isn't a quaint old man,” she said; “he's the greatest man in the + state.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Duncan's patronage had been of an unconscious kind. She knew that she + had offended, but did not quite realize how. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so sorry,” she cried, “I didn't mean to hurt you. You live with him, + don't you—Coniston?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Cynthia, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. + </p> + <p> + “I've heard about Coniston. It must be quite a romance in itself to live + all the year round in such a beautiful place and to make your own clothes. + Yours become you very well,” said Miss Duncan, “although I don't know why. + They're not at all in style, and yet they give you quite an air of + distinction. I wish I could live in Coniston for a year, anyway, and write + a book about you. My brother and Bob Worthington went out there one night + and serenaded you, didn't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cynthia, that peculiar flash coming into her eyes again, “and + I think it was very foolish of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you?” exclaimed Miss Duncan, in surprise; “I wish somebody would + serenade me. I think it was the most romantic thing Bob ever did. He's + wild about you, and so is Somers they have both told me so in confidence.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia's face was naturally burning now. + </p> + <p> + “If it were true,” she said, “they wouldn't have told you about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that's so,” said Miss Duncan, thoughtfully, “only you're very + clever to have seen it. Now that I know you, I think you a more remarkable + person than ever. You don't seem at all like a country girl, and you don't + talk like one.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia laughed outright. She could not help liking Janet Duncan, mere + flesh and blood not being proof against such compliments. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it's because my father was an educated man,” she said; “he + taught me to read and speak when I was young.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you are just like a person out of a novel! Who was your father?” + </p> + <p> + “He kept the store at Coniston,” answered Cynthia, smiling a little sadly. + She would have liked to have added that William Wetherell would have been + a great man if he had had health, but she found it difficult to give out + confidences, especially when they were in the nature of surmises. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Janet, stoutly, “I think that is more like a story than ever. + Do you know,” she continued, “I saw you once at the state capital outside + of our grounds the day Bob ran after you. That was when I was in love with + him. We had just come back from Europe then, and I thought he was the most + wonderful person I had ever seen.” + </p> + <p> + If Cynthia had felt any emotion from this disclosure, she did not betray + it. Janet, moreover, was not looking for it. + </p> + <p> + “What made you change your mind?” asked Cynthia, biting her lip. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bob hasn't the temperament,” said Janet, making use of a word that + she had just discovered; “he's too practical—he never does or says + the things you want him to. He's just been out West with us on a trip, and + he was always looking at locomotives and brakes and grades and bridges and + all such tiresome things. I should like to marry a poet,” said Miss + Duncan, dreamily; “I know they want me to marry Bob, and Mr. Worthington + wants it. I'm sure, of that. But he wouldn't at all suit me.” + </p> + <p> + If Cynthia had been able to exercise an equal freedom of speech, she might + have been impelled to inquire what young Mr. Worthington's views were in + the matter. As it was, she could think of nothing appropriate to say, 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, whom Janet did not + at all resemble was a person who naturally commanded attention. She had + strong features, and a very decided, though not disagreeable, manner. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't imagine what had become of you, Janet,” she said, coming + forward and throwing off her lace shawl. “Whom have you found—a + school friend?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mamma,” said Janet, “this is Cynthia Wetherell.” “Oh,” said Mrs. + Duncan, looking very hard at Cynthia in a near-sighted way, and, not + knowing 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.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Janet, turning again to Cynthia and scarcely hearing the + question. + </p> + <p> + “Janet hasn't seen them, Dudley,” said Mrs. Duncan, going up to Mr. + Worthington, who was pulling his chop whiskers by the door. “Janet has + discovered such a beautiful creature,” she went on, in a voice which she + did 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 + who she is. Perhaps she comes from your part of the country—her + name's Wetherell.” + </p> + <p> + “Wetherell? Why, of course I know her,” said Mr. Sutton, who was greatly + pleased because Mrs. Duncan had likened him to an almanac: greatly pleased + this evening in every respect, and even the diamond in his bosom seemed to + glow with a brighter fire. He could afford to be generous to-night, and he + turned to Mr. Worthington and laughed knowingly. “She's the ward of our + friend Jethro,” he explained. + </p> + <p> + “What is she?” demanded Mrs. Duncan, who knew and cared nothing about + politics, “a country girl, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Mr. Sutton, “a country girl from a little village not far + from Clovelly. A good girl, I believe, in spite of the atmosphere in which + she has been raised.” + </p> + <p> + “It's really wonderful, Mr. Sutton, how you seem to know every one in your + district, including the women and children,” said the lady; “but I suppose + you wouldn't be where you are if you didn't.” + </p> + <p> + The Honorable Heth cleared his throat. + </p> + <p> + “Wetherell,” Mr. Duncan was saying, staring at Cynthia through his + spectacles, “where have I heard that name?” + </p> + <p> + He must suddenly have remembered, and recalled also that he and his ally + Worthington had been on opposite sides in the Woodchuck Session, for he + sat down abruptly beside the door, and remained there for a while. For Mr. + Duncan had never believed Mr. Merrill's explanation concerning poor + William Wetherell' s conduct. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty, ain't she?” said Mr. Sutton to Mr. Worthington. “Guess she's more + dangerous than Jethro, now that we've clipped his wings a little.” The + congressman had heard of Bob's infatuation. + </p> + <p> + Isaac D. Worthington, however, was in a good humor this evening and was + moved by a certain curiosity to inspect the girl. Though what he had seen + and heard of his son's conduct with her had annoyed him, he did not regard + it seriously. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you going to speak to your constituent, Mr. Sutton?” said Mrs. + Duncan, who was bored because her friends had not arrived; “a congressman + ought to keep on the right side of the pretty girls, you know.” + </p> + <p> + It hadn't occurred to the Honorable Heth to speak to his constituent. The + ways of Mrs. Duncan sometimes puzzled him, and he could not see why that + lady and her daughter seemed to take more than a passing interest in the + girl. But if they could afford to notice her, certainly he could; so he + went forward graciously and held out his hand to Cynthia; interrupting + Miss Duncan in the middle of a discourse upon her diary. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Cynthia?” said Mr. Sutton. Had he been in Coniston, he + would have said, “How be you?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia took the hand, but did not rise, somewhat to Mr. Sutton's + annoyance. A certain respect was due to a member of Congress and the Rajah + of Clovelly. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Mr. Sutton?” said Cynthia, very coolly. + </p> + <p> + “I like her,” remarked Mrs. Duncan to Mr. Worthington. + </p> + <p> + “This is a splendid trip for you, eh, Cynthia?” Mr. Sutton persisted, with + a praiseworthy determination to be pleasant. + </p> + <p> + “It has turned out to be so, Mr. Sutton,” replied Cynthia. This was not + precisely the answer Mr. Sutton expected, and to tell the truth, he didn't + know quite what to make of it. + </p> + <p> + “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 came through New + York and saw the sights?” + </p> + <p> + “Is there another way to get to Washington?” asked Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Duncan nudged Mr. Worthington and drew a little nearer, while Mr. + Sutton began to wish he had not been lured into the conversation. Cynthia + had been very polite, but there was something in the quiet manner in which + 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 of becoming + voluble. Mr. Sutton prided himself on never being voluble. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no,” he answered, “we have to go to New York to get anywhere in + these 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's + name, but he found himself, to his surprise, a little at a loss for a + subject. + </p> + <p> + “Well, partly a pleasure trip. It's always a pleasure for Uncle Jethro to + do things for others,” said Cynthia, quietly, “although people do not + always appreciate what he does for them.” + </p> + <p> + The Honorable Heth coughed. He was now very uncomfortable, indeed. How + much did this astounding young person know, whom he had thought so + innocent? + </p> + <p> + “I didn't discover he was in town until I ran across him in the corridor + this evening. Should have liked to have introduced him to some of the + Washington folks—some of the big men, although not many of 'em are + here,” Mr. Sutton ran on, not caring to notice the little points of light + in Cynthia's eyes. (The idea of Mr. Sutton introducing Uncle Jethro to + anybody!) “I haven't seen Ephraim Prescott. It must be a great treat for + him, too, to get away on a little trip and see his army friends. How is + he?” + </p> + <p> + “He's very happy,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Happy!” exclaimed Mr. Sutton. “Oh, yes, of course, Ephraim's always + happy, in spite of his troubles and his rheumatism. I always liked Ephraim + Prescott.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia did not answer this remark at all, and Mr. Sutton suspected + strongly that she did not believe it, therefore he repeated it. + </p> + <p> + “I always liked Ephraim. I want you to tell Jethro that I'm downright + sorry I couldn't get him that Brampton postmastership.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell him that you are sorry, Mr. Sutton,” replied Cynthia, gravely, + “but I don't think it'll do any good.” + </p> + <p> + Not do any good!—What did the girl mean? Mr. Sutton came to the + conclusion that he had been condescending enough, that somehow he was + gaining no merit in Mrs. Duncan's eyes by this kindness to a constituent. + He buttoned up his coat rather grandly. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you won't misunderstand me, Cynthia,” he said. “I regret extremely + that my sense of justice demanded that I should make David Wheelock + postmaster at Brampton, and I have made him so.” + </p> + <p> + It was now Cynthia's turn to be amazed. + </p> + <p> + “But,” she exclaimed, “but Cousin Ephraim is postmaster of Brampton.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sutton started violently, and that part of his face not hidden by his + whiskers seemed to pale, and Mr. Worthington, usually self-possessed, took + a step forward and seized him by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean, Sutton?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Sutton pulled himself together, and glared at Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “I think you are mistaken,” said he, “the congressman of the district + usually arranges these matters, and the appointment will be sent to Mr. + Wheelock to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “But Cousin Ephraim already has the appointment,” said Cynthia; “it was + sent to him this afternoon, and he is up in his room now writing to thank + the President for it.” + </p> + <p> + “What in the world's the matter?” cried Mrs. Duncan, in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia's simple announcement had indeed caused something of a panic among + the gentlemen present. Mr. Duncan had jumped up from his seat beside the + door, and Mr. Worthington, his face anything but impassive, tightened his + hold on the congressman's arm. + </p> + <p> + “Good God, Sutton!” he exclaimed, “can this be true?” + </p> + <p> + As for Cynthia, she was no less astonished than Mrs. Duncan by the fact + that these rich and powerful gentlemen were so excited over a little thing + like the postmastership of Brampton. But Mr. Sutton laughed; it was not + hearty, but still it might have passed muster for a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “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 + what she's talking about.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Duncan thought the girl did look uncommonly as if she knew what she + was talking about, and Mr. Duncan and Mr. Worthington had some such + impression, too, as they stared at her. Cynthia's eyes flashed, but her + voice was no louder than before. + </p> + <p> + “I am used to being believed, Mr. Sutton,” she said, “but here's Uncle + Jethro himself. You might ask him.” + </p> + <p> + They all turned in amazement, and one, at least, in trepidation, to + perceive Jethro Bass standing behind them with his hands in his pockets, + as unconcerned as though he were under the butternut tree in Coniston. + </p> + <p> + “How be you, Heth?” he said. “Er—still got that appointment + p-practically in your pocket?” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro,” said Cynthia, “Mr. Sutton does not believe me when I tell + him that Cousin Ephraim has been made postmaster of Brampton. He would + like to have you tell him whether it is so or not.” + </p> + <p> + But this, as it happened, was exactly what the Honorable Heth did not want + to have Jethro tell him. How he got out of the parlor of the Willard House + he has not to this day a very clear idea. As a matter of fact, he followed + Mr. Worthington and Mr. Duncan, and they made their exit by the farther + door. Jethro did not appear to take any notice of their departure. + </p> + <p> + “Janet,” said Mrs. Duncan, “I think Senator and Mrs. Meade must have gone + to our sitting room.” Then, to Cynthia's surprise, the lady took her by + the hand. “I can't imagine what you've done, my dear,” she said + pleasantly, “but I believe that you are capable of taking care of + yourself, and I like you.” + </p> + <p> + Thus it will be seen that Mrs. Duncan was an independent person. Sometimes + heiresses are apt to be. + </p> + <p> + “And I like you, too,” said Janet, taking both of Cynthia's hands, “and I + hope to see you very, very often.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro looked after them. + </p> + <p> + “Er—the women folks seem to have some sense,” he said. Then he + turned to Cynthia. “B-be'n havin' some fun with Heth, Cynthy?” he + inquired. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't any respect for Mr. Sutton,” said Cynthia, indignantly; “it + serves him right for presuming to think that he could give a post-office + to any one.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro made no remark concerning this presumption on the part of the + congressman of the district. Cynthia's indignation against Mr. Sutton was + very real, and it was some time before she could compose herself + sufficiently to tell Jethro what had happened. His enjoyment as he + listened may be imagined but presently he forgot this, and became aware + that something really troubled her. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro,” she asked suddenly, “why do they treat me as they do?” + </p> + <p> + He did not answer at once. This was because of a pain around his heart—had + she known it. He had felt that pain before. + </p> + <p> + “H-how do they treat you, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. She had not yet learned to use the word patronize in the + social sense, and she was at a loss to describe the attitude of Mrs. + Duncan and her daughter, though her instinct had registered it. She was at + a loss to account for Mr. Worthington's attitude, too. Mr. Sutton's she + bitterly resented. + </p> + <p> + “Are they your enemies?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + Jethro was in real distress. + </p> + <p> + “If they are,” she continued, “I won't speak to them again. If they can't + treat me as—as your daughter ought to be treated, I'll turn my back + on them. I am—I am just like your daughter—am I not, Uncle + Jethro?” + </p> + <p> + He put out his hand and seized hers roughly, and his voice was thick with + suffering. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Cynthy,” he said, “you—you're all I've got in the world.” + </p> + <p> + She squeezed his hand in return. + </p> + <p> + “I know it, Uncle Jethro,” she cried contritely, “I oughtn't to have + troubled you by asking. You—you have done everything for me, much + more than I deserve. And I shan't be hurt after this when people are too + small to appreciate how good you are, and how great.” + </p> + <p> + The pain tightened about Jethro's heart—tightened so sharply that he + could not speak, and scarcely breathe because of it. Cynthia picked up her + novel, and set the bookmark. + </p> + <p> + “Now that Cousin Eph is provided for, let's go back to Coniston, Uncle + Jethro.” A sudden longing was upon her for the peaceful life in the + shelter of the great ridge, and she thought of the village maples all red + and gold with the magic touch of the frosts. “Not that I haven't enjoyed + my trip,” she added; “but we are so happy there.” + </p> + <p> + He did not look at her, because he was afraid to. + </p> + <p> + “C-Cynthy,” he said, after a little pause, “th-thought we'd go to Boston.” + </p> + <p> + “Boston, Uncle Jethro!” + </p> + <p> + “Er—to-morrow—at one—to-morrow—like to go to + Boston?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said thoughtfully, “I remember parts of it. The Common, where I + used to walk with Daddy, and the funny old streets that went uphill. It + will be nice to go back to Coniston that way—over Truro Pass in the + train.” + </p> + <p> + That night a piece of news flashed over the wires to New England, and the + next morning a small item appeared in the Newcastle Guardian to the effect + that one Ephraim Prescott had bean appointed postmaster at Brampton. + Copied in the local papers of the state, it caused some surprise in + Brampton, to be sure, and excitement in Coniston. Perhaps there were but a + dozen men, however, who saw its real significance, who knew through this + item that Jethro Bass was still supreme—that the railroads had + failed to carry this first position in their war against him. + </p> + <p> + It was with a light heart the next morning that Cynthia, packed the little + leather trunk which had been her father's. Ephraim was in the corridor + regaling his friend, Mr. Beard, with that wonderful encounter with General + Grant which sounded so much like a Fifth Reader anecdote of a chance + meeting with royalty. Jethro's room was full of visiting politicians. So + Cynthia, when she had finished her packing, went out to walk about the + streets alone, scanning the people who passed her, looking at the big + houses, and wondering who lived in them. Presently she found herself, in + the middle of the morning, seated on a bench in a little park, surrounded + by colored mammies and children playing in the paths. It seemed a long + time since she had left the hills, and this glimpse of cities had given + her many things to think and dream about. Would she always live in + Coniston? Or was her future to be cast among those who moved in the world + and helped to sway it? Cynthia felt that she was to be of these, though + she could not reason why, and she told herself that the feeling was + foolish. Perhaps it was that she knew in the bottom of her heart that she + had been given a spirit and intelligence to cope with a larger life than + that of Coniston. With a sense that such imaginings were vain, she tried + to think what the would do if she were to become a great lady like Mrs. + Duncan. + </p> + <p> + She was aroused from these reflections by a distant glimpse, through the + trees, of Mr. Robert Worthington. He was standing quite alone on the edge + of 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 a light + gray, loose-fitting suit and a straw hat, and she could not but + acknowledge that there was something stalwart and clean and altogether + appealing in him. She wondered, indeed, why he now failed to appeal to + Miss Duncan, and she began to doubt the sincerity of that young lady's + statements. Bob certainly was not romantic, but he was a man—or + would be very soon. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia sat still, although her impulse was to go away. She scarcely + analyzed 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 pain + could come from frequent meetings, and she knew now what but a week ago + was a surmise, that he belonged to the world of which she had been + dreaming—Mrs. Duncan's world. Again, there was that mysterious + barrier between them of which she had seen so many evidences. And yet she + sat still on her bench and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + Presently he turned, slowly, as if her eyes had compelled his. She sat + still—it was too late, then. In less than a minute he was standing + beside her, looking down at her with a smile that had in it a touch of + reproach. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Mr. Worthington?” said Cynthia, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Worthington!” he cried, “you haven't called me that before. We are + not children any more,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “What difference does that make?” + </p> + <p> + “A great deal,” said Cynthia, not caring to define it. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” said Mr. Worthington, sitting down on the beach and facing her, + “do you think you've treated me just right?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do,” she said, “or I should have treated you differently.” + </p> + <p> + Bob ignored such quibbling. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you run away from that baseball game in Brampton? And why + couldn't you have answered my letter yesterday, if it were only a line? + And why have you avoided me here in Washington?” + </p> + <p> + It is very difficult to answer for another questions which one cannot + answer for one's self. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't avoided you,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “I've been looking for you all over town this morning,” said Bob, with + pardonable exaggeration, “and I believe that idiot Somers has, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why should you call him an idiot?” Cynthia flashed. + </p> + <p> + Bob laughed. + </p> + <p> + “How you do catch a fellow up!” said he; admiringly. “We both found out + you'd gone out for a walk alone.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you find it out?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Bob, hesitating, “we asked the colored doorkeeper.” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Cynthia,” he gasped, “I—I didn't think of it that way—and + he won't tell. Desperate cases require desperate remedies, you know.” + </p> + <p> + But Cynthia was not appeased. + </p> + <p> + “If you wanted to see me,” she said, “why didn't you send your card to my + room, and I would have come to the parlor.” + </p> + <p> + “But I did send a note, and waited around all day.” + </p> + <p> + How was she to tell him that it was to the tone of the note she objected—to + the hint of a clandestine meeting? She turned the light of her eyes full + upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Would you have been content to see me in the parlor?” she asked. “Did you + mean to see me there?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” said he; “I would have given my head to see you anywhere, only—” + </p> + <p> + “Only what?” + </p> + <p> + “Duncan might have came in and spoiled it.” + </p> + <p> + “Spoiled what?” + </p> + <p> + Bob fidgeted. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Cynthia,” he said, “you're not stupid—far from it. Of + course you know a fellow would rather talk to you alone.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have been very glad to have seen Mr. Duncan, too.” + </p> + <p> + “You would, would you!” he exclaimed. “I shouldn't have thought that.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't he your friend?” asked Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said Bob, “and one of the best in the world. Only—I + shouldn't have thought you'd care to talk to him.” And he looked around + for fear the vigilant Mr. Duncan was already in the park and had + discovered them. Cynthia smiled, and immediately became grave again. + </p> + <p> + “So it was only on Mr. Duncan's account that you didn't ask me to come + down to the parlor?” she said. + </p> + <p> + Bob was in a quandary. He was a truthful person, and he had learned + something of the world through his three years at Cambridge. He had seen + many young women, and many kinds of them. But the girl beside him was such + a mixture of innocence and astuteness that he was wholly at a loss how to + deal with her—how to parry her searching questions. + </p> + <p> + “Naturally—I wanted to have you all to myself,” he said; “you ought + to know that.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia did not commit herself on this point. She wished to go mercilessly + to the root of the matter, but the notion of what this would imply + prevented her. Bob took advantage of her silence. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody who sees you falls a victim, Cynthia,” he went on; “Mrs. Duncan + and Janet lost their hearts. You ought to have heard them praising you at + breakfast.” He paused abruptly, thinking of the rest of that conversation, + and laughed. Bob seemed fated to commit himself that day. “I heard the way + you handled Heth Sutton,” he said, plunging in. “I'll bet he felt as if + he'd been dropped out of the third-story window,” and Bob 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 imposing mansions fronting + on the park. “Mrs. Duncan said she'd never heard anybody lay it on the way + you did. I don't believe you half know what happened, Cynthia. You made a + ten-strike.” + </p> + <p> + “A ten-strike?” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “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 my father so mad. He ought to have known better than to run up + against Uncle Jethro.” + </p> + <p> + “How did they run up against Uncle Jethro?” asked Cynthia, now keenly + interested. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know?” exclaimed Bob, in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Cynthia, “or I shouldn't have asked.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't Uncle Jethro tell you about it?” + </p> + <p> + “He never tells me anything about his affairs,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + Bob's astonishment did not wear off at once. Here was a new phase, and he + was very hard put. He had heard, casually, a good deal of abuse of Jethro + and his methods in the last two days. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “I don't know anything about politics. I don't know + myself why father and Mr. Duncan were so eager for this post-mastership. + But they were. And I heard them say something about the President going + back on them when they had telegraphed from Chicago and come to see him + here. And maybe they didn't let Heth in for it. It seems Uncle Jethro only + had to walk up to the White House. They ought to have sense enough to know + that he runs the state. But what's the use of wasting time over this + business?” said Bob. “I told you I was going to Brampton before the term + begins just to see you, didn't I?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I didn't believe you,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Because it's my nature, I suppose,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + This was too much for Bob, exasperated though he was, and he burst into + laughter. + </p> + <p> + “You're the queerest girl I've ever known,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Not a very original remark. + </p> + <p> + “That must be saying a great deal,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “You must have known many.” + </p> + <p> + “I have,” he admitted, “and none of 'em, no matter how much they'd knocked + about, were able to look out for themselves any better than you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not even Cassandra Hopkins?” Cynthia could not resist saying. She saw + that she had scored; his expressions registered his sensations so + accurately. + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about her?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Cynthia, mysteriously, “I heard that you were very fond of her + at Andover.” + </p> + <p> + Bob could not help pluming himself a little. He thought the fact that she + had mentioned the matter a flaw in Cynthia's armor, as indeed it was. And + yet he was not proud of the Cassandra Hopkins episode in his career. + </p> + <p> + “Cassandra is one of the institutions at Andover,” said he; “most fellows + have to take a course in Cassandra to complete their education.” + </p> + <p> + “Yours seems to be very complete,” Cynthia retorted. + </p> + <p> + “Great Scott!” he exclaimed, looking at her, “no wonder you made + mince-meat of the Honorable Heth. Where did you learn it all, Cynthia?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia did not know. She merely wondered where she would be if she hadn't + learned it. Something told her that if it were not for this anchor she + would be drifting out to sea: might, indeed, soon be drifting out to sea + in spite of it. It was one thing for Mr. Robert Worthington, with his + numerous resources, to amuse himself with a girl in her position; it would + be quite another thing for the girl. She got to her feet and held out her + hand to him. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by?” + </p> + <p> + “We are leaving Washington at one o'clock, and Uncle Jethro will be + worried if I am not in time for dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Leaving at one! That's the worst luck I've had yet. But I'm going back to + the hotel myself.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia didn't see how she was to prevent him walking with her. She would + not have admitted to herself that she had enjoyed this encounter, since + she was trying so hard not to enjoy it. So they started together out of + the park. Bob, for a wonder, was silent awhile, glancing now and then at + her profile. He knew that he had a great deal to say, but he couldn't + decide exactly what it was to be. This is often the case with young men in + his state of mind: in fact, to be paradoxical again, he might hardly be + said at this time to have had a state of mind. He lacked both an attitude + and a policy. + </p> + <p> + “If you see Duncan before I do, let me know,” he remarked finally. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia bit her lip. “Why should I?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Because we've only got five minutes more alone together, at best. If we + see him in time, we can go down a side street.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it would be hard to get away from Mr. Duncan if we met him—even + if we wanted to,” she said, laughing outright. + </p> + <p> + “You don't know how true that is,” he replied, with feeling. + </p> + <p> + “That sounds as though you'd tried it before.” + </p> + <p> + He paid no attention to this thrust. + </p> + <p> + “I shan't see you again till I get to Brampton,” he said; “that will be a + whole week. And then,” he ventured to look at her, “I shan't see you until + the Christmas holidays. You might be a little kind, Cynthia. You know I've—I've + always thought the world of you. I don't know how I'm going to get through + the three months without seeing you.” + </p> + <p> + “You managed to get through a good many years,” said Cynthia, looking at + the pavement. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” he said; “I was sent away to school and college, and our lives + separated.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, our lives separated,” she assented. + </p> + <p> + “And I didn't know you were going to be like—like this,” he went on, + vaguely enough, but with feeling. + </p> + <p> + “Like what?” + </p> + <p> + “Like—well, I'd rather be with you and talk to you than any girl I + ever saw. I don't care who she is,” Bob declared, “or how much she may + have traveled.” 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 well + enough.” + </p> + <p> + “And I like you now,” answered Cynthia. They were very near the hotel by + this time. + </p> + <p> + “You talk as if you were ten years older than I,” he said, smiling + plaintively. + </p> + <p> + She stopped and turned to him, smiling. They had reached the steps. + </p> + <p> + “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're coming to + Brampton just to see me, don't come. Good-by.” And she gave him her hand + frankly. + </p> + <p> + “But I will come to Brampton,” he cried, taking her hand and squeezing it. + “I'd like to know why I shouldn't come.” + </p> + <p> + As Cynthia drew her hand away a gentleman came out of the hotel, paused + for a brief moment by the door and stared at them, and then passed on + without a word or a nod of recognition. It was Mr. Worthington. Bob looked + after his father, and then glanced at Cynthia. There was a trifle more + color in her cheeks, and her head was raised a little, and her eyes were + fixed upon him gravely. + </p> + <p> + “You should know why not,” she said, and before he could answer her she + was gone into the hotel. He did not attempt to follow her, but stood where + she had left him in the sunlight. + </p> + <p> + He was aroused by the voice of the genial colored doorkeeper. + </p> + <p> + “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 was + feelin' powerful bad, Mistah Wo'thington.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + 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 returned + from the war. Though it be the prosperous capital of New England, it is a + city of homes, and the dwellers of it have held stanchly to the belief of + their forefathers that the home is the very foundation-rock of the nation. + Held stanchly to other beliefs, too: that wealth carries with it some + little measure of responsibility. The stranger within the gates of that + city feels that if he falls, a heedless world will not go charging over + his body: that a helping hand will be stretched out,—a helping and a + wise hand that will inquire into the circumstances of his fall—but + still a human hand. + </p> + <p> + They were sitting in the parlor of the Tremont House that morning with the + sun streaming in the windows, waiting for Ephraim. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro,” Cynthia asked, abruptly, “did you ever know my mother?” + </p> + <p> + Jethro started, and looked at her quickly. + </p> + <p> + “W-why, Cynthy?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Because she grew up in Coniston,” answered Cynthia. “I never thought of + it before, but of course you must have known her.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I knew her,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Did you know her well?” she persisted. + </p> + <p> + Jethro got up and went over to the window, where he stood with his back + toward her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Cynthy,” he answered at length. + </p> + <p> + “Why haven't you ever told me about her?” asked Cynthia. How was she to + know that her innocent questions tortured him cruelly; that the spirit of + the Cynthia who had come to him in the tannery house had haunted him all + his life, and that she herself, a new Cynthia, was still that spirit? The + bygone Cynthia had been much in his thoughts since they came to Boston. + </p> + <p> + “What was she like?” + </p> + <p> + “She—she was like you, Cynthy,” he said, but he did not turn round. + “She was a clever woman, and a good woman, and—a lady, Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + The girl said nothing for a while, but she tingled with pleasure because + Jethro had compared her to her mother. She determined to try to be like + that, if he thought her so. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro,” she said presently, “I'd like to go to see the house where + she lived.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—Ephraim knows it,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + So when Ephraim came the three went over the hill; past the State House + which Bulfinch set as a crown on the crest of it looking over the sweep of + the Common, and on into the maze of quaint, old-world streets on the slope + beyond: streets with white porticos, and violet panes in the windows. They + came to an old square hidden away on a terrace of the hill, and after that + the streets grew narrower and dingier. Ephraim, whose memory never + betrayed him, hobbled up to a shabby house in the middle of one of these + blocks and rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + “Here's where I found Will when I come back from the war,” he said, and + explained the matter in full to the slatternly landlady who came to the + door. She was a good-natured woman, who thought her boarder would not + mind, and led the way up the steep stairs to the chamber over the roofs + where Wetherell and Cynthia had lived and hoped and worked together; where + he had written those pages by which, with the aid of her loving criticism, + he had thought to become famous. The room was as bare now as it had been + then, and Ephraim, poking his stick through a hole in the carpet, ventured + the assertion that even that had not been changed. Jethro, staring out + over the chimney tops, passed his hand across his eyes. Cynthia Ware had + come to this! + </p> + <p> + “I found him right here in that bed,” Ephraim was saying, and he poked the + 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 I hadn't come + along.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cousin Eph!” exclaimed Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + 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 took + her gently by the arm and led her down the stairs again, she supporting + him, and Jethro following. + </p> + <p> + That same morning, Jethro, whose memory was quite as good as Ephraim's, + found a little shop tucked away in Cornhill which had been miraculously + spared in the advance of prosperity. Mr. Judson's name, however, was no + longer in quaint lettering over the door. Standing before it, Jethro told + the story in his droll way, of a city clerk and a country bumpkin, and + Cynthia and Ephraim both laughed so heartily that the people who were + passing turned round to look at them and laughed too. For the three were + an unusual group, even in Boston. It was not until they were seated at + dinner in the hotel, Ephraim with his napkin tucked under his chin, that + Jethro gave them the key to the characters in this story. + </p> + <p> + “And who was the locket for, Uncle Jethro?” demanded Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + Jethro, however, shook his head, and would not be induced to tell. + </p> + <p> + They were still so seated when Cynthia perceived coming toward them + through the crowded dining roam a merry, middle-aged gentleman with a bald + head. He seemed to know everybody in the room, for he was kept busy + nodding 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 so + kindly to her on that occasion. + </p> + <p> + “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, I + don't complain. So you licked 'em again, eh—down in Washington? + Never had 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 to her, Jethro? What kind of beauty powder do they use in Coniston?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill took the seat next to her and continued to talk, scattering + his pleasantries equally among the three, patting her arm when her own + turn 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 proper + appreciation of herself—that may have been discovered. But she was + puzzled to know why this gentleman should make it a point to pay such + particular attention to a young country girl. Other railroad presidents + whom she could name had not done so. She was thinking of these things, + rather than listening to Mr. Merrill's conversation, when the sound of Mr. + Worthington's name startled her. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Jethro,” Mr. Merrill was saying, “you certainly nipped this little + game of Worthington's in the bud. Thought he'd take you in the rear by + going 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 to + supper to-night, you know, at seven o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + Ephraim laid down his knife and fork for the first time. Were the wonders + of this journey never to cease? And Jethro, once in his life, looked + nervous. + </p> + <p> + “Er—er—Cyn'thy'll go, Steve—Cynthy'll go.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Cynthy'll go,” laughed Mr. Merrill, “and you'll go, and Ephraim'll + go.” Although he by no means liked everybody, as would appear at first + glance, Mr. Merrill had a way of calling people by their first names when + he did fancy them. + </p> + <p> + “Er—Steve,” said Jethro, “what would your wife say if I was to drink + coffee out of my saucer?” + </p> + <p> + “Let's see,” said Mr. Merrill grave for once. “What's the punishment for + that in my house? I know what she'd do if you didn't drink it. What do you + think she'd do, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “Ask him what was the matter with it,” said Cynthia, promptly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Cynthy,” said he, “I know why these old fellows take you round with + 'em. To take care of 'em, eh? They're not fit to travel alone.” + </p> + <p> + And so it was settled, after much further argument, that they were all to + sup at Mr. Merrill's house, Cynthia stoutly maintaining that she would not + desert them. And then Mr. Merrill, having several times repeated the + street and number, went, back to his office. There was much mysterious + whispering between Ephraim and Jethro in the hotel parlor after dinner, + while Cynthia was turning over the leaves of a magazine, and then Ephraim + proposed going out to see the sights. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Uncle Jethro going?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “He'll meet us,” said Ephraim, promptly, but his voice was not quite + steady. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Uncle Jethro!” cried Cynthia, “you're trying to get out of it. You + remember you promised to meet us in Washington.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Guess he'll keep this app'intment,” said Ephraim, who seemed to be full +of a strange mirth that bubbled over, for he actually winked at Jethro. + went first to Faneuil Hall. Presently they found themselves among the +crowd in Washington Street, where Ephraim confessed the trepidation +which he felt over the coming supper party: a trepidation greater, so +he declared many times, than he had ever experienced before any of his +battles in the war. He stopped once or twice in the eddy of the crowd to +glance up at the numbers; and finally came to a halt before the windows +of a large dry-goods store. +</pre> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia laughed outright, since Ephraim could not by any chance have worn + any of the articles in question. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Cousin Ephraim,” she exclaimed, “you can't buy gentlemen's things + here.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I guess you can,” said Ephraim, and hobbled confidently in at the + doorway. There we will leave him for a while conversing in an undertone + with a floor-walker, and follow Jethro. He, curiously enough, had some + fifteen minutes before gone in at the same doorway, questioned the same + floor-walker, and he found himself in due time walking amongst a + bewildering lot of models on the third floor, followed by a giggling + saleswoman. + </p> + <p> + “What kind of a dress do you want, sir?” asked the saleslady,—for we + are impelled to call her so. + </p> + <p> + “S-silk cloth,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “What shades of silk would you like, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Shades? shades? What do you mean by shades?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, colors,” said the saleslady, giggling openly. + </p> + <p> + “Green,” said Jethro, with considerable emphasis. + </p> + <p> + The saleslady clapped her hand over her mouth and led the way to another + model. + </p> + <p> + “You don't call that green—do you? That's not green enough.” + </p> + <p> + They inspected another dress, and then another and another,—not all + of them were green,—Jethro expressing very decided if not expert + views on each of them. At last he paused before two models at the far end + of the room, passing his hand repeatedly over each as he had done so often + with the cattle of Coniston. + </p> + <p> + “These two pieces same kind of goods?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Er-this one is a little shinier than that one?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the finish is a little higher,” ventured the saleslady. + </p> + <p> + “Sh-shinier,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, shinier, if you please to call it so.” + </p> + <p> + “W-what would you call it?” + </p> + <p> + By this time the saleslady had become quite hysterical, and altogether + incapable of performing her duties. Jethro looked at her for a moment in + disgust, 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 be + affected by the same mania. Jethro's eye alighted upon the back of another + customer. She was, apparently, a respectable-looking lady of uncertain + age, and her own attention was so firmly fixed in the contemplation of a + model that she had not remarked the merriment about her, nor its cause. + She did not see Jethro, either, as he strode across to her. Indeed, her + first intimation of his presence was a dig in her arm. The lady turned, + gave a gasp of amazement at the figure confronting her, and proceeded to + annihilate it with an eye that few women possess. + </p> + <p> + “H-how do, Ma'am,” he said. Had he known anything about the appearance of + women 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: she wore + ringlets, a peculiar bonnet of a bygone age, and her clothes had certain + eccentricities which, for, lack of knowledge, must be omitted. In short, + the lady was no fool, and not being one she glanced at the giggling group + of saleswomen and—wonderful to relate—they stopped giggling. + Then she looked again at Jethro and gave him a smile. One of superiority, + no doubt, but still a smile. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “T-trying to buy a silk cloth gown for a woman. There's two over here I + fancied a little. Er—thought perhaps you'd help me.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are the dresses?” she demanded abruptly. + </p> + <p> + Jethro led the way in silence until they came to the models. She planted + herself in front of them and looked them over swiftly but critically. + </p> + <p> + “What is the age of the lady?” + </p> + <p> + “W-what difference does that make?” said Jethro, whose instinct was + against committing himself to strangers. + </p> + <p> + “Difference!” she exclaimed sharply, “it makes a considerable difference. + Perhaps not to you, but to the lady. What coloring is she?” + </p> + <p> + “C-coloring? She's white.” + </p> + <p> + His companion turned her back on him. + </p> + <p> + “What size is she?” + </p> + <p> + “A-about that size,” said Jethro, pointing to a model. + </p> + <p> + “About! about!” she ejaculated, and then she faced him. “Now look here, my + friend,” she said vigorously, “there's something very mysterious about all + this. You look like a good man, but you may be a very wicked one for all I + know. I've lived long enough to discover that appearances, especially + where your sex is concerned, are deceitful. Unless you are willing 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, no evasions. I can + detect the truth pretty well when I hear it.” + </p> + <p> + Unexpected as it was, Jethro gave back a step or two before this onslaught + of feminine virtue, and the movement did not tend to raise him in the + lady's esteem. He felt that he would rather face General Grant a thousand + times than this person. She was, indeed, preparing to sweep away when + there came a familiar tap-tap behind them on the bare floor, and he turned + to behold Ephraim hobbling toward them with the aid of his green umbrella, + Cynthia by his side. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's Uncle Jethro,” cried Cynthia, looking at him and the lady in + astonishment, and then with equal astonishment at the models. “What in the + world are you doing here?” Then a light seemed to dawn on her. + </p> + <p> + “You frauds! So this is what you were whispering about! This is the way + Cousin Ephraim buys his shirts!” + </p> + <p> + “C-Cynthy,” said Jethro, apologetically, “d-don't you think you ought to + have a nice city dress for that supper party?” + </p> + <p> + “So you're ashamed of my country clothes, are you?” she asked gayly. + </p> + <p> + “W-want you to have the best, Cynthy,” he replied. “I-I-meant to have it + all chose and bought when you come, but I got into a kind of argument with + this lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Argument!” exclaimed the lady. But she did not seem displeased. She had + been 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 be + glad to help you. Your uncle may be sensible enough in other matters, but + I tell him frankly he is out of place here. Let him go away and sit down + somewhere with the other gentleman, and we'll get the dress between us, if + he'll tell us how much to pay.” + </p> + <p> + “P-pay anything, so's you get it,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro, do you really want it so much?” + </p> + <p> + It must not be thought that Cynthia did not wish for a dress, too. But the + sense of dependence on Jethro and the fear of straining his purse never + quite wore off. So Jethro and Ephraim took to a bench at some distance, + and at last a dress was chosen—not one of the gorgeous models Jethro + had picked out, but a pretty, simple, girlish gown which Cynthia herself + had liked and of which the lady highly approved. Not content with helping + to choose it, the lady must satisfy herself that it fit, which it did + perfectly. And so Cynthia was transformed into a city person, though her + skin glowed with a health with which few city people are blessed. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” said the lady, still staring at her, “you look very well. I + should scarcely have supposed it.” Cynthia took the remark in good part, + for she thought the lady a character, which she was. “I hope you will + remember that we women were created for a higher purpose than mere beauty. + The Lord gave us brains, and meant that we should use them. If you have a + good mind, as I believe you have, learn to employ it for the betterment of + your sex, for the time of our emancipation is at hand.” Having delivered + this little lecture, the lady continued to stare at her with keen eyes. + “You look very much like someone I used to love when I was younger. What + is your name.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia Wetherell.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia Wetherell? Was your mother Cynthia Ware, from Coniston?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cynthia, amazed. + </p> + <p> + In an instant the strange lady had risen and had taken Cynthia in her + embrace, new dress and all. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” she said, “I thought your face had a familiar look. It was your + mother I knew and loved. I'm Miss Lucretia Penniman.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lucretia Penniman! Could this be, indeed, the authoress of the “Hymn + to Coniston,” of whom Brampton was so proud? The Miss Lucretia Penniman + who sounded the first clarion note for the independence of American women, + the friend of Bryant and Hawthorne and Longfellow? Cynthia had indeed + heard of her. Did not all Brampton point to the house which had held the + Social Library as to a shrine? + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” said Miss Lucretia, “I have a meeting now of a girls' charity + to which I must go, but you will come to me at the offices of the Woman's + Hour to-morrow morning at ten. I wish to talk to you about your mother and + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia promised, provided they did not leave for Coniston earlier, and in + that event agreed to write. Whereupon Miss Lucretia kissed her again and + hurried off to her meeting. On the way back to the Tremont House Cynthia + related excitedly the whole circumstance to Jethro and Ephraim. Ephraim + had heard of Miss Lucretia, of course. Who had not? But he did not read + the Woman's Hour. Jethro was silent. Perhaps he was thinking of that fresh + summer morning, so long ago, when a girl in a gig had overtaken 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 same Miss Lucretia + Penniman's Social Library. And the book was the “Life of Napoleon + Bonaparte.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro, shall we still be in Boston to-morrow morning?” Cynthia + asked. + </p> + <p> + He roused himself. “Yes,” he said, “yes.” “When are you going home?” + </p> + <p> + He did not answer this simple question, but countered. “Hain't you + enjoyin' yourself, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am,” she declared. But she thought it strange that he would + not tell her when they would be in Coniston. + </p> + <p> + Ephraim did buy a new shirt, and also (in view of the postmastership in + his packet) a new necktie, his old one being slightly frayed. + </p> + <p> + The grandeur of the approaching supper party and the fear of Mrs. Merrill + hung 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 full expected + to be met at the door by that gentleman uttering profuse apologies, which + Ephraim was quite prepared and willing to take in good faith. + </p> + <p> + Nothing of the kind happened, however. Mr. Merrill's railroad being a + modest one, his house was modest likewise. But Ephraim thought it grand + enough, and yet acknowledged a homelike quality in its grandeur. He began + by sitting on the edge of the sofa and staring at the cut-glass + chandelier, but in five minutes he discovered with a shock of surprise + that he was actually leaning back, describing in detail how his regiment + had been cheered as they marched through Boston. And incredible as it may + seem, the person whom he was entertaining in this manner was Mrs. Stephen + Merrill herself. Mrs. Merrill was as tall as Mr. Merrill was short. She + wore 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 with a + wonderfully sweet smile. That smile made Ephraim and Jethro feel at home; + and Cynthia, too, who liked Mrs. Merrill the moment she laid eyes on her. + </p> + <p> + Then there were the daughters, Jane and Susan, who welcomed her with a + hospitality truly amazing for city people. Jane was big-boned like her + mother, but Susan was short and plump and merry like her father. Susan + talked and laughed, and Jane sat and listened and smiled, and Cynthia + could not decide which she liked the best. And presently they all went + into the dining room to supper, where there was another chandelier over + the table. There was also real silver, which shone brilliantly on the + white cloth—but there was nothing to eat. + </p> + <p> + “Do tell us another story, Mr. Prescott,” said Susan, who had listened to + his last one. + </p> + <p> + The sight of the table, however, had for the moment upset Ephraim, “Get + Jethro to tell you how he took dinner with Jedge Binney,” he said. + </p> + <p> + This suggestion, under the circumstances, might not have been a happy one, + but its lack of appropriateness did not strike Jethro either. He yielded + to the demand. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “I supposed I was goin' to set down same as I would at + home, 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 + and watched 'em—nobody ate anything. Presently I found out that + Binney's wife ran her house same as they run hotels. Pretty soon a couple + of girls come in and put down some food and took it away again before you + had a chance. A-after a while we had coffee, and when I set my cup on the + table, I noticed Mis' Binney looked kind of cross and began whisperin' to + the girls. One of 'em fetched a small plate and took my cup and set it on + the plate. That was all right. I used the plate. + </p> + <p> + “Well, along about next summer Binney had to come to Coniston to see me on + 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 my place I + would, so I asked 'em to stay to dinner. When we set down, I said: 'Now, + Mis' Binney, you and the Judge take right hold, and anything you can't + reach, speak out and we'll wait on you.' And Mis' Binney?' + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said. “She was a little mite scared, I guess. B-begun to + suspect somethin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Mis' Binney,” said I, “y-you can set your cup and sarcer where you've a + mind 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 sarcer + business.'” + </p> + <p> + This story, strange as it may seem, had a great success at Mr. Merrill's + table. Mr. Merrill and his daughter Susan shrieked with laughter when it + was finished, while Mrs. Merrill and Jane enjoyed themselves quite as much + in their quiet way. Even the two neat Irish maids, who were serving the + supper very much as poor Mis' Binney's had been served, were fain to leave + the dining room abruptly, and one of them disgraced herself at sight 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 was pleased to + call the old-fashioned way. All of which goes to prove that table-silver + and cut glass chandeliers do not invariably make their owners heartless + and inhospitable. And Ephraim, whose plan of campaign had been to eat + nothing to speak of and have a meal when he got back to the hotel, found + that he wasn't hungry when he arose from the table. + </p> + <p> + There was much bantering of Jethro by Mr. Merrill, which the ladies did + not understand—talk of a mighty coalition of the big railroads which + was to 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 the other, + gathered that Jethro had been struggling with the railroads, and was + sooner or later to engage in a mightier struggle with them. How, she asked + herself in her innocence, was any one, even Uncle Jethro, to struggle with + a railroad? Many other people in these latter days have asked themselves + that very question. + </p> + <p> + All together the evening at Mr. Merrill's passed off so quickly and so + happily that Ephraim was dismayed when he discovered that it was ten + o'clock, and he began to make elaborate apologies to the ladies. But + Jethro and Mr. Merrill were still closeted together in the dining room: + once Mrs. Merrill had been called to that conference, and had returned + after a while to take her place quietly again among the circle of + Ephraim's listeners. Now Mr. Merrill came out of the dining room alone. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” he said, and his tone was a little more grave than usual, “your + Uncle Jethro wants to speak to you.” + </p> + <p> + 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 that + brought out the lines of his face so strongly? Cynthia did not know, but + she crossed the room swiftly and sat down beside him. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Uncle Jethro?” + </p> + <p> + “C-Cynthy,” he said, putting his hand over hers on the table, “I want you + to do something for me er—for me,” he repeated, emphasizing the last + word. + </p> + <p> + “I'll do anything in the world for you, Uncle Jethro,” she answered; “you + know that. What—what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “L-like Mr. Merrill, don't you?” “Yes, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “L-like Mrs. Merrill—like the gals—don't you?” “Very much,” + said Cynthia, perplexedly. + </p> + <p> + “Like 'em enough to—to live with 'em a winter?” + </p> + <p> + “Live with them a winter!” + </p> + <p> + “C-Cynthy, I want you should stay in Boston this winter and go to a young + ladies' school.” + </p> + <p> + It was out. He had said it, though he never quite knew where he had found + the courage. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro!” she cried. She could only look at him in dismay, but the + tears came into her eyes and sparkled. + </p> + <p> + “You—you'll be happy here, Cynthy. It'll be a change for you. And I + shan't be so lonesome as you'd think. I'll—I'll be busy this winter, + Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + “You know that I wouldn't leave you, Uncle Jethro,” she said + reproachfully. “I should be lonesome, if you wouldn't. You would be + lonesome—you know you would be.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll do this for me, Cynthy. S-said you would, didn't you—said + you would?” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you want me to do this?” + </p> + <p> + “W-want you to go to school for a winter, Cynthy. Shouldn't think I'd done + right by you if I didn't.” + </p> + <p> + “But I have been to school. Daddy taught me a lot, and Mr. Satterlee has + taught me a great deal more. I know as much as most girls of my age, and I + will study so hard in Coniston this winter, if that is what you want. I've + never neglected my lessons, Uncle Jethro.” + </p> + <p> + “Tain't book-larnin'—'tain't what you'd get in book larnin' in + Boston, Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + “What, then?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Jethro, “they'd teach you to be a lady, Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + “A lady!” + </p> + <p> + “Your father come of good people, and—and your mother was a lady. + I'm only a rough old man, Cynthy, and I don't know much about the ways of + fine folks. But you've got it in ye, and I want you should be equal to the + best of 'em: You can. And I shouldn't die content unless I'd felt that + you'd had the chance. Er—Cynthy—will you do it for me?” + </p> + <p> + She was silent a long while before she turned to him, and then the tears + were running very swiftly down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will do it for you,” she answered. “Uncle Jethro, I believe you + are the best man, in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “D-don't say that, Cynthy—d-don't say that,” he exclaimed, and a + sharp agony was in his voice. He got to his feet and went to the folding + doors and opened them. “Steve!” he called, “Steve!” + </p> + <p> + “S-says she'll stay, Steve.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill had come in, followed by his wife. Cynthia saw them but dimly + through her tears. And while she tried to wipe the tears away she felt + Mrs. Merrill's arm about her, and heard that lady say:—“We'll try to + make you very happy, my dear, and send you back safely in the spring.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + An attempt will be made in these pages to set down such incidents which + alone may be vital to this chronicle, now so swiftly running on. The + reasons why Mr. Merrill was willing to take Cynthia into his house must + certainly be clear to the reader. In the first place, he was under very + heavy obligations to Jethro Bass for many favors; in the second place, Mr. + Merrill had a real affection for Jethro, which, strange as it may seem to + some, was quite possible; and in the third place, Mr. Merrill had taken a + fancy to Cynthia, and he had never forgotten the unintentional wrong he + had done William Wetherell. Mr. Merrill was a man of impulses, and + generally of good impulses. Had he not himself urged upon Jethro the + arrangement, it would never have come about. Lastly, he had invited + Cynthia to his house that his wife might inspect her, and Mrs. Merrill's + verdict had been instant and favorable—a verdict not given in words. + A single glance was sufficient, for these good people so understood each + other that Mrs. Merrill had only to raise her eyes to her husband's, and + this she did shortly after the supper party began; while she was pouring + the coffee, to be exact. Thus the compact that Cynthia was to spend the + winter in their house was ratified. + </p> + <p> + There was, first of all, the parting with Jethro and the messages with + which he and Ephraim were laden for the whole village and town of + Coniston. It was very hard, that parting, and need not be dwelt upon. + Ephraim waved his blue handkerchief as the train pulled out, but Jethro + stood on the platform, silent and motionless: more eloquent in his sorrow—so + Mr. Merrill thought—than any human being he had ever known. Mr. + Merrill wondered if Jethro's sorrow were caused by this parting alone; he + believed it was not, and suddenly guessed at the true note of it. Having + come by chance upon the answer to the riddle, Mr. Merrill stood still with + his hand on the carriage door and marvelled that he had not seen it all + sooner. He was a man to take to heart the troubles of his friends. A + subtle change had indeed come over Jethro, and he was not the same man Mr. + Merrill had known for many years. Would others, the men with whom Jethro + contended and the men he commanded, mark this change? And what effect + would it have on the conflict for the mastery of a state which was to be + waged from now on? + </p> + <p> + “Father,” said his daughter Susan, “if you don't get in and close the + door, we'll drive off and leave you standing on the sidewalk.” + </p> + <p> + Thus Cynthia went to her new friends in their own carriage. Mrs. Merrill + was 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 give no + trouble, and yet she never had the air of a dependent or a beneficiary; + but held her head high, and when called upon gave an opinion as though she + had a right to it. The very first morning Susan, who was prone to be late + to breakfast, came down in a great state of excitement and laughter. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think Cynthia's done, Mother?” she cried. “I went into her + room a while ago, and it was all swept and aired, and she was making up + the bed.” + </p> + <p> + “That's an excellent plan,” said Mrs. Merrill, “tomorrow morning you three + girls will have a race to see who makes up her room first.” + </p> + <p> + It is needless to say that the race at bed-making never came off, Susan + and Jane having pushed Cynthia into a corner as soon as breakfast was + over, and made certain forcible representations which she felt bound to + respect, and a treaty was drawn up and faithfully carried out, between the + three, that she was to do her own room if necessary to her happiness. The + chief gainer by the arrangement was the chambermaid. + </p> + <p> + Odd as it may seem, the Misses Merrill lived amicably enough with Cynthia. + It is a difficult matter to force an account of the relationship of five + people living in one house into a few pages, but the fact that the + Merrills had large hearts makes this simpler. There are few families who + 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 be + introduced. The sisters quarrelled among themselves as all sisters will, + and sometimes quarrelled with Cynthia. But oftener they made her the + arbiter of their disputes, and asked her advice on certain matters. + Especially was this true of Susan, whom certain young gentlemen from + Harvard College called upon more or less frequently, and Cynthia had all + of Susan's love affairs—including the current one—by heart in + a very short time. + </p> + <p> + As for Cynthia, there were many subjects on which she had to take the + advice of the sisters. They did not criticise the joint creations of + herself and Miss Sukey Kittredge as frankly as Janet Duncan had done; but + Jethro had left in Mrs. Merrill's hands a certain sufficient sum for new + dresses for Cynthia, and in due time the dresses were got and worn. To do + them justice, the sisters were really sincere in their rejoicings over the + very wonderful transformation which they had been chiefly instrumental in + effecting. + </p> + <p> + It is not a difficult task to praise a heroine, and one that should be + indulged in but charily. But let some little indulgence be accorded this + particular heroine by reason of the life she had led, and the situation in + which she now found herself: a poor Coniston girl, dependent on one who + was not her father, though she loved him as a father; beholden to these + good people who dwelt in a world into which she had no reasonable + expectations of entering, and which, to tell the truth, she now feared. + </p> + <p> + It was inevitable that Cynthia should be brought into contact with many + friends and relations of the family. Some of these noticed and admired + her; others did neither; others gossiped about Mrs. Merrill behind her + back at her own dinners and sewing circles and wondered what folly could + have induced her to bring the girl into her house. But Mrs. Merrill, like + many generous people who do not stop to calculate a kindness, was always + severely criticised. + </p> + <p> + And then there were Jane's and Susan's friends, in and out of Miss + Sadler's school. For Mrs. Merrill's influence had been sufficient to + induce Miss Sadler to take Cynthia as a day scholar with her own + daughters. This, be it known, was a great concession on the part of Miss + Sadler, who regarded Cynthia's credentials as dubious enough; and her + young ladies were inclined to regard them so, likewise. Some of these + young ladies came from other cities,—New York and Philadelphia and + elsewhere,—and their fathers and mothers were usually people to be + mentioned as a matter of course—were, indeed, frequently so + mentioned by Miss Sadler, especially when a visitor called at the school. + </p> + <p> + “Isabel, I saw that your mother sailed for Europe yesterday,” or, “Sally, + your father tells me he is building a gallery for his collection.” Then to + the visitor, “You know the Broke house in Washington Square, of course.” + </p> + <p> + Of course the visitor did. But Sally or Isabel would often imitate Miss + Sadler behind her back, showing how well they understood her snobbishness. + </p> + <p> + Miss Sadler was by no means the type which we have come to recognize in + the cartoons as the Boston school ma'am. She was a little, round person + with 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 instruction + went, her scholars were equally well cared for, whether they hailed from + Washington Square or Washington Court House. There were, indeed, none from + such rural sorts of places—except Cynthia. But Miss Sadler did not + take her hand on the opening day—or afterward—and ask her + about Uncle Jethro. Oh, no. Miss Sadler had no interest for great men who + did not sail for Europe or add picture galleries on to their houses. + Cynthia laughed, a little bitterly, perhaps, at the thought of a picture + gallery being added to the tannery house. And she told herself stoutly + that Uncle Jethro was a greater man than any of the others, even if Miss + Sadler did not see fit to mention him. So she had her first taste of a + kind of wormwood that is very common in the world though it did not grow + in Coniston. + </p> + <p> + For a while after Cynthia's introduction to the school she was calmly + ignored by many of the young ladies there, and once openly—snubbed, + to use the word in its most disagreeable sense. Not that she gave any of + them any real cause to snub her. She did not intrude her own affairs upon + them, but she was used to conversing kindly with the people about her as + equals, and for this offence; on the third day, Miss Sally Broke snubbed + her. It is hard not to make a heroine of Cynthia, not to be able to relate + that she instantly put Miss Sally's nose out of joint. Susan Merrill tried + to do that, and failed signally, for Miss Sally's nose was not easily + dislodged. Susan fought more than one of Cynthia's battles. As a matter of + fact, Cynthia did not know that she had been affronted until that evening. + She did not tell her friends how she spent the night yearning fiercely for + Coniston and Uncle Jethro, at times weeping for them, if the truth be + told; how she had risen before the dawn to write a letter, and to lay some + things in the rawhide trunk. The letter was never sent, and the packing + never finished. Uncle Jethro wished her to stay and to learn to be a lady, + and stay she would, in spite of Miss Broke and the rest of them. She went + to school the next day, and for many days and weeks thereafter, and held + communion with the few alone who chose to treat her pleasantly. + Unquestionably this is making a heroine of Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + If young men are cruel in their schools, what shall be written of young + women? It would be better to say that both are thoughtless. Miss Sally + Broke, strange as it may seem, had a heart, and many of the other young + ladies whose fathers sailed for Europe and owned picture galleries; but + these young ladies were absorbed, especially after vacation, in affairs of + which a girl from Coniston had no part. Their friends were not her + friends, their amusements not her amusements, and their talk not her talk. + But Cynthia watched them, as was her duty, and gradually absorbed many + things which are useful if not essential—outward observances of + which the world takes cognizance, and which she had been sent there by + Uncle Jethro to learn. Young people of Cynthia's type and nationality are + the most adaptable in the world. + </p> + <p> + Before the December snows set in Cynthia had made one firm friend, at + least, in Boston; outside of the Merrill family. That friend was Miss + Lucretia Penniman, editress of the Woman's Hour. Miss Lucretia lived in + the queerest and quaintest of the little houses tucked away under the + hill, with the back door a story higher than the fronts an arrangement + which in summer enabled the mistress to walk out of her sitting-room + windows into a little walled garden. In winter that sitting room was the + sunniest, cosiest room in the city, and Cynthia spent many hours there, + reading or listening to the wisdom that fell from the lips of Miss + Lucretia or her guests. The sitting room had uneven, yellow-white + panelling that fairly shone with enamel, mahogany bookcases filled with + authors who had chosen to comply with Miss Lucretia's somewhat rigorous + censorship; there was a table laden with such magazines as had to do with + the uplifting of a sex, a delightful wavy floor covered with a rose + carpet; and, needless to add, not a pin or a pair of scissors out of place + in the whole apartment. + </p> + <p> + There is no intention of enriching these pages with Miss Lucretia's + homilies. Their subject-matter may be found in the files of the Woman's + Hour. She did not always preach, although many people will not believe + this statement. Miss Lucretia, too, had a heart, though she kept it hidden + away, only to be brought out on occasions when she was sure of its + appreciation, and she grew strangely interested in this self-contained + girl from Coniston whose mother she had known. Miss Lucretia understood + Cynthia, who also was the kind who kept her heart hidden, the kind who + conceal their troubles and sufferings because they find it difficult to + give them out. So Miss Lucretia had Cynthia to take supper with her at + least once in the week, and watched her quietly, and let her speak of as + much of her life as she chose—which was not much, at first. But Miss + Lucretia was content to wait, and guessed at many things which Cynthia did + not tell her, and made some personal effort, unknown to Cynthia, to find + 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 that Miss + Lucretia should recognize in every young woman of spirit and brains a + possible recruit for the cause. + </p> + <p> + It has now been shown in some manner and as briefly as possible how + Cynthia's life had changed, and what it had become. We have got her partly + through the winter, and find her still dreaming of the sparkling snow on + Coniston and of the wind whirling it on clear, cold days like smoke among + the spruces; of Uncle Jethro sitting by his stove through the long + evenings all alone; of Rias in his store and Moses Hatch and Lem + Hallowell, and Cousin Ephraim in his new post-office. Uncle Jethro wrote + for the first time in his life—letters: short letters, but in his + own handwriting, and deserving of being read for curiosity's sake if there + were time. The wording was queer enough and guarded enough, but they were + charged with a great affection which clung to them like lavender. + </p> + <p> + And Cynthia kept them every one, and read them over on such occasions when + she felt that she could not live another minute out of sight of her + mountain. + </p> + <p> + Such was the state of affairs one gray afternoon in December when Cynthia, + who was sitting in Mrs. Merrill's parlor, suddenly looked up from her book + to discover that two young men were in the room. The young men were + apparently quite as much surprised as she, and the parlor maid stood + grinning behind them. + </p> + <p> + “Tell Miss Susan and Miss Jane, Ellen,” said Cynthia, preparing to depart. + One of the young men she recognized from a photograph on Susan's bureau. + He was, for the time being, Susan's. His name, although it does not matter + much, was Morton Browne, and he would have been considerably astonished if + he had guessed how much of his history Cynthia knew. It was Mr. Browne's + habit to take Susan for a walk as often as propriety permitted, and on + such occasions he generally brought along a good-natured classmate to take + care of Jane. This, apparently, was one of the occasions. Mr. Browne was + tall and dark and generally good-looking, while his friends were usually + distinguished for their good nature. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Browne stood between her and the door and looked at her rather + fixedly. Then he said:—“Excuse me.” + </p> + <p> + A great many friendships, and even love affairs, have been inaugurated by + just such an opening. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Cynthia, and tried to pass out. But Mr. Browne had no + intention of allowing her to do so if he could help it. + </p> + <p> + “I hope I am not intruding,” he said politely. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” answered Cynthia, wondering how she could get by him. + </p> + <p> + “Were you waiting for Miss Merrill?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Cynthia again. + </p> + <p> + The other young man turned his back and became absorbed in the picture of + a lion getting ready to tear a lady to pieces. But Mr. Browne was of that + mettle which is not easily baffled in such matters. He introduced himself, + and desired to know whom he had the honor of addressing. Cynthia could not + but enlighten him. Mr. Browne was greatly astonished, and showed it. + </p> + <p> + “So you are the mysterious young lady who has been staying here in the + house 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 it + true that you come from—Coniston?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Let me see—where is Coniston?” inquired Mr. Browne. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where Brampton is?” asked Cynthia. “Coniston is near + Brampton.” + </p> + <p> + “Brampton!” exclaimed Mr. Browne, “I have a classmate who comes from + Brampton—Bob Worthington—You must know Bob, then.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, Cynthia knew Mr. Worthington. + </p> + <p> + “His father's got a mint of money, they say. I've been told that old + Worthington was the whole show up in those parts. Is that true?” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + Not quite! Mr. Morton Browne eyed her in surprise, and from that moment + she began to have decided possibilities. Just then Jane and Susan entered + arrayed for the walk, but Mr. Browne showed himself in no hurry to depart: + 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 his friend prepared + to sit down when Cynthia moved toward the door. + </p> + <p> + “You're not going, Cynthia!” cried Susan, in a voice that may have had a + little too much eagerness in it. “You must stay and help us entertain Mr. + Browne.” (Mr. King, apparently, was not to be entertained.) “We've tried + so hard to make her come down when people called, Mr. Browne, but she + never would.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia was not skilled in the art of making excuses. She hesitated for + one, 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 how + he accomplished this manoeuvre Cynthia could not have said, so skilfully + and gradually was it done. For lack of a better subject he chose Mr. + Robert Worthington. Related, for Cynthia's delectation, several of Bob's + escapades in his freshman year: silly escapades enough, but very bold and + daring and original they sounded to Cynthia, who listened (if Mr. Browne + could have known it) with almost breathless interest, and forgot all about + poor Susan talking to Mr. King. Did Mr. Worthington still while away his + evenings stealing barber poles and being chased around Cambridge by irate + policemen? Mr. Browne laughed at the notion. O dear, no! seniors never + descended to that. Had not Miss Wetherell heard the song wherein seniors + were designated as grave and reverend? Yes, Miss Wetherell had heard the + song. She did not say where, or how. Mr. Worthington, said his classmate, + had become very serious-minded this year. Was captain of the base-ball + team and already looking toward the study of law. + </p> + <p> + “Study law!” exclaimed Cynthia, “I thought he would go into his father's + mills.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know Bob very well?” asked Mr. Browne. + </p> + <p> + She admitted that she did not. + </p> + <p> + “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 not + undermine a classmate, although he had other rules of conduct which might + eventually require a little straightening out. “Worthy's a first-rate + fellow, 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 come + pretty near being suspended once or twice.” + </p> + <p> + 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, and Mr. + Merrill walked in. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” he said, spying Cynthia, “so you have got Cynthia to come + down and entertain the young men at last.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Susan, “we have got Cynthia to come down at last.” + </p> + <p> + 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 prominent + position it had occupied. If Susan had carried out a plan which she + conceived in a moment of folly of placing that photograph on Cynthia's + bureau, there would undoubtedly have been a quarrel. Cynthia's own + feelings—seeing that Mr. Browne had not dazzled her—were not—enviable. + </p> + <p> + But she held her peace, which indeed was all she could do, and the next + time Mr. Browne called, though he took care to mention her name + particularly at the door, she would not go down to entertain him: though + Susan implored and Jane appealed, she would not go down. Mr. Browne called + several times again, with the same result. Cynthia was inexorable—she + would have none of him. Then Susan forgave her. There was no quarrel, + indeed, but there was a reconciliation, which is the best part of a + quarrel. There were tears, of Susan's shedding; there was a + character-sketch of Mr. Browne, of Susan's drawing, and that gentleman + flitted lightly out of Susan's life. + </p> + <p> + 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. Robert + Worthington. Cynthia stared at it, and bent it in her fingers, while Ellen + explained how the gentleman had begged that she might see him. To tell the + truth, Cynthia had wondered more than once why he had not come before, and + smiled when she thought of all the assurances of undying devotion she had + heard in Washington. After all, she reflected, why should she not see him—once? + He might give her news of Brampton and Coniston. Thus willingly deceiving + herself, she told Ellen that she would go down: much to the girl's + delight, for Cynthia was a favorite in the house. + </p> + <p> + 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 old impetuous way, + and stopped and looked at her in surprise. She herself did not grasp the + reason for this. + </p> + <p> + “Can it be possible,” he said, “can it be possible that this is my friend + from the country?” And he took her hand with the greatest formality, + pressed it the least little bit, and released it. “How do you do, Miss + Wetherell? Do you remember me?” + </p> + <p> + “How do you do—Bob,” she answered, laughing in spite of herself at + his banter. “You haven't changed, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “It was Mr. Worthington in Washington,” said he. “Now it is 'Bob' and + 'Miss Wetherell.' Rank patronage! How did you do it, Cynthia?” + </p> + <p> + “You are like all men,” said Cynthia, “you look at the clothes, and not + the woman. They are not very fine clothes; but if they were much finer, + they wouldn't change me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it must be Miss Sadler.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Sadler would willingly change me—if she could,” said Cynthia, + a little bitterly. “How did you find out I was at Miss Sadler's?” + </p> + <p> + “Morton Browne told me yesterday,” said Bob. “I felt like punching his + head.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he tell you?” she asked with some concern. + </p> + <p> + “He said that you were here, visiting the Merrills, among other things, + and said that you knew me.” + </p> + <p> + The “other things” Mr. Browne had said were interesting, but flippant. He + had seen Bob at a college club and declared that he had met a witch of a + country girl at the Merrills. He couldn't make her out, because she had + refused to see him every time he called again. He had also repeated + Cynthia's remark about Bob's father not being quite the biggest man in his + part of the country, and ventured the surmise that she was the daughter of + a rival mill owner. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you let me know you were in Boston?” said Bob, reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I?” asked Cynthia, and she could not resist adding, “Didn't + you find it out when you went to Brampton—to see me?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, getting fiery red, “the fact is—I didn't go to + Brampton.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you were sensible enough to take my advice, though I suppose + that didn't make any difference. But—from the way you spoke, I + should have thought nothing could have kept you away.” + </p> + <p> + “To tell you the truth,” said Bob, “I'd promised to visit a fellow named + Broke 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. But + if I'd thought you'd see me, I should have gone to Brampton, anyway. You + were so down on me in Washington.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + He caught the little note of coolness in her voice. Cynthia was asking + herself whether, if Mr. Browne had not seen fit to give a good report of + her, he would have come at all. He would have come, certainly. It is to be + hoped that Bob Worthington's attitude up to this time toward Cynthia has + been sufficiently defined by his conversation and actions. There had been + nothing serious about it. But there can be no question that Mr. Browne's + openly expressed admiration had enhanced her value in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “There's no girl in Boston that I care a rap for,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I'm relieved to hear it,” said Cynthia, with feeling. + </p> + <p> + “Are you really?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you expect me to be, when you said it?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed uncomfortably. + </p> + <p> + “You've learned more than one thing since you've been in the city,” he + remarked, “I suppose there are a good many fellows who come here all the + time.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there are,” she said demurely. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he remarked, “you've changed a lot in three months. I always + thought that, if you had a chance, there'd be no telling where you'd end + up.” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn't sound very complimentary,” said Cynthia. She had, indeed, + changed. “In what terrible place do you think I'll end up?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you'll marry one of these Boston men.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she laughed, “that wouldn't be so terrible, would it?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you're engaged to one of 'em now,” he remarked, looking very + hard at her. + </p> + <p> + “If you believed that, I don't think you would say it,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “I can't make you out. You used to be so frank with me, and now you're not + at all so. Are you going to Coniston for the holidays?” + </p> + <p> + Her face fell at the question. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bob,” she cried, surprising him utterly by a glimpse of the real + Cynthia, “I wish I were—I wish I were! But I don't dare to.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't dare to?” + </p> + <p> + “If I went, I should' never come back—never. I should stay with + Uncle Jethro. He's so lonesome up there, and I'm so lonesome down here, + without him. And I promised him faithfully I'd stay a whole winter at + school in Boston.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” said Bob, in a strange voice as he leaned toward her, “do you—do + you care for him as much as all that?” + </p> + <p> + “Care for him?” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Care for—for Uncle Jethro?” + </p> + <p> + “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 had + better reason to care for a person. My father failed when he came to + Coniston—he was not meant for business, and Uncle Jethro took care + of him all his life, and paid his debts. And he has taken care of me and + given me everything that a girl could wish. Very few people know what a + fine character Uncle Jethro has,” continued Cynthia, carried away as she + was by the pent-up flood of feeling within her. “I know what he has done + for others, and I should love him for that even if he never had done + anything for me.” + </p> + <p> + Bob was silent. He was, in the first place, utterly amazed at this + outburst, revealing as it did a depth of passionate feeling in the girl + which he had never suspected, and which thrilled him. It was unlike her, + for she was usually so self-repressed; and, being unlike her, accentuated + both sides of her character the more. + </p> + <p> + But what was he to say of the defence of Jethro Bass? Bob was not a young + man who had pondered much over the problems of life, because these + problems 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 endure + between 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 her youth + and innocence? + </p> + <p> + Bob had not been nearly four years at college without learning something + of the world; and it had not needed the lecture from his father, which he + got upon leaving Washington, to inform him of Jethro's political + practices. He had argued soundly with his father on that occasion, having + the courage to ask Mr. Worthington in effect whether he did not sanction + his underlings to use the same tools as Jethro used. Mr. Worthington was + righteously angry, and declared that Jethro had inaugurated those + practices in the state, and had to be fought with his own weapons. But Mr. + Worthington had had the sense at that time not to mention Cynthia's name. + He hoped and believed that that affair was not serious, and merely a + boyish fancy—as indeed it was. + </p> + <p> + It remains to be said, however, that the lecture had not been without its + effect upon Bob. Jethro Bass, after all, was—Jethro Bass. All his + life Bob had heard him familiarly and jokingly spoken of as the boss of + the state, 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 not + refined tales. Jethro Bass as the boss of the state—with the + tolerance with which the public in general regard politics—was one + thing. Bob was willing to call him “Uncle Jethro,” admire his great + strength and shrewdness, and declare that the men he had outwitted had + richly deserved it. But Jethro Bass as the ward of Cynthia Wetherell was + quite another thing. + </p> + <p> + 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 Coniston + and the life of Coniston cheerfully. But Bob reflected, as he walked back + to his rooms in the dark through the snow-laden streets, that Cynthia, + young though she might be, possessed principles from which no love would + sway her a hair's breadth. How, indeed, was she to live with Jethro once + her eyes were opened? + </p> + <p> + The thought made him angry, but returned to him persistently during the + days that followed,—in the lecture room, in the gymnasium, in his + own study, where he spent more time than formerly. By these tokens it will + be perceived that Bob, too, had changed a little. And the sight of Cynthia + in Mrs. Merrill's parlor had set him to thinking in a very different + manner than the sight of her in Washington had affected him. Bob had + managed to shift the subject from Jethro, not without an effort, though he + had done it in that merry, careless manner which was so characteristic of + him. He had talked of many things,—his college life, his friends,—and + laughed at her questions about his freshman escapades. But when at length, + at twilight, he had risen to go, he had taken both her hands and looked + down into her face with a very different expression than she had seen him + wear before—a much more serious expression, which puzzled her. It + was not the look of a lover, nor yet that of a man who imagines himself in + love. With either of these her instinct would have told her how to deal. + It was more the look of a friend, with much of the masculine spirit of + protection in it. + </p> + <p> + “May I come to see you again?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Gently she released her hands, and she did not answer at once. She went to + the window, and stared across the sloping street at the grilled railing + before the big house opposite, thinking. Her reason told her that he + should not come, but her spirit rebelled against that reason. It was a + pleasure to see him, so she freely admitted to herself. Why should she not + have that pleasure? If the truth be told, she had argued it all out + before, when she had wondered whether he would come. Mrs. Merrill, she + thought, would not object to his coming. But—there was the question + she had meant to ask him. + </p> + <p> + “Bob,” she said, turning to him, “Bob, would your father want you to + come?” + </p> + <p> + It was growing dark, and she could scarcely see his face. He hesitated, + but he did not attempt to evade the question. + </p> + <p> + “No, he would not,” he answered. And added, with a good deal of force and + dignity: “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 different + light.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia felt that this was not quite true. She smiled a little sadly. + </p> + <p> + “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 Uncle + Jethro?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bob. She was making it terribly hard for him, sparing indeed + neither herself nor him. + </p> + <p> + “If you come here to see me, it will cause a quarrel between you and your + father. I—I cannot do that.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing wrong in my seeing you,” said Bob, stoutly; “if he cares + to quarrel with me for that, I cannot help it. If the people I choose for + my friends are good people, he has no right to an objection, even though + he is my father.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia had never come so near real admiration for him as at that moment. + </p> + <p> + “No, Bob, you must not come,” she said. “I will not have you quarrel with + him on my account.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will quarrel with him on my own account,” he had answered. + “Good-by. You may expect me this day week.” + </p> + <p> + He went into the hall to put on his overcoat. Cynthia stood still on the + spot of the carpet where he had left her. He put his head in at the door. + </p> + <p> + “This day week,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Bob, you must not come,” she answered. But the street door closed after + him as he spoke. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + “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?” Her knowledge + of the motives of the men and women in the greater world was largely + confined to that which she had gathered from novels—not trashy + novels, but those by standard authors of English life. And many another + girl of nineteen has taken a novel for a guide when she has been suddenly + confronted with the first great problem outside of her experience. + Somebody has declared that there are only seven plots in the world. There + are many parallels in English literature to Cynthia's position,—so + far as she was able to define that position,—the wealthy young peer, + the parson's or physician's daughter, and the worldly, inexorable parents + who had other plans. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia was, of course, foolish. She would not look ahead, yet there was + the mirage in the sky when she allowed herself to dream. It can truthfully + be said that she was not in love with Bob Worthington. She felt, rather + than knew, that if love came to her the feeling she had for Jethro Bass—strong + though that was—would be as nothing to it. The girl felt the + intensity of her nature, and shrank from it when her thoughts ran that + way, for it frightened her. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Merrill” she said, a few days later, when she found herself alone + with that lady, “you once told me you would have no objection if a friend + came to see me here.” + </p> + <p> + “None whatever, my dear,” answered Mrs. Merrill. “I have asked you to have + your friends here.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Merrill knew that a young man had called on Cynthia. The girls had + discussed the event excitedly, had teased Cynthia about it; they had + discovered, moreover, that the young man had not been a tiller of the soil + or a clerk in a country store. Ellen, with the enthusiasm of her race, had + painted him in glowing colors—but she had neglected to read the name + on his card. + </p> + <p> + “Bob Worthington came to see me last week, and he wants to come again. He + lives in Brampton,” Cynthia explained, “and is at Harvard College.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Merrill was decidedly surprised. She went on with her sewing, + however, and did not betray the fact. She knew of Dudley Worthington as + one of the richest and most important men in his state; she had heard her + husband speak of him often; but she had never meddled with politics and + railroad affairs. + </p> + <p> + “By all means let him come, Cynthia,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Merrill got home that evening she spoke of the matter to him. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia is a strange character,” she said. “Sometimes I can't understand + her—she seems so much older than our girls, Stephen. Think of her + keeping this to herself for four days!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill laughed, but he went off to a little writing room he had and + sat for a long time looking into the glowing coals. Then he laughed again. + Mr. Merrill was a philosopher. After all, he could not forbid Dudley + Worthington's son coming to his house, nor did he wish to. + </p> + <p> + That same evening Cynthia wrote a letter and posted it. She found it a + very difficult letter to write, and almost as difficult to drop into the + mail-box. She reflected that the holidays were close at hand, and then he + would go to Brampton and forget, even as he had forgotten before. And she + determined when Wednesday afternoon came around that she would take a long + walk in the direction of Brookline. Cynthia loved these walks, for she + sadly missed the country air,—and they had kept the color in her + cheeks and the courage in her heart that winter. She had amazed the + Merrill girls by the distances she covered, and on more than one occasion + she had trudged many miles to a spot from which there was a view of Blue + Hills. They reminded her faintly of Coniston. + </p> + <p> + Who can speak or write with any certainty of the feminine character, or + declare what unexpected twists perversity and curiosity may give to it? + Wednesday afternoon came, and Cynthia did not go to Brookline. She put on + her coat, and took it off again. Would he dare to come in the face of the + mandate he had received? If he did come, she wouldn't see him. Ellen had + received her orders. + </p> + <p> + At four o'clock the doorbell rang, and shortly thereafter Ellen appeared, + simpering and apologetic enough, with a card. She had taken the trouble to + read it this time. Cynthia was angry, or thought she was, and her cheeks + were very red. + </p> + <p> + “I told you to excuse me, Ellen. Why did you let him in?” + </p> + <p> + “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 see + me, thin I won't trouble her more.' Thim were his words, Miss.” + </p> + <p> + There he was before the fire, his feet slightly apart and his hands in his + pockets, waiting for her. She got a glimpse of him standing thus, as she + came down the stairs. It was not the attitude of a culprit. Nor did he + bear the faintest resemblance to a culprit as he came up to her in the + doorway. The chief recollection she carried away of that moment was that + his teeth were very white and even when he smiled. He had the impudence to + smile. He had the impudence to seize one of her hands in his, and to hold + aloft a sheet of paper in the other. + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “What do you thick it means?” retorted Cynthia, with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “A summons to stay away,” said Bob, thereby more or less accurately + describing it. “What would you have thought of me if I had not come?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia was not prepared for any such question as this. She had meant to + ask the questions herself. But she never lacked for words to protect + herself. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what I think of you for coming, Bob, for insisting upon + seeing me as you did,” she said, remembering with shame Ellen's account of + that proceeding. “It was very unkind and very thoughtless of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Unkind?” Thus she succeeded in putting him on the defensive. + </p> + <p> + “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 is right. + I shall be blamed for these visits,” she said. The young ladies in the + novels always were. But it was a serious matter for poor Cynthia, and her + voice trembled a little. Her troubles seemed very real. + </p> + <p> + “Who will blame you?” asked Bob, though he knew well enough. Then he + added, seeing that she did not answer: “I don't at all agree with you that + it is best for me not to see you. I know of nobody in the world it does me + more good to see than yourself. Let's sit down and talk it all over,” he + said, for she still remained standing uncompromisingly by the door. + </p> + <p> + The suspicion of a smile came over Cynthia's face. She remembered how + Ellen had been wheedled. Her instinct told her that now was the time to + make a stand or never. + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't do any good, Bob,” she replied, shaking her head; “we talked + it all over last week.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” said he, “we only touched upon a few points last week. We + ought to thrash it out. Various aspects of the matter have occurred to me + which I ought to call to your attention.” + </p> + <p> + He could not avoid this bantering tone, but she saw that he was very much + in earnest too. He realized the necessity of winning; likewise, and he had + got in and meant to stay. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to argue,” said Cynthia. “I've thought it all out.” + </p> + <p> + “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 colder + and more formal letter in my life. You must have taken it from one of Miss + Sadler's copy books.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry I haven't been able to equal the warmth of your other + correspondents,” said Cynthia, smiling at the mention of Miss Sadler. + </p> + <p> + “You've got a good many degrees yet to go,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “I have no idea of doing so,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + If Cynthia had lured him there, and had carefully thought out a plan of + fanning his admiration into a flame, she could not have done better than + to stand obstinately by the door. Nothing appeals to a man like resistance—resistance + for a principle appealed to Bob, although he did not care a fig about that + particular principle. In his former dealings with young women—and + they had not been few—the son of Dudley Worthington had encountered + no resistance worth the mentioning. He looked at the girl before him, and + his blood leaped at the thought of a conquest over her. She was often + demure, but behind that demureness was firmness: she was mistress of + herself, and yet possessed a marvellous vitality. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said Cynthia, “don't you think you had better go?” + </p> + <p> + 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 had not yet + begun to fight. But he did not sit down just yet, because Cynthia remained + standing. + </p> + <p> + “I'm here now,” he said, “what's the good of going away? I might as well + stay the rest of the afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “You will find a photograph album on the table,” said Cynthia, “with + pictures of all the Merrill family and their friends and relations.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of the threat this remark conveyed, he could not help laughing at + it. Mrs. Merrill in her sitting room heard the laugh, and felt that she + would like Bob Worthington. + </p> + <p> + “It's a heavy album, Cynthia,” he said; “perhaps you would hold up one + side of it.” + </p> + <p> + It was Cynthia's turn to laugh. She could not decide whether he were a man + or a boy. Sometimes, she had to admit, he was very much of a man. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Upstairs, of course,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + This was really alarming. But fate thrust a final weapon into his hands. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said he, “I'll look at the album. What time does Mr. Merrill + get home?” + </p> + <p> + “About six,” answered Cynthia. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “When he comes,” said Bob, “I shall put on my most disconsolate + expression. He'll ask me what I'm doing, and I'll tell him you went + upstairs at half-past four and haven't come down. He'll sympathize, I'll + bet anything.” + </p> + <p> + Whether Bob were really capable of doing this, Cynthia could not tell. She + believed he was. Perhaps she really did not intend to go upstairs just + then. To his intense relief she seated herself on a straight-backed chair + near the door, although she had the air of being about to get up again at + any minute. It was not a surrender, not at all—but a parley, at + least. + </p> + <p> + “I really want to talk to you seriously, Bob,” she said, and her voice was + serious. “I like you very much—I always have—and I want you to + listen seriously. All of us have friends. Some people—you, for + instance—have a great many. We have but one father.” Her voice + failed a little at the word. “No friend can ever be the same to you as + your father, 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 shall + be.” + </p> + <p> + Young men seldom arrive at maturity by gradual steps—something sets + them thinking, a week passes, and suddenly the world has a different + aspect. Bob had thought much of his father during that week, and had + considered their relationship very carefully. He had a few precious + memories of his mother before she had been laid to rest under that hideous + and pretentious monument in the Brampton hill cemetery. How unlike her was + that monument! Even as a young boy, when on occasions he had wandered into + the cemetery, he used to stand before it with a lump in his throat and + bitter resentment in his heart, and once he had shaken his fist at it. He + had grown up out of sympathy with his father, but he had never until now + began to analyze the reasons for it. His father had given him everything + except that communion of which Cynthia spoke so feelingly. Mr. Worthington + had acted according to his lights: of all the people in the world he + thought first of his son. But his thoughts and care had been alone of what + the son would be to the world: how that son would carry on the wealth and + greatness of Isaac D. Worthington. + </p> + <p> + Bob had known this before, but it had had no such significance for him + then as now. He was by no means lacking in shrewdness, and as he had grown + older he had perceived clearly enough Mr. Worthington's reasons for + throwing him socially with the Duncans. Mr. Worthington had never been a + plain-spoken man, but he had as much as told his son that it was decreed + that he should marry the heiress of the state. There were other plans + connected with this. Mr. Worthington meant that his son should eventually + own the state itself, for he saw that the man who controlled the highways + of a state could snap his fingers at governor and council and legislature + and judiciary: could, indeed, do more—could own them even more + completely than Jethro Bass now owned them, and without effort. The + dividends would do the work: would canvass the counties and persuade this + man and that with sufficient eloquence. By such tokens it will be seen + that Isaac D. Worthington is destined to become great, though the + greatness will be akin to that possessed by those gentlemen who in past + ages had built castles across the highway between Venice and the North + Sea. All this was in store for Bob Worthington, if he could only be + brought to see it. These things would be given him, if he would but + confine his worship to the god of wealth. + </p> + <p> + We are running ahead, however, of Bob's reflections in Mr. Merrill's + parlor in Mount Vernon Street, and the ceremony of showing him the cities + of his world from Brampton hill was yet to be gone through. Bob knew his + father's plans only in a general way, but in the past week he had come to + know his father with a fair amount of thoroughness. If Isaac D. + Worthington had but chosen a worldly wife, he might have had a more + worldly son. As it was, Bob's thoughts were a little bitter when Cynthia + spoke of his father, and he tried to think instead what his mother would + have him do. He could not, indeed, speak of Mr. Worthington's shortcomings + as he understood them, but he answered Cynthia vigorously enough—even + if his words were not as serious as she desired. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I am old enough to judge for myself, Cynthia,” said he, “and I + 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'm doing + right now, and I mean to listen to it.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia could not but think there was very little self-denial attached to + this. Men are not given largely to self-denial. + </p> + <p> + “It is easy enough to listen to your conscience when you think it impels + you to do that which you want to do, Bob,” she answered, laughing at his + argument in spite of herself. + </p> + <p> + “Are you wicked?” he demanded abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no, I don't think I am,” said Cynthia, taken aback. But she + corrected herself swiftly, perceiving his bent. “I should be doing wrong + to let you come here.” + </p> + <p> + He ignored the qualification. + </p> + <p> + “Are you vain and frivolous?” + </p> + <p> + She remembered that she had looked in the glass before she had come down + to him, and bit her lip. + </p> + <p> + “Are you given over to idle pursuits, to leading young men from their + occupations and duties?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” he cried, “I'll tell you what you are. I'll draw your character + for you, and then, if you can give me one good reason why I should not + associate with you, I'll go away and never come back.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all very well,” said Cynthia, “but suppose I don't admit your + qualifications for drawing my character. And I don't admit them, not for a + minute.” + </p> + <p> + “I will draw it,” said he, standing up in front of her. “Oh, confound it!” + </p> + <p> + This exclamation, astonishing and out of place as it was, was caused by a + ring at the doorbell. The ring was followed by a whispering and giggling + in the hall, and then by the entrance of the Misses Merrill into the + parlor. Curiosity had been too strong for them. Susan was human, and here + was the opportunity for a little revenge. In justice to her, she meant the + revenge to be very slight. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Cynthia, you should have come to the concert,” she said; “it was + fine, wasn't it, Jane? Is this Mr. Worthington? How do you do. I'm Miss + Susan Merrill, and this is Miss Jane Merrill.” Susan only intended to stay + a minute, but how was Bob to know that? She was tempted into staying + longer. Bob lighted the gas, and she inspected him and approved. Her + approval increased when he began to talk to her in his bantering way, as + if he had known her always. Then, when she was fully intending to go, he + rose to take his leave. + </p> + <p> + “I'm awfully glad to have met you at last,” he said to Susan, “I've heard + so much about you.” His leave-taking of Jane was less effusive, and then + he turned to Cynthia and took her hand. “I'm going to Brampton on Friday,” + he said, “for the holidays. I wish you were going.” + </p> + <p> + “We couldn't think of letting her go, Mr. Worthington,” cried Susan, for + the thought of the hills had made Cynthia incapable of answering. “We're + only to have her for one short winter, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” said Mr. Worthington, gravely. “I'll see old Ephraim, and + tell 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm coming to see you the minute I get back and tell you all about + everybody,” said he. + </p> + <p> + How was she to forbid him to come before Susan and Jane! She could only be + silent. + </p> + <p> + “Do come, Mr. Worthington,” said Susan, warmly, wondering at Cynthia's + coldness and, indeed, misinterpreting it. “I am sure she will be glad to + see you. And we shall always make you welcome, at any rate.” + </p> + <p> + As soon as he was out of the door, Susan became very repentant, and + slipped her hand about Cynthia's waist. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia scarcely heard her at first. She was thinking of Coniston + mountain, and how the sun had just set behind it. The mountain would be + ultramarine against the white fields, and the snow on the hill pastures to + the east stained red as with wine. What would she not have given to be + going back to-morrow—yes, with Bob. She confessed—though + startled by the very boldness of the thought—that she would like to + be going there with Bob. Susan's appeal brought her back to Boston and the + gas-lit parlor. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive you, Susan! There's nothing to forgive. I wanted him to go.” + </p> + <p> + “You wanted him to go?” repeated Susan, amazed. She may be pardoned if she + did not believe this, but a glance at Cynthia's face scarcely left a room + for doubt. “Cynthia Wetherell, you're the strangest girl I've ever known + in all my life. If I had a—a friend” (Susan had another word on her + tongue) “if I had such a friend as Mr. Worthington, I shouldn't be in a + hurry to let him leave me. Of course,” she added, “I shouldn't let him + know it.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia's heart was very heavy during the next few days, heavier by far + than her friends in Mount Vernon Street imagined. They had grown to love + her almost as one of themselves, and because of the sympathy which comes + of such love they guessed that her thoughts would be turning homeward at + Christmastide. At school she had listened, perforce, to the festival plans + of thirty girls of her own age; to accounts of the probable presents they + were to receive, the cost of some of which would support a family in + Coniston for several months; to arrangements for visits, during which + there were to be theatre-parties and dances and other gaieties. Cynthia + could not help wondering, as she listened in silence to this talk, whether + Uncle Jethro had done wisely in sending her to Miss Sadler's; whether she + would not have been far happier if she had never known about such things. + </p> + <p> + Then came the last day of school, which began with leave-takings and + embraces. There were not many who embraced Cynthia, though, had she known + it, 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 had + they believed that the embrace would be returned. Secretly they had grown + to admire this strange, dark girl, who was too proud to bend for the good + opinion of any one—even of Miss Sally Broke. Once during the term + Cynthia had held some of them—in the hollow of her hand, and had + incurred the severe displeasure of Miss Sadler by refusing to tell what + she knew of certain mischief-makers. + </p> + <p> + Now, Miss Sadler was going about among them in the school parlor saying + good-by, sending particular remembrance to such of the fathers and mothers + as she thought worthy of that honor; kissing some, shaking, hands with + all. It was then that a dramatic incident occurred—dramatic for a + girls' school, at least. Cynthia deliberately turned her back on Miss + Sadler 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 she + passed on with a smile, to send most particular messages to the mother of + Miss Isabel Burrage. + </p> + <p> + Some few moments afterward Cynthia felt a touch on her arm, and turned to + find herself confronted by Miss Sally Broke. Unfortunately there is not + much room for Miss Broke in this story, although she may appear in another + one yet to be written. She was extremely good-looking, with real golden + hair and mischievous blue eyes. She was, in brief, the leader of Miss + Sadler's school. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” she said, “I was rude to you when you first came here, and I'm + sorry for it. I want to beg your pardon.” And she held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's suspense for those watching to see if Cynthia would + take it. She did take it. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, too,” said Cynthia, simply, “I couldn't see what I'd done to + offend you. Perhaps you'll explain now.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Broke blushed violently, and for an instant looked decidedly + uncomfortable. Then she burst into laughter,—merry, irresistible + laughter that carried all before it. + </p> + <p> + “I was a snob, that's all,” said she, “just a plain, low down snob. You + don't understand what that means, because you're not one.” (Cynthia did + understand, ) “But I like you, and I want you to be my friend. Perhaps + when I get to know you better, you will come home with me sometime for a + visit.” + </p> + <p> + Go home with her for a visit to that house in Washington Square with the + picture gallery! + </p> + <p> + “I want to say that I'd give my head to have been able to turn my back on + Miss Sadler as you did,” continued Miss Broke; “if you ever want a friend, + remember Sally Broke.” + </p> + <p> + Some of Cynthia's trouble, at least, was mitigated by this episode; and + Miss Broke having led the way, Miss Broke's followers came shyly, one by + one, with proffers of friendship. To the good-hearted Merrill girls the + walk home that day was a kind of a triumphal march, a victory over Miss + Sadler and a vindication of their friend. Mrs. Merrill, when she heard of + it, could not find it in her heart to reprove Cynthia. Miss Sadler had got + her just deserts. But Miss Sadler was not a person who was likely to + forget such an incident. Indeed, Mrs. Merrill half expected to receive a + note before the holidays ended that Cynthia's presence was no longer + desired at the school. No such note came, however. + </p> + <p> + If one had to be away from home on Christmas, there could surely be no + better place to spend that day than in the Merrill household. Cynthia + remembers still, when that blessed season comes around, how each member of + the family vied with the others to make her happy; how they showered + presents on her, and how they strove to include her in the laughter and + jokes at the big family dinner. Mr. Merrill's brother was there with his + wife, 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. + </p> + <p> + There were eatables from Coniston on that board. A turkey sent by Jethro + for which, Mr. Merrill declared, the table would have to be strengthened; + a saddle of venison—Lem Hallowell having shot a deer on the mountain + two Sundays before; and mince-meat made by Amanda Hatch herself. Other + presents had come to Cynthia from the hills: a gorgeous copy of Mr. + Longfellow's poems from Cousin Ephraim, and a gold locket from Uncle + Jethro. This locket was the precise counterpart (had she but known it) of + a silver one bought at Mr. Judson's shop many years before, though the + inscription “Cynthy, from Uncle Jethro,” was within. Into the other side + exactly fitted that daguerreotype of her mother which her father had given + her when he died. The locket had a gold chain with a clasp, and Cynthia + wore it hidden beneath her gown-too intimate a possession to be shown. + </p> + <p> + There was still another and very mysterious present, this being a huge box + of roses, addressed to Miss Cynthia Wetherell, which was delivered on + Christmas morning. If there had been a card, Susan Merrill would certainly + have found it. There was no card. There was much pretended speculation on + the part of the Merrill girls as to the sender, sly reference to Cynthia's + heightened color, and several attempts to pin on her dress a bunch of the + flowers, and Susan declared that one of them would look stunning in her + hair. They were put on the dining-room table in the centre of the wreath + of holly, and under the mistletoe which hung from the chandelier. Whether + Cynthia surreptitiously stole one has never been discovered. + </p> + <p> + So Christmas came and went: not altogether unhappily, deferring for a day + at least the knotty problems of life. Although Cynthia accepted the + present of the roses with such magnificent unconcern, and would not make + so much as a guess as to who sent them, Mr. Robert Worthington was + frequently in her thoughts. He had declared his intention of coming to + Mount Vernon Street as soon as the holidays ended, and had been cordially + invited by Susan to do so. Cynthia took the trouble to procure a Harvard + catalogue from the library, and discovered that he had many holidays yet + to spend. She determined to write another letter, which he would find in + his rooms when he returned. Just what terrible prohibitory terms she was + to employ in that letter Cynthia could not decide in a moment, nor yet in + a day, or a week. She went so far as to make several drafts, some of which + she destroyed for the fault of leniency, and others for that of severity. + What was she to say to him? She had expended her arguments to no avail. + She could wound him, indeed, and at length made up her mind that this was + the only resource left her, although she would thereby wound herself more + deeply. When she had arrived at this decision, there remained still more + than a week in which to compose the letter. + </p> + <p> + On the morning after New Year's, when the family were assembled around the + breakfast table, Mrs. Merrill remarked that her husband was neglecting a + custom which had been his for many years. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't the newspaper come, Stephen?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill had read it. + </p> + <p> + “Read it!” repeated his wife, in surprise, “you haven't been down long + enough to read a column.” + </p> + <p> + “It was full of trash,” said Mr. Merrill, lightly, and began on his usual + jokes with the girls. But Mrs. Merrill was troubled. She thought his jokes + not as hearty as they were wont to be, and disquieting surmises of + business worries filled her mind. The fact that he beckoned her into his + writing room as soon as breakfast was over did not tend to allay her + suspicions. He closed and locked the door after her, and taking the paper + from a drawer in his desk bade her read a certain article in it. + </p> + <p> + The article was an arraignment of Jethro Bass—and a terrible + arraignment indeed. Step by step it traced his career from the beginning, + showing first of all how he had debauched his own town of Coniston; how, + enlarging on the same methods, he had gradually extended his grip over the + county and finally over the state; how he had bought and sold men for his + own power and profit, deceived those who had trusted in him, corrupted + governors and legislators, congressmen and senators, and even justices of + the courts: how he had trafficked ruthlessly in the enterprises of the + people. Instance upon instance was given, and men of high prominence from + whom he had received bribes were named, not the least important of these + being the Honorable Alva Hopkins of Gosport. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Merrill looked up from the paper in dismay. + </p> + <p> + “It's copied from the Newcastle Guardian,” she said, for lack of immediate + power to comment. “Isn't the Guardian the chief paper in that state?” + </p> + <p> + “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 coming on up + there, and this is the first gun. Worthington, with Duncan behind him, is + trying to get possession of and consolidate all the railroads in the + western part of that state. If he succeeds, it will mean the end of + Jethro's power. But he won't succeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Stephen,” said his wife, “do you mean to say that Jethro Bass will try to + defeat this consolidation simply to keep his power?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my dear,” answered Mr. Merrill, still pacing, “two wrongs don't + make a right, I admit. I've known these things a long time, and I've + thought 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.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Merrill's eyes slowly filled with tears. + </p> + <p> + “Stephen,” she began, “do you mean to say—?” There she stopped, + utterly unable to speak. He ceased his pacing and sat down beside her and + took her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear, I mean to say I've submitted to these things. God knows + whether I've been right or wrong, but I have. I've often thought I'd be + happier if I resigned my office as president of my road and became a clerk + in a store. I don't attempt to excuse myself, Carry, but my sin has been + in holding on to my post. As long as I remain president I have to cope + with things as I find them.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill spoke thickly, for the sight of his wife's tears wrung his + heart. + </p> + <p> + “Stephen,” she said, “when we were first married and you were a district + superintendent, you used to tell me everything.” + </p> + <p> + Stephen Merrill was a man, and a good man, as men go. How was he to tell + her the degrees by which he had been led into his present situation? How + was he to explain that these degrees had been so gradual that his + conscience had had but a passing wrench here and there? Politics being + what they were, progress and protection had to be obtained in accordance + with them, and there was a duty to the holders of bonds and stocks. + </p> + <p> + His wife had a question on her lips, a question for which she had to + summon all her courage. She chose that form for it which would hurt him + least. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Worthington is going to try to change these things?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill roused himself at the words, and his eyes flashed. He became a + different man. + </p> + <p> + “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. I + don'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 a + true friend to me. And I tell you as I hope for happiness here and + hereafter, that if Worthington succeeds in what he is trying to do, if the + railroads win in this fight, there will be no mercy for the people of that + state. I'm a railroad man myself, though I have no interest in this + affair. My turn may come later. Will come later, I suppose. Isaac D. + Worthington has a very little heart or soul or mercy himself; but the + corporation which he means to set up will have none at all. It will grind + the people and debase them and clog their progress a hundred times more + than Jethro Bass has done. Mark my words, Carry. I'm running ahead of the + times a little, but I can see it all as clearly as if it existed now.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Merrill went about her duties that morning with a heavy heart, and + more than once she paused to wipe away a tear that would have fallen on + the linen she was sorting. At eleven o'clock the doorbell rang, and Ellen + appeared 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:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MISS LUCRETIA PENNIMAN + + The Woman's Hour +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + It was certainly affinity that led Miss Lucretia to choose the rosewood + sofa of a bygone age, which was covered with horsehair. Miss Lucretia's + features seemed to be constructed on a larger and more generous principle + than those of women are nowadays. Her face was longer. With her curls and + her bonnet and her bombazine,—which she wore in all seasons,—she + was in complete harmony with the sofa. She had thrown aside the storm + cloak which had become so familiar to pedestrians in certain parts of + Boston. + </p> + <p> + “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 your + work, and I have heard Cynthia speak of you so kindly.” + </p> + <p> + “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. She + settled herself, though she sat quite upright, in the geometrical centre + of the horsehair sofa, and cleared her throat. “To be quite honest with + you, Mrs. Merrill,” she continued, “I came upon particular errand, though + I believe it would not be a perversion of the truth if I were to add that + I have had for a month past every intention of paying you a friendly + call.” + </p> + <p> + Good Mrs. Merrill's breath was a little taken away by this extremely + scrupulous speech. She also began to feel a misgiving about the cause of + the visit, but she managed to say something polite in reply. + </p> + <p> + “I have come about Cynthia,” announced Miss Lucretia, without further + preliminaries. + </p> + <p> + “About Cynthia?” faltered Mrs. Merrill. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lucretia opened a reticule at her waist and drew forth a newspaper + clipping, which she unfolded and handed to Mrs. Merrill. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen this?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Merrill took it, although she guessed very well what it was, glanced + at it with a shudder, and handed it back. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have read it,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I have come to ask you, Mrs. Merrill” said Miss Lucretia, “if it is + true.” + </p> + <p> + Here was a question, indeed, for the poor lady to answer! But Mrs. Merrill + was no coward. + </p> + <p> + “It is partly true, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Partly?” said Miss Lucretia, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, partly,” said Mrs. Merrill, rousing herself for the trial; “I have + never yet seen a newspaper article which was wholly true.” + </p> + <p> + “That is because newspapers are not edited by women,” observed Miss + Lucretia. “What I wish you to tell me, Mrs. Merrill, is this: how much of + that article is true, and how much of it is false?” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Miss Penniman,” replied Mrs. Merrill, with spirit, “I don't see + why you should expect me to know.” + </p> + <p> + “A woman should take an intelligent interest in her husband's affairs, + Mrs. Merrill. I have long advocated it as an entering wedge.” + </p> + <p> + “An entering wedge!” exclaimed Mrs. Merrill, who had never read a page of + the Woman's Hour. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Your husband is the president of a railroad, I believe, which is + largely in that state. I should like to ask him whether these statements + are true in the main. Whether this Jethro Bass is the kind of man they + declare him to be.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Merrill was in a worse quandary than ever. Her own spirits were none + too good, and Miss Lucretia's eye, in its search for truth, seemed to + pierce 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 to do. + </p> + <p> + “That is a political article, Miss Penniman,” she said, “inspired by a + bitter enemy of Jethro Bass, Mr. Worthington, who has bought the newspaper + from which it was copied. For that reason, I was right in saying that it + is partly true. You nor I, Miss Penniman, must not be the judges of any + man or woman, for we know nothing of their problems or temptations. God + will judge them. We can only say that they have acted rightly or wrongly + according to the light that is in us. You will find it difficult to get a + judgment of Jethro Bass that is not a partisan judgment, and yet I believe + that that article is in the main a history of the life of Jethro Bass. A + partisan history, but still a history. He has unquestionably committed + many of the acts of which he is accused.” + </p> + <p> + Here was talk to make the author of the “Hymn to Coniston” sit up, if she + hadn't been sitting up already. + </p> + <p> + “And don't you condemn him for those acts?” she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Mrs. Merrill, thinking of her own husband. Yesterday she would + certainly have condemned. Jethro Bass. But now! “I do not condemn anybody, + Miss Penniman.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lucretia thought this extraordinary, to say the least. + </p> + <p> + “I will put the question in another way, Mrs. Merrill,” said she. “Do you + think this Jethro Bass a proper guardian for Cynthia Wetherell?” + </p> + <p> + To her amazement Mrs. Merrill did not give her an instantaneous answer to + this 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 a + melting pity. It was such a love, Mrs. Merrill knew, as is not given to + many here below. And there was Cynthia's love for him. Mrs. Merrill had + suffered that morning thinking of this tragedy also. + </p> + <p> + “I do not think he is a proper guardian for her, Miss Penniman.” + </p> + <p> + It was then that the tears came to Mrs. Merrill's eyes for there is a + limit to all human endurance. The sight of these caused a remarkable + change in Miss Lucretia, and she leaned forward and seized Mrs. Merrill's + arm. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” she cried, “my dear, what are we to do? Cynthia can't go back + to that man. She loves him, I know, she loves him as few girls are capable + of loving. But when she, finds out what he is! When she finds out how he + got the money to support her father!” Miss Lucretia fumbled in her + reticule and drew forth a handkerchief and brushed her own eyes—eyes + which a moment ago were so piercing. “I have seen many young women,” she + continued; “but I have known very few who were made of as fine a fibre and + who have such principles as Cynthia Wetherell.” + </p> + <p> + “That is very true,” assented Mrs. Merrill too much cast down to be amazed + by this revelation of Miss Lucretia's weakness. + </p> + <p> + “But what are we to do?” insisted that lady; “who is to tell her what he + is? How is it to be kept from her, indeed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mrs. Merrill, “there will be more, articles. Mr. Merrill says + so. It seems there is to be a great political struggle in that state.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said Miss Lucretia, sadly. “And whoever tells the girl will + forfeit her friendship. I—I am very fond of her,” and here she + applied again to the reticule. + </p> + <p> + “Whom would she believe?” asked Mrs. Merrill, whose estimation of Miss + Lucretia was increasing by leaps and bounds. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” agreed Miss Lucretia. “But she must hear about it sometime.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't it be better to let her hear?” suggested Mrs. Merrill; “we + cannot very well soften that shock: I talked the matter over a little with + Mr. Merrill, and he thinks that we must take time over it, Miss Penniman. + Whatever we do, we must not act hastily.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Miss Lucretia, “as I said, I am very fond of the girl, and I + am 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. I + am willing to provide for the girl. I am getting too old to live alone. I + am getting too old, indeed, to do my work properly, as I used to do it. I + should like to have her to live with me.” + </p> + <p> + “She has become as one of my own daughters,” said Mrs. Merrill. Yet she + knew that this offer of Miss Lucretia's was not one to be lightly set + aside, and that it might eventually be the best solution of the problem. + After some further earnest discussion it was agreed between them that the + matter was, if possible, to be kept from Cynthia for the present, and when + Miss Lucretia departed Mrs. Merrill promised her an early return of her + call. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Merrill had another talk with her husband, which lasted far into the + night. This talk was about Cynthia alone, and the sorrow which threatened + her. These good people knew that it would be no light thing to break the + faith of such as she, and they made her troubles their own. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia little guessed as she exchanged raillery with Mr. Merrill the next + morning that he had risen fifteen minutes earlier than usual to search his + newspaper through. He would read no more at breakfast, so he declared in + answer to his daughters' comments; it was a bad habit which did not agree + with his digestion. It was something new for Mr. Merrill to have trouble + with his digestion. + </p> + <p> + There was another and scarcely less serious phase of the situation which + Mr. and Mrs. Merrill had yet to discuss between them—a phase of + which Miss Lucretia Penniman knew nothing. + </p> + <p> + The day before Miss Sadler's school was to reopen nearly a week before the + Harvard term was to commence—a raging, wet snowstorm came charging + in from the Atlantic. Snow had no terrors for a Coniston person, and + Cynthia had been for her walk. Returning about five o'clock, she was + surprised to have the door opened for her by Susan herself. + </p> + <p> + “What a picture you are in those furs!” she cried, with an intention which + for the moment was lost upon Cynthia. “I thought you would never come. You + must have walked to Dedham this time. Who do you think is here? Mr. + Worthington.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Worthington!” + </p> + <p> + “I have been trying to entertain him, but I am afraid I have been a very + poor substitute. However, I have persuaded him to stay for supper.” + </p> + <p> + “It needed but little persuasion,” said Bob, appearing in the doorway. All + the snowstorms of the wide Atlantic could not have brought such color to + her cheeks. Cynthia, for all her confusion at the meeting, had not lost + her faculty of observation. He seemed to have changed again, even during + the brief time he had been absent. His tone was grave. + </p> + <p> + “He needs to be cheered up, Cynthia,” Susan went on, as though reading her + thoughts. “I have done my best, without success. He won't confess to me + that he has come back to make up some of his courses. I don't mind owning + that I've got to finish a theme to be handed in tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + With these words Susan departed, and left them standing in the hall + together. Bob took hold of Cynthia's jacket and helped her off with it. He + could read neither pleasure nor displeasure in her face, though he + searched it anxiously enough. It was she who led the way into the parlor + and seated herself, as before, on one of the uncompromising, + straight-backed chairs. Whatever inward tremors the surprise of this visit + had given her, she looked at him clearly and steadily, completely mistress + of herself, as ever. + </p> + <p> + “I thought your holidays did not end until next week,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “They do not.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why are you here?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I could not stay away, Cynthia,” he answered. It was not the + manner in which he would have said it a month ago. There was a note of + intense earnestness in his voice—now, and to it she could make no + light reply. Confronted again with an unexpected situation, she could not + decide at once upon a line of action. + </p> + <p> + “When did you leave Brampton?” she asked, to gain time. But with the words + her thoughts flew to the hill country. + </p> + <p> + “This morning,” he said, “on the early train. They have three feet of snow + up there.” He, too, seemed glad of a respite from something. “They're + having a great fuss in Brampton about a new teacher for the village + school. Miss Goddard has got married. Did you know Miss Goddard, the lanky + one with the glasses?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cynthia, beginning to be amused at the turn the conversation + was taking. + </p> + <p> + “Well, they can't find anybody smart enough to replace Miss Goddard. Old + Ezra Graves, who's on the prudential committee, told Ephraim they ought to + 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!” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia was plainly pleased by the compliment. + </p> + <p> + “How is Cousin Eph?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Happy as a lark,” said Bob, “the greatest living authority in New England + on the Civil War. He's made the post-office the most popular social club I + ever saw. If anybody's missing in Brampton, you can nearly always find + them in the post-office. But I smiled at the notion of your being a school + ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see anything so funny about it,” replied Cynthia, smiling too. + “Why shouldn't I be? I should like it.” + </p> + <p> + “You were made for something different,” he answered quietly. + </p> + <p> + It was a subject she did not choose to discuss with him, and dropped her + lashes before the plainly spoken admiration in his eyes. So a silence fell + between them, broken only by the ticking of the agate clock on the mantel + and the music of sleigh-bells in a distant street. Presently the + sleigh-bells died away, and it seemed to Cynthia that the sound of her own + heartbeats must be louder than the ticking of the clock. Her tact had + suddenly deserted her; without reason, and she did not dare to glance + again at Bob as he sat under the lamp. That minute—for it was a full + minute—was charged with a presage which she could not grasp. + Cynthia's instincts were very keen. She understood, of course, that he had + cut short his holiday to come to see her, and she might have dealt with + him had that been all. But—through that sixth sense with which some + women are endowed—she knew that something troubled him. He, too, had + never yet been at a loss for words. + </p> + <p> + The silence forced him to speak first, and he tried to restore the light + tone to the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “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. Cousin + Ephraim knows a thing or two. He says he always callated you were cut out + for a fine lady.” + </p> + <p> + “Bob,” said Cynthia, nerving herself for the ordeal, “did you tell Cousin + Ephraim you had seen me?” + </p> + <p> + “I told him and Ezra that I had been a constant and welcome visitor at + this house.” + </p> + <p> + “Did, you tell your father that you had seen me?” + </p> + <p> + This was too serious a question to avoid. + </p> + <p> + “No, I did not. There was no reason why I should have.” + </p> + <p> + “There was every reason,” said Cynthia, “and you know it. Did you tell him + why you came to Boston to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Why does he think you came?” + </p> + <p> + “He doesn't think anything about it,” said Bob. “He went off to Chicago + yesterday to attend a meeting of the board of directors of a western + railroad.” + </p> + <p> + “And so,” she said reproachfully, “you slipped off as soon as his back was + turned. I would not have believed that of you, Bob. Do you think that was + fair to him or me?” + </p> + <p> + Bob Worthington sprang to his feet and stood over her. She had spoken to a + boy, but she had aroused a man, and she felt an amazing thrill at the + result. The muscles in his face tightened, and deepened the lines about + his mouth, and a fire was lighted about his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” he said slowly, “even you shall not speak to me like that. If I + had believed it were right, if I had believed that it would have done any + good to you or me, I should have told my father the moment I got to + Brampton. In affairs of this kind—in a matter of so much importance + in my life,” he continued, choosing his words carefully, “I am likely to + know whether I am doing right or wrong. If my mother were alive, I am sure + that she would approve of this—this friendship.” + </p> + <p> + Having got so far, he paused. Cynthia felt that she was trembling, as + though the force and feeling that was in him had charged her also. + </p> + <p> + “I did not intend to come so soon,” he went on, “but—I had a reason + for coming. I knew that you did not want me.” + </p> + <p> + “You know that that is not true, Bob,” she faltered. His next words + brought her to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” he said, in a voice shaken by the intensity of his passion, “I + came because I love you better than all the world—because I always + will love you so. I came to protect you, and care for you whatever + happens. I did not mean to tell you so, now. But it cannot matter, + Cynthia!” + </p> + <p> + He seized her, roughly indeed, in his arms, but his very roughness was a + proof of the intensity of his love. For an instant she lay palpitating + against him, and as long as he lives he will remember the first exquisite + touch of her firm but supple figure and the marvellous communion of her + lips. A current from the great store that was in her, pent up and all + unknown, ran through him, and then she had struggled out of his arms and + fled, leaving him standing alone in the parlor. + </p> + <p> + It is true that such things happen, and no man or woman may foretell the + day or the hour thereof. Cynthia fled up the stairs, miraculously arriving + unnoticed at her own room, and locked the door and flung herself on the + bed. + </p> + <p> + Tears came—tears of shame, of joy, of sorrow, of rejoicing, of + regret; tears that burned, and yet relieved her, tears that pained while + they comforted. Had she sinned beyond the pardon of heaven, or had she + committed a supreme act of right? One moment she gloried in it, and the + next upbraided herself bitterly. Her heart beat with tumult, and again + seemed to stop. Such, though the words but faintly describe them, were her + feelings, for thoughts were still to emerge out of chaos. Love comes like + a flame to few women, but so it came to Cynthia Wetherell, and burned out + for a while all reason. + </p> + <p> + Only for a while. Generations which had practised self-restraint were + strong in her—generations accustomed, too, to thinking out, so far + as in them lay, the logical consequences of their acts; generations + ashamed of these very instants when nature has chosen to take command. + After a time had 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. + </p> + <p> + So she sat for another space, and thought of what she had done—thought + with a surprising calmness now which astonished her. Then she thought of + what 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 endure + it. Certain facts began to stand out clearly from the confusion. The least + important and most immediate of these was that she would have to face him, + and incidentally face the world in the shape of the Merrill family, at + supper. She rose mechanically and lighted the gas and bathed her face and + changed her gown. Then she heard Susan's voice at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia, what in the world are you doing?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia opened the door and the sisters entered. Was it possible that they + did not read her terrible secret in her face? Apparently not. Susan was + busy commenting on the qualities and peculiarities of Mr. Robert + Worthington, and showering upon Cynthia a hundred questions which she + answered she knew not how; but neither Susan nor Jane, wonderful as it may + seem, betrayed any suspicion. Did he send the flowers? Cynthia had not + asked him. Did he want to know whether she read the newspapers? He had + asked Susan that, before Cynthia came. Susan was ready to repeat the whole + of her conversation with him. Why did he seem so particular about + newspapers? Had he notions that girls ought not to read them? + </p> + <p> + The significance of Bob's remarks about newspapers was lost upon Cynthia + then. Not till afterward did she think of them, or connect them with his + unexpected visit. Then the supper bell rang, and they went downstairs. + </p> + <p> + The reader will be spared Mr. Worthington's feelings after Cynthia left + him, although they were intense enough, and absorbing and far-reaching + enough. He sat down on a chair and buried his head in his hands. His + impulse had been to leave the house and return again on the morrow, but he + remembered that he had been asked to stay for supper, and that such a + proceeding would cause comment. At length he got up and stood before the + fire, his thoughts still above the clouds, and it was thus that Mr. + Merrill found him when he entered. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening,” said that gentleman, genially, not knowing in the least + who Bob was, but prepossessed in his favor by the way he came forward and + shook his hand and looked him clearly in the eye. + </p> + <p> + “I'm Robert Worthington, Mr. Merrill” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Eh!” Mr. Merrill gasped, “eh! Oh, certainly, how do you do, Mr. + Worthington?” Mr. Merrill would have been polite to a tax collector or a + sheriff. He separated the office from the man, which ought not always to + be 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.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Worthington's going to stay for supper, Papa,” said Susan, entering. + </p> + <p> + “Good!” cried Mr. Merrill. “Capital! You won't miss the old folks after + supper, will you, girls? Your mother wants me to go to a whist party.” + </p> + <p> + “It can't be helped, Carry,” said Mr. Merrill to his wife, as they walked + up the hill to a neighbor's that evening. + </p> + <p> + “He's in love with Cynthia,” said Mrs. Merrill, somewhat sadly; “it's as + plain as the nose on your face, Stephen.” + </p> + <p> + “That isn't very plain. Suppose he is! You can dam a mountain stream, but + you can't prevent it reaching the sea, as we used to say when I was a boy + in Edmundton. I like Bob,” said Mr. Merrill, with his usual weakness for + Christian names, “and he isn't any more like Dudley Worthington than I am. + If you were to ask me, I'd say he couldn't do a better thing than marry + Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + “Stephen!” exclaimed Mrs. Merrill. But in her heart she thought so, too. + “What will Mr. Worthington say when he hears the young man has been coming + to our house to see her?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill had been thinking of that very thing, but with more amusement + than concern. + </p> + <p> + To return to Mr. Merrill's house, the three girls and the one young man + were seated around the fire, and their talk, Merrill as it had begun, was + becoming minute by minute more stilted. This was largely the fault of + Susan, who would not be happy until she had taken Jane upstairs and left + Mr. Worthington and Cynthia together. This matter had been arranged + between the sisters before supper. Susan found her opening at last, and + upbraided Jane for her unfinished theme; Jane, having learned her lesson + well, accused Susan. But Cynthia, who saw through the ruse, declared that + both themes were finished. Susan, naturally indignant at such ingratitude, + denied this. The manoeuvre, in short, was executed very clumsily and very + obviously, but executed nevertheless—the sisters marching out of the + room under a fire of protests. The reader, too, will no doubt think it a + very obvious manoeuvre, but some things are managed badly in life as well + as in books. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia and Bob were left alone: left, moreover, in mortal terror of each + other. It is comparatively easy to open the door of a room and rush into a + lady's arms if the lady be willing and alone. But to be abandoned, as + Susan had abandoned them, and with such obvious intent, creates quite a + different atmosphere. Bob had dared to hope for such an opportunity: had + made up his mind during supper, while striving to be agreeable, just what + he would do if the opportunity came. Instead, all he could do was to sit + foolishly in his chair and look at the coals, not so much as venturing to + turn his head until the sound of footsteps had died away on the upper + floors. It was Cynthia who broke the silence and took command—a very + different Cynthia from the girl who had thrown herself on the bed not + three hours before. She did not look at him, but stared with determination + into the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Bob, you must go,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Go!” he cried. Her voice loosed the fetters of his passion, and he dared + to seize the band that lay on the arm of her chair. She did not resist + this. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you must go. You should not have stayed for supper.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” he said, “how can I leave you? I will not leave you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can and must,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he asked, looking at her in dismay. + </p> + <p> + “You know the reason,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Know it?” he cried. “I know why I should stay. I know that I love you + with my whole heart and soul. I know that I love you as few men have ever + loved—and that you are the one woman among millions who can inspire + such a love.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Bob, no,” she said, striving hard to keep her head, withdrawing her + hand that it might not betray the treason of her lips. Aware, strange as + it may seem, of the absurdity of the source of what she was to say, for a + trace of a smile was about her mouth as she gazed at the coals. “You will + get over this. You are not yet out of college, and many such fancies + happen there.” + </p> + <p> + For the moment he was incapable of speaking, incapable of finding an + answer sufficiently emphatic. How was he to tell her of the rocks upon + which his love was built? + </p> + <p> + How was he to declare that the very perils which threatened her had made a + man of him, with all of a man's yearning to share these perils and shield + her from them? How was he to speak at all of those perils? He did not + declaim, yet when he spoke, an enduring sincerity which she could not deny + was in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “You know in your heart that what you say is not true, Cynthia. Whatever + happens, I shall always love you.” + </p> + <p> + Whatever happens: She shuddered at the words, reminding her as they did of + all her vague misgivings and fears. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever happens!” she found herself repeating them involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, whatever happens I will love you truly and faithfully. I will never + desert you, never deny you, as long as I live. And you love me, Cynthia,” + he cried, “you love me, I know it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” she answered, her breath coming fast. He was on his feet now, + dangerously near her, and she rose swiftly to avoid him. + </p> + <p> + She turned her head, that he might not read the denial in her eyes; and + yet had to look at him again, for he was coming toward her quickly. “Don't + touch me,” she said, “don't touch me.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, and looked at her so pitifully that she could scarce keep back + her tears. + </p> + <p> + “You do love me,” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + So they stood for a moment, while Cynthia made a supreme effort to speak + calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Bob,” she said at last, “if you ever wish to see me again, you + must do as I say. You must write to your father, and tell him what you + have done and—and what you wish to do. You may come to me and tell + me his answer, but you must not come to me before.” She would have said + more, but her strength was almost gone. Yes, and more would have implied a + promise or a concession. She would not bind herself even by a hint. But of + this she was sure: that she would not be the means of wrecking his + opportunities. “And now—you must go.” + </p> + <p> + He stayed where he was, though his blood leaped within him, his admiration + and respect for the girl outran his passion. Robert Worthington was a + gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “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 my + intentions. For I am determined that you shall be my wife.” + </p> + <p> + 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 and animosity. + Who will blame him? Cynthia thought none the less of him for not telling + her. There was, indeed, no need now to describe Dudley Worthington's + feelings. + </p> + <p> + When the door had closed she stoke to the window, and listened to his + footfalls in the snow until she heard them no more. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK IV + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + The next morning Cynthia's heart was heavy as she greeted her new friends + at Miss Sadler's school. Life had made a woman of her long ago, while + these girls had yet been in short dresses, and now an experience had come + to her which few, if any, of these could ever know. It was of no use for + her to deny to herself that she loved Bob Worthington—loved him with + the full intensity of the strong nature that was hers. To how many of + these girls would come such a love? and how many would be called upon to + make such a renunciation as hers had been? No wonder she felt out of place + among them, and once more the longing to fly away to Coniston almost + overcame her. Jethro would forgive her, she knew, and stretch out his arms + to receive her, and understand that some trouble had driven her to him. + </p> + <p> + She was aroused by some one calling her name—some one whose voice + sounded strangely familiar. Cynthia was perhaps the only person in the + school that day who did not know that Miss Janet Duncan had entered it. + Miss Sadler certainly knew it, and asked Miss Duncan very particularly + about her father and mother and even her brother. Miss Sadler knew, even + before Janet's unexpected arrival, that Mr. and Mrs. Duncan had come to + Boston after Christmas, and had taken a large house in the Back Bay in + order to be near their son at Harvard. Mrs. Duncan was, in fact, a + Bostonian, and more at home there than at any other place. + </p> + <p> + Miss Sadler observed with a great deal of astonishment the warm embrace + that Janet bestowed on Cynthia. The occurrence started in Miss Sadler a + train of thought, as a result of which she left the drawing-room where + these reunions were held, and went into her own private study to write a + note. This she addressed to Mrs. Alexander Duncan, at a certain number on + Beacon Street, and sent it out to be posted immediately. In the meantime, + Janet Duncan had seated herself on the sofa beside Cynthia, not having for + an instant ceased to talk to her. Of what use to write a romance, when + they unfolded themselves so beautifully in real life! Here was the country + girl she had seen in Washington already in a fine way to become the + princess, and in four months! Janet would not have thought it possible for + any one to change so much in such a time. Cynthia listened, and wondered + what language Miss Duncan would use if she knew how great and how complete + that change had been. Romances, Cynthia thought sadly, were one thing to + theorize about and quite another thing to endure—and smiled at the + thought. But Miss Duncan had no use for a heroine without a heartache. + </p> + <p> + It is not improbable that Miss Janet Duncan may appear with Miss Sally + Broke in another volume. The style of her conversation is known, and there + is no room to reproduce it here. She, too, had a heart, but she was a + young woman given to infatuations, as Cynthia rightly guessed. Cynthia + must spend many afternoons at her house—lunch with her, drive with + her. For one omission Cynthia was thankful: she did not mention Bob + Worthington's name. There was the romance under Miss Duncan's nose, and + she did not see it. It is frequently so with romancers. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia's impassiveness, her complete poise, had fascinated Miss Duncan + with the others. Had there been nothing beneath that exterior, Janet would + never have guessed it, and she would have been quite as happy. Cynthia saw + very clearly that Mr. Worthington or no other man or woman could force Bob + to marry Janet. + </p> + <p> + The next morning, in such intervals as her studies permitted, Janet + continued her attentions to Cynthia. That same morning she had brought a + note from her father to Miss Sadler, of the contents of which Janet knew + nothing. Miss Sadler retired into her study to read it, and two newspaper + clippings fell out of it under the paper-cutter. This was the note:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “My DEAR MISS SADLER: + + “Mrs. Duncan has referred your note to me, and I enclose two + clippings which speak for themselves. Miss Wetherell, I believe, + stands in the relation of ward to the person to whom they refer, and + her father was a sort of political assistant to this person. + Although, as you say, we are from that part of the country (Miss + Sadler bad spoken of the Duncans as the people of importance there), + it was by the merest accident that Miss Wetherell's connection with + this Jethro Bass was brought to my notice. + + “Sincerely yours, + + “ALEXANDER DUNCAN.” + </pre> + <p> + It is pleasant to know that there were people in the world who could snub + Miss Sadler; and there could be no doubt, from the manner in which she + laid the letter down and took up the clippings, that Miss Sadler felt + snubbed: equally, there could be no doubt that the revenge would fall on + other shoulders than Mr. Duncan's. And when Miss Sadler proceeded to read + the clippings, her hair would have stood on end with horror had it not + been so efficiently plastered down. Miss Sadler seized her pen, and began + a letter to Mrs. Merrill. Miss Sadler's knowledge of the proprieties—together + with other qualifications—had made her school what it was. No + Cynthia Wetherells had ever before entered its sacred portals, or should + again. + </p> + <p> + The first of these clippings was the article containing the arraignment of + Jethro Bass which Mr. Merrill had shown to his wife, and which had been + the excuse for Miss Penniman's call. The second was one which Mr. Duncan + had clipped from the Newcastle Guardian of the day before, and gave, from + Mr. Worthington's side, a very graphic account of the conflict which was + to tear the state asunder. The railroads were tired of paying toll to the + chief of a band of thieves and cutthroats, to a man who had long throttled + the state which had nourished him, to—in short,—to Jethro + Bass. Miss Sadler was not much interested in the figures and metaphors of + political compositions. Right had found a champion—the article + continued—in Mr. Isaac D. Worthington of Brampton, president of the + Truro Road and owner of large holdings elsewhere. Mr. Worthington, backed + by other respectable property interests, would fight this monster of + iniquity to the death, and release the state from his thraldom. Jethro + Bass, the article alleged, was already about his abominable work—had + long been so—as in mockery of that very vigilance which is said to + be the price of liberty. His agents were busy in every town of the state, + seeing to it that the slaves of Jethro Bass should be sent to the next + legislature. + </p> + <p> + And what was this system which he had built up among these rural + communities? It might aptly be called the System of Mortgages. The + mortgage—dread name for a dreadful thing—was the chief weapon + of the monster. Even as Jethro Bass held the mortgages of Coniston and + Tarleton and round about, so his lieutenants held mortgages in every town + and hamlet of the state, What was a poor farmer to do—? His choice + was not between right and wrong, but between a roof over the heads of his + wife and children and no roof. He must vote for the candidate of Jethro + Bass end corruption or become a homeless wanderer. How the gentleman and + his other respectable backers were to fight the system the article did not + say. Were they to buy up all the mortgages? As a matter of fact, they + intended to buy up enough of these to count, but to mention this would be + to betray the methods of Mr. Worthington's reform. The first bitter + frontier fighting between the advance cohorts of the new giant and the old—the + struggle for the caucuses and the polls—had begun. Miss Sadler cared + but little and understood less of all this matter. She lingered over the + sentences which described Jethro Bass as a monster of iniquity, as a + pariah with whom decent men would have no intercourse, and in the heat of + her passion that one who had touched him had gained admittance to the most + exclusive school for young ladies in the country she wrote a letter. + </p> + <p> + Miss Sadler wrote the letter, and three hours later tore it up and wrote + another and more diplomatic one. Mrs. Merrill, though not by any means of + the same importance as Mrs. Duncan, was not a person to be wantonly + offended, and might—knowing nothing about the monster—in the + goodness of her heart have taken the girl into her house. Had it been + otherwise, surely Mrs. Merrill would not have had the effrontery! She + would give Mrs. Merrill a chance. The bell of release from studies was + ringing as she finished this second letter, and Miss Sadler in her haste + forgot to enclose the clippings. She ran out in time to intercept Susan + Merrill at the door, and to press into her hands the clippings and the + note, with a request to take both to her mother. + </p> + <p> + Although the Duncans dined in the evening, the Merrills had dinner at + half-past one in the afternoon, when the girls returned from school. Mr. + Merrill usually came home, but he had gone off somewhere for this + particular day, and Mrs. Merrill had a sewing circle. The girls sat down + to dinner alone. When they got up from the table, Susan suddenly + remembered the note which she had left in her coat pocket. She drew out + the clippings with it. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what Miss Sadler is sending mamma clippings for,” she said. + “Why, Cynthia, they're about your uncle. Look!” + </p> + <p> + And she handed over the article headed “Jethro Bass.” Jane, who had + quicker intuitions than her sister, would have snatched it from Cynthia's + hand, and it was a long time before Susan forgave herself for her folly. + Thus Miss Sadler had her revenge. + </p> + <p> + It is often mercifully ordained that the mightiest blows of misfortune are + tempered for us. During the winter evenings in Coniston, Cynthia had read + little newspaper attacks on Jethro, and scorned them as the cowardly + devices of enemies. They had been, indeed, but guarded and covert + allusions—grimaces from a safe distance. Cynthia's first sensation + as she read was anger—anger so intense as to send all the blood in + her body rushing to her head. But what was this? “Right had found a + champion at last” in—in Isaac D. Worthington! That was the first + blow, and none but Cynthia knew the weight of it. It sank but slowly into + her consciousness, and slowly the blood left her face, slowly but surely: + left it at length as white as the lace curtain of the window which she + clutched in her distress. Words which somebody had spoken were ringing in + her ears. Whatever happens! “Whatever happens I will never desert you, + never deny you, as long as I live.” This, then, was what he had meant by + newspapers, and why he had come to her! + </p> + <p> + The sisters, watching her, cried out in dismay. There was no need to tell + them that they were looking on at a tragedy, and all the love and sympathy + in their hearts went out to her. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia! Cynthia! What is it?” cried Susan, who, thinking she would + faint, seized her in her arms. “What have I done?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia did not faint, being made of sterner substance. Gently, but with + that inexorable instinct of her kind which compels them to look for + reliance within themselves even in the direst of extremities, Cynthia + released herself from Susan's embrace and put a hand to her forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Will you leave me here a little while—alone?” she said. + </p> + <p> + It was Jane now who drew Susan out and shut the door of the parlor after + them. In utter misery they waited on the stairs while Cynthia fought out + her battle for herself. + </p> + <p> + When they were gone she sank down into the big chair under the reading + lamp—the very chair in which he had sat only two nights before. She + saw now with a terrible clearness the thing which for so long had been but + a vague premonition of disaster, and for a while she forgot the clippings. + And when after a space the touch of them in her hand brought them back to + her remembrance, she lacked the courage to read them through. But not for + long. Suddenly her fear of them gave place to a consuming hatred of the + man who had inspired these articles: of Isaac D. Worthington, for she knew + that he must have inspired them. And then she began again to read them. + </p> + <p> + Truth, though it come perverted from the mouth of an enemy, has in itself + a note to which the soul responds, let the mind deny as vehemently as it + will. Cynthia read, and as she read her body was shaken with sobs, though + the tears came not. Could it be true? Could the least particle of the + least of these fearful insinuations be true? Oh, the treason of those + whispers in a voice that was surely not her own, and yet which she could + not hush! Was it possible that such things could be printed about one whom + she had admired and respected above all men—nay, whom she had so + passionately adored from childhood? A monster of iniquity, a pariah! The + cruel, bitter calumny of those names! Cynthia thought of his goodness and + loving kindness and his charity to her and to many others. His charity! + The dreaded voice repeated that word, and sent a thought that struck + terror into her heart: Whence had come the substance of that charity? Then + came another word—mortgage. There it was on the paper, and at sight + of it there leaped out of her memory a golden-green poplar shimmering + against the sky and the distant blue billows of mountains in the west. She + heard the high-pitched voice of a woman speaking the word, and even then + it had had a hateful sound, and she heard herself asking, “Uncle Jethro, + what is a mortgage?” He had struck his horse with the whip. + </p> + <p> + Loyal though the girl was, the whispers would not hush, nor the doubts + cease to assail her. What if ever so small a portion of this were true? + Could the whole of this hideous structure, tier resting upon tier, have + been reared without something of a foundation? Fiercely though she told + herself she would believe none of it, fiercely though she hated Mr. + Worthington, fervently though she repeated aloud that her love for Jethro + and her faith in him had not changed, the doubts remained. Yet they + remained unacknowledged. + </p> + <p> + An hour passed. It was a thing beyond belief that one hour could have held + such a store of agony. An hour passed, and Cynthia came dry-eyed from the + parlor. Susan and Jane, waiting to give her comfort when she was recovered + a little from this unknown but overwhelming affliction, were fain to stand + mute when they saw her to pay a silent deference to one whom sorrow had + lifted far above them and transfigured. That was the look on Cynthia's + face. She went up the stairs, and they stood in the hall not knowing what + to do, whispering in awe-struck voices. They were still there when Cynthia + came down again, dressed for the street. Jane seized her by the hand. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Cynthia?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be back by five,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + She went up the hill, and across to old Louisburg Square, and up the hill + again. The weather had cleared, the violet-paned windows caught the + slanting sunlight and flung it back across the piles of snow. It was a day + for wedding-bells. At last Cynthia came to a queerly fashioned little + green door that seemed all askew with the slanting street, and rang the + bell, and in another moment was standing on the threshold of Miss Lucretia + Penniman's little sitting room. To Miss Lucretia, at her writing table, + one glance was sufficient. She rose quickly to meet the girl, kissed her + unresponsive cheek, and led her to a chair. Miss Lucretia was never one to + beat about the bush, even in the gravest crisis. + </p> + <p> + “You have read the articles,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Read them! During her walk hither Cynthia had been incapable of thought, + but the epithets and arraignments and accusations, the sentences and + paragraphs, wars printed now, upon her brain, never, she believed, to be + effaced. Every step of the way she had been unconsciously repeating them. + </p> + <p> + “Have you read them?” asked Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Has everybody read them?” Did the whole world, then, know of her shame? + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you came to me, my dear,” said Miss Lucretia, taking her hand. + “Have you talked of this to any one else?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Cynthia, simply. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lucretia was puzzled. She had not looked for apathy, but she did not + know all of Cynthia's troubles. She wondered whether she had misjudged the + girl, and was misled by her attitude. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” she said, with a briskness meant to hide emotion for Miss + Lucretia had emotions, “I am a lonely old woman, getting too old, indeed, + to finish the task of my life. I went to see Mrs. Merrill the other day to + ask her if she would let you come and live with me. Will you?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No, Miss Lucretia, I cannot,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “I won't press it on you now,” said Miss Lucretia. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot, Miss Lucretia. I'm going to Coniston.” + </p> + <p> + “Going to Coniston!” exclaimed Miss Lucretia. + </p> + <p> + The name of that place—magic name, once so replete with visions of + happiness and content—seemed to recall Cynthia's spirit from its + flight. Yes, the spirit was there, for it flashed in her eyes as she + turned and looked into Miss Lucretia's face. + </p> + <p> + “Are these the articles you read?” she asked; taking the clippings from + her muff. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lucretia put on her spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen both of them,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “And do you believe what they say about—about Jethro Bass?” + </p> + <p> + Poor Miss Lucretia! For once in her life she was at a loss. She, too, paid + a deference to that face, young as it was. She had robbed herself of sleep + trying to make up her mind what she would say upon such an occasion if it + came. A wonderful virgin faith had to be shattered, and was she to be the + executioner? She loved the girl with that strange, intense affection which + sometimes comes to the elderly and the lonely, and she had prayed that + this cup might pass from her. Was it possible that it was her own voice + using very much the same words for which she had rebuked Mrs. Merrill? + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” she said, “those articles were written by politicians, in a + political controversy. No such articles can ever be taken literally.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Lucretia, do you believe what it says about Jethro Bass?” repeated + Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + How was she to avoid those eyes? They pierced into, her soul, even as her + own had pierced into Mrs. Merrill's. Oh, Miss Lucretia, who pride yourself + on your plain speaking, that you should be caught quibbling! Miss Lucretia + blushed for the first time in many, years, and into her face came the + light of battle. + </p> + <p> + “I am a coward, my dear. I deserve your rebuke. To the best of my + knowledge and belief, and so far as I can judge from the inquiries I have + undertaken, Jethro Bass has made his living and gained and held his power + by the methods described in those articles.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lucretia took off her spectacles and wiped them. She had committed a + fine act of courage. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia stood up. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said, “that is what I wanted to know.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” cried Miss Lucretia, in amazement and apprehension, “but what + are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to Coniston,” said Cynthia, “to ask him if those things are + true.” + </p> + <p> + “To ask him!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. If he tells me they are true, then I shall believe them.” + </p> + <p> + “If he tells you?” Miss Lucretia gasped. Here was a courage of which she + had not reckoned. “Do you think he will tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “He will tell me, and I shall believe him, Miss Lucretia.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a remarkable girl, Cynthia,” said Miss Lucretia, involuntarily. + Then she paused for a moment. “Suppose he tells you they are true? You + surely can't live with him again, Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose I am going to desert him, Miss Lucretia?” she asked. “He + loves me, and—and I love him.” This was the first time her voice had + faltered. “He kept my father from want and poverty, and he has brought me + up as a daughter. If his life has been as you say, I shall make my own + living!” + </p> + <p> + “How?” demanded Miss Lucretia, the practical part of her coming uppermost. + </p> + <p> + “I shall teach school. I believe I can get a position, in a place where I + can see him often. I can break his heart, Miss Lucretia, I—I can + bring sadness to myself, but I will not desert him.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lucretia stared at her for a moment, not knowing what to say or do. + She perceived that the girl had a spirit as strong as her own: that her + plans were formed, her mind made up, and that no arguments could change + her. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you come to me?” she asked irrelevantly. + </p> + <p> + “Because I thought that you would have read the articles, and I knew if + you had, you would have taken the trouble to inform yourself of the + world's opinion.” + </p> + <p> + Again Miss Lucretia stared at her. + </p> + <p> + “I will go to Coniston with you,” she said, “at least as far as Brampton.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia's face softened a little at the words. + </p> + <p> + “I would rather go alone, Miss Lucretia,” she answered gently, but with + the same firmness. “I—I am very grateful to you for your kindness to + me in Boston. I shall not forget it—or you. Good-by, Miss Lucretia.” + </p> + <p> + But Miss Lucretia, sobbing openly, gathered the girl in her arms and + pressed her. Age was coming on her indeed, that she should show such + weakness. For a long time she could not trust herself to speak, and then + her words were broken. Cynthia must come to her at the first sign of doubt + or trouble: this, Miss Lucretia's house, was to be a refuge in any storm + that life might send—and Miss Lucretia's heart. Cynthia promised, + and when she went out at last through the little door her own tears were + falling, for she loved Miss Lucretia. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia was going to Coniston. That journey was as fixed, as inevitable, + as things mortal can be. She would go to Coniston unless she perished on + the way. No loving entreaties, no fears of Mrs. Merrill or her daughters, + were of any avail. Mrs. Merrill too, was awed by the vastness of the + girl's sorrow, and wondered if her own nature were small by comparison. + She had wept, to be sure, at her husband's confession, and lain awake over + it in the night watches, and thought of the early days of their marriage. + </p> + <p> + And then, Mrs. Merrill told herself, Cynthia would have to talk with Mr. + Merrill. How was he to come unscathed out of that? There was pain and + bitterness in that thought, and almost resentment against Cynthia, + quivering though she was with sympathy for the girl. For Mrs. Merrill, + though the canker remained, had already pardoned her husband and had asked + the forgiveness of God for that pardon. On other occasions, in other + crisis, she had waited and watched for him in the parlor window, and + to-night she was at the door before his key was in the lock, while he was + still stamping the snow from his boots. She drew him into the room and + told him what had happened. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Stephen,” she cried, “what are you going to say to her?” + </p> + <p> + What, indeed? His wife had sorrowed, but she had known the obstacles and + perils by which he had been beset. But what was he to say to Cynthia? Her + very name had grown upon him, middle-aged man of affairs though he was, + until the thought of it summoned up in his mind a figure of purity, and of + the strength which was from purity. He would not have believed it possible + that the country girl whom they had taken into their house three months + before should have wrought such an influence over them all. + </p> + <p> + Even in the first hour of her sorrow which she had spent that afternoon in + the parlor, Cynthia had thought of Mr. Merrill. He could tell her whether + those accusations were true or false, for he was a friend of Jethro's. Her + natural impulse—the primeval one of a creature which is hurt—had + been to hide herself; to fly to her own room, and perhaps by nightfall the + courage would come to her to ask him the terrible questions. He was a + friend of Jethro's. An illuminating flash revealed to her the meaning of + that friendship—if the accusations were true. It was then she had + thought of Miss Lucretia Penniman, and somehow she had found the courage + to face the sunlight and go to her. She would spare Mr. Merrill. + </p> + <p> + But had she spared him? Sadly the family sat down to supper without her, + and after supper Mr. Merrill sent a message to his club that he could not + attend a committee meeting there that evening. He sat with his wife in the + little writing room, he pretending to read and she pretending to sew, + until the silence grew too oppressive, and they spoke of the matter that + was in their hearts. It was one of the bitterest evenings in Mr. Merrill's + life, and there is no need to linger on it. They talked earnestly of + Cynthia, and of her future. But they both knew why she did not come down + to them. + </p> + <p> + “So she is really going to Coniston,” said Mr. Merrill. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Mrs. Merrill, “and I think she is doing right, Stephen.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill groaned. His wife rose and put her hand on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Stephen,” she said gently, “you will see her in the morning. + </p> + <p> + “I will go to Coniston with her,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied Mrs. Merrily “she wants to go alone. And I believe it is + best that she should.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + Great afflictions generally bring in their train a host of smaller + sorrows, each with its own little pang. One of these sorrows had been the + parting with the Merrill family. Under any circumstance it was not easy + for Cynthia to express her feelings, and now she had found it very + difficult to speak of the gratitude and affection which she felt. But they + understood—dear, good people that they were: no eloquence was needed + with them. The ordeal of breakfast over, and the tearful “God bless you, + Miss Cynthia,” of Ellen the parlor-maid, the whole family had gone with + her to the station. For Susan and Jane had spent their last day at Miss + Sadler's school. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Merrill had sent for the conductor and bidden him take care of Miss + Wetherell, and recommend her in his name to a conductor on the Truro Road. + The man took off his cap to Mr. Merrill and called him by name and + promised. It was a dark day, and long after the train had pulled out + Cynthia remembered the tearful faces of the family standing on the damp + platform of the station. As they fled northward through the flat + river-meadows, the conductor would have liked to talk to her of Mr. + Merrill; there were few employees on any railroad who did not know the + genial and kindly president of the Grand Gulf and sympathize with his + troubles. But there was a look on the girl's face that forbade intrusion. + Passengers stared at her covertly, as though fascinated by that look, and + some tried to fathom it. But her eyes were firmly fixed upon a point far + beyond their vision. The car stopped many times, and flew on again, but + nothing seemed to break her absorption. + </p> + <p> + At last she was aroused by the touch of the conductor on her sleeve. The + people were beginning to file out of the car, and the train was under the + shadow of the snow-covered sheds in the station of the state capital. + Cynthia recognized the place, though it was cold and bare and very + different in appearance from what it had been on the summer's evening when + she had come into it with her father. That, in effect, had been her first + glimpse of the world, and well she recalled the thrill it had given her. + The joy of such things was gone now, the rapture of holidays and new + sights. These were over, so she told herself. Sorrow had quenched the + thrills forever. + </p> + <p> + The kind conductor led her to the eating room, and when she would not eat + his concern drew greater than ever. He took a strange interest in this + young lady who had such a face and such eyes. He pointed her out to his + friend the Truro conductor, and gave him some sandwiches and fruit which + he himself had bought, with instructions to press them on her during the + afternoon. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia could not eat. She hated this place, with its memories. Hated it, + too, as a mart where men were bought and sold, for the wording of those + articles ran in her head as though some priest of evil were chanting them + in her ears. She did not remember then the sweeter aspect of the old town, + its pretty homes set among their shaded gardens—homes full of good + and kindly people. State House affairs were far removed from most of + these, and the sickness and corruption of the body politic. And this + political corruption, had she known it, was no worse than that of the + other states in the wide Union: not so bad, indeed, as many, though this + was small comfort. No comfort at all to Cynthia, who did not think of it. + </p> + <p> + After a while she rose and followed the new conductor to the Truro train, + glad to leave the capital behind her. She was going to the hills—to + the mountains. They, in truth, could not change, though the seasons passed + over them, hot and cold, wet and dry. They were immutable in their + goodness. Presently she saw them, the lower ones: the waters of the little + stream beside her broke the black bonds of ice and raced over the rapids; + the engine was puffing and groaning on the grade. Then the sun crept out, + slowly, from the indefinable margin of vapor that hung massed over the low + country. + </p> + <p> + Yes, she had come to the hills. Up and up climbed the train, through the + little white villages in the valley nooks, banked with whiter snow; + through the narrow gorges,—sometimes hanging over them,—under + steep granite walls seared with ice-filled cracks, their brows hung with + icicles. + </p> + <p> + Truro Pass is not so high as the Brenner, but it has a grand, wild look in + winter, remote as it is from the haunts of men. A fitting refuge, it might + be, for a great spirit heavy with the sins of the world below. Such a + place might have been chosen, in the olden time, for a monastery—a + gray fastness built against the black forest over the crag looking down + upon the green clumps of spruces against the snow. Some vague longing for + such a refuge was in Cynthia's heart as she gazed upon that silent place, + and then the waters had already begun to run westward—the waters of + Tumble Down brook, which flowed into Coniston Water above Brampton. The + sun still had more than two hours to go on its journey to the hill crests + when the train pulled into Brampton station. There were but a few people + on the platform, but the first face she saw as she stepped from the car + was Lem Hallowell's. It was a very red face, as we know, and its owner was + standing in front of the Coniston stage, on runners now. He stared at her + for an instant, and no wonder, and then he ran forward with outstretched + hands. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthy—Cynthy Wetherell!” he cried. “Great Godfrey!” + </p> + <p> + He got so far, he seized her hands, and then he stopped, not knowing why. + There were many more ejaculations and welcomes and what not on the end of + his tongue. It was not that she had become a lady—a lady of a type + he had never before seen. He meant to say that, too, in his own way, but + he couldn't. And that transformation would have bothered Lem but little. + What was the change, then? Why was he in awe of her—he, Lem + Hallowell, who had never been in awe of any one? He shook his head, as + though openly confessing his inability to answer that question. He wanted + to ask others, but they would not come. + </p> + <p> + “Lem,” she said, “I am so glad you are here.” + </p> + <p> + “Climb right in, Cynthy. I'll get the trunk.” There it lay, the little + rawhide one before him on the boards, and he picked it up in his bare + hands as though it had been a paper parcel. It was a peculiarity of the + stage driver that he never wore gloves, even in winter, so remarkable was + the circulation of his blood. After the trunk he deposited, apparently + with equal ease, various barrels and boxes, and then he jumped in beside + Cynthia, and they drove down familiar Brampton Street, as wide as a wide + river; past the meeting-house with the terraced steeple; past the + postoffice,—Cousin Ephraim's postoffice,—where Lem gave her a + questioning look—but she shook her head, and he did not wait for the + distribution of the last mail that day; past the great mansion of Isaac D. + Worthington, where the iron mastiffs on the lawn were up to their muzzles + in snow. After that they took the turn to the right, which was the road to + Coniston. + </p> + <p> + Well-remembered road, and in winter or summer, Cynthia knew every tree and + farmhouse beside it. Now it consisted of two deep grooves in the deep + snow; that was all, save for a curving turnout here and there for team to + pass team. Well-remembered scene! How often had Cynthia looked upon it in + happier days! Such a crust was on the snow as would bear a heavy man; and + the pasture hillocks were like glazed cakes in the window of a baker's + shop. Never had the western sky looked so yellow through the black columns + of the pine trunks. A lonely, beautiful road it was that evening. + </p> + <p> + For a long time the silence of the great hills was broken only by the + sweet jingle of the bells on the shaft. Many a day, winter and summer, Lem + had gone that road alone, whistling, and never before heeding that + silence. Now it seemed to symbolize a great sorrow: to be in subtle + harmony with that of the girl at his side. What that sorrow was he could + not guess. The good man yearned to comfort her, and yet he felt his + comfort too humble to be noticed by such sorrow. He longed to speak, but + for the first time in his life feared the sound of his own voice. Cynthia + had not spoken since she left the station, had not looked at him, had not + asked for the friends and neighbors whom she had loved so well—had + not asked for Jethro! Was there any sorrow on earth to be felt like that? + And was there one to feel it? + </p> + <p> + At length, when they reached the great forest, Lem Hallowell knew that he + must speak or cry aloud. But what would be the sound of his voice—after + such an age of disuse? Could he speak at all? Broken and hoarse and + hideous though the sound might be, he must speak. And hoarse and broken it + was. It was not his own, but still it was a voice. + </p> + <p> + “Folks—folks'll be surprised to see you, Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + No, he had not spoken at all. Yes, he had, for she answered him. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose they will, Lem.” + </p> + <p> + “Mighty glad to have you back, Cynthy. We think a sight of you. We missed + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Lem.” + </p> + <p> + “Jethro hain't lookin' for you by any chance, be he? + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said. But the question startled her. Suppose he had not been at + home! She had never once thought of that. Could she have borne to wait for + him? + </p> + <p> + After that Lem gave it up. He had satisfied himself as to his vocal + powers, but he had not the courage even to whistle. The journey to + Coniston was faster in the winter, and at the next turn of the road the + little village came into view. There it was, among the snows. The pain in + Cynthia's heart, so long benumbed, quickened when she saw it. How write of + the sharpness of that pain to those who have never known it? The sight of + every gable brought its agony,—the store with the checker-paned + windows, the harness shop, the meeting-house, the white parsonage on its + little hill. Rias Richardson ran out of the store in his carpet slippers, + bareheaded in the cold, and gave one shout. Lem heeded him not; did not + stop there as usual, but drove straight to the tannery house and pulled up + under the butternut tree. Milly Skinner ran out on the porch, and gave one + long look, and cried:— + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord, it's Cynthy!” + </p> + <p> + “Where's Jethro?” demanded Lem. + </p> + <p> + Milly did not answer at once. She was staring at Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “He's in the tannery shed,” she said, “choppin' wood.” But still she kept + her eyes on Cynthia's face. “I'll fetch him.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Cynthia, “I'll go to him there.” + </p> + <p> + She took the path, leaving Millicent with her mouth open, too amazed to + speak again, and yet not knowing why. + </p> + <p> + In the tannery shed! Would Jethro remember what happened there almost six + and thirty years before? Would he remember how that other Cynthia had come + to him there, and what her appeal had been? + </p> + <p> + Cynthia came to the doors. One of these was open now—both had been + closed that other evening against the storm of sleet—and she caught + a glimpse of him standing on the floor of chips and bark—tan-bark no + more. Cynthia caught a glimpse of him, and love suddenly welled up into + her heart as waters into a spring after a drought. He had not seen her, + not heard the sound of the sleigh-bells. He was standing with his foot + upon the sawbuck and the saw across his knee, he was staring at the + woodpile, and there was stamped upon his face a look which no man or woman + had ever seen there, a look of utter loneliness and desolation, a look as + of a soul condemned to wander forever through the infinite, cold spaces + between the worlds—alone. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia stopped at sight of it. What had been her misery and affliction + compared to this? Her limbs refused her, though she knew not whether she + would have fled or rushed into his arms. How long she stood thus, and he + stood, may not be said, but at length he put down his foot and took the + saw from his knee, his eyes fell upon her, and his lips spoke her name. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthy!” + </p> + <p> + Speechless, she ran to him and flung her arms about his neck, and he + dropped the saw and held her tightly—even as he had held that other + Cynthia in that place in the year gone by. And yet not so. Now he clung to + her with a desperation that was terrible, as though to let go of her would + be to fall into nameless voids beyond human companionship and love. But at + last he did release her, and stood looking down into her face, as if + seeking to read a sentence there. + </p> + <p> + And how was she to pronounce that sentence! Though her faith might be + taken away, her love remained, and grew all the greater because he needed + it. Yet she knew that no subterfuge or pretence would avail her to hide + why she had come. She could not hide it. It must be spoken out now, though + death was preferable. + </p> + <p> + And he was waiting. Did he guess? She could not tell. He had spoken no + word but her name. He had expressed no surprise at her appearance, asked + no reasons for it. Superlatives of suffering or joy or courage are hard to + convey—words fall so far short of the feeling. And Cynthia's pain + was so far beyond tears. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro,” she said, “yesterday something—something happened. I + could not stay in Boston any longer.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I had to come to you. I could not wait.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded again. + </p> + <p> + “I—I read something.” To take a white-hot iron and sear herself + would have been easier than this. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She felt that the look was coming again—the look which she had + surprised in his face. His hands dropped lifelessly from her shoulders, + and he turned and went to the door, where he stood with his back to her, + silhouetted against the eastern sky all pink from the reflection of + sunset. He would not help her. Perhaps he could not. The things were true. + There had been a grain of hope within her, ready to sprout. + </p> + <p> + “I read two articles from the Newcastle Guardian about you—about + your life.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. But he did not turn. + </p> + <p> + “How you had—how you had earned your living. How you had gained your + power,” she went on, her pain lending to her voice an exquisite note of + many modulations. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—Cynthy,” he said, and still stared at the eastern sky. + </p> + <p> + She took two steps toward him, her arms outstretched, her fingers opening + and closing. And then she stopped. + </p> + <p> + “I would believe no one,” she said, “I will believe no one—until—unless + you tell me. Uncle Jethro,” she cried in agony, “Uncle Jethro, tell me + that those things are not true!” + </p> + <p> + She waited a space, but he did not stir. There was no sound, save the song + of Coniston Water under the shattered ice. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you speak to me?” she whispered. “Won't you tell me that they are + not true?” + </p> + <p> + His shoulders shook convulsively. O for the right to turn to her and tell + her that they were lies! He would have bartered his soul for it. What was + all the power in the world compared to this priceless treasure he had + lost? Once before he had cast it away, though without meaning to. Then he + did not know the eternal value of love—of such love as those two + women had given him. Now he knew that it was beyond value, the one + precious gift of life, and the knowledge had come too late. Could he have + saved his life if he had listened to that other Cynthia? + </p> + <p> + “Won't you tell me that they are not true?” + </p> + <p> + Even then he did not turn to her, but he answered. Curious to relate, + though his heart was breaking, his voice was steady—steady as it + always had been. + </p> + <p> + “I—I've seen it comin', Cynthy,” he said. “I never knowed anything I + was afraid of before—but I was afraid of this. I knowed what your + notions of right and wrong was—your—your mother had them. + They're the principles of good people. I—I knowed the day would come + when you'd ask, but I wanted to be happy as long as I could. I hain't been + happy, Cynthy. But you was right when you said I'd tell you the truth. + S-so I will. I guess them things which you speak about are true—the + way I got where I am, and the way I made my livin'. They—they hain't + put just as they'd ought to be, perhaps, but that's the way I done it in + the main.” + </p> + <p> + It was thus that Jethro Bass met the supreme crisis of his life. And who + shall say he did not meet it squarely and honestly? Few men of finer fibre + and more delicate morals would have acquitted themselves as well. That was + a Judgment Day for Jethro; and though he knew it not, he spoke through + Cynthia to his Maker, confessing his faults freely and humbly, and + dwelling on the justness of his punishment; putting not forward any good + he may have done; nor thinking of it; nor seeking excuse because of the + light that was in him. Had he been at death's door in the face of nameless + tortures, no man could have dragged such a confession from him. But a + great love had been given him, and to that love he must speak the truth, + even at the cost of losing it. + </p> + <p> + But he was not to lose it. Even as he was speaking a thrill of admiration + ran through Cynthia, piercing her sorrow. The superb strength of the man + was there in that simple confession, and it is in the nature of woman to + admire strength. He had fought his fight, and gained, and paid the price + without a murmur, seeking no palliation. Cynthia had not come to that + trial—so bitter for her—as a judge. If the reader has seen + youth and innocence sitting in the seat of justice, with age and + experience at the bar, he has mistaken Cynthia. She came to Coniston + inexorable, it is true, because hers was a nature impelled to do right + though it perish. She did not presume to say what Jethro's lights and + opportunities might have been. Her own she knew, and by them she must act + accordingly. + </p> + <p> + When he had finished speaking, she stole silently to his side and slipped + her hand in his. He trembled violently at her touch. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro,” she said in a low tone, “I love you.” + </p> + <p> + At the words he trembled more violently still. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Cynthy,” he answered thickly, “don't say that—I—I + don't expect it, Cynthy, I know you can't—'twouldn't be right, + Cynthy. I hain't fit for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro,” she said, “I love you better than I have ever loved you in + my life.” + </p> + <p> + Oh, how welcome were the tears! and how human! He turned, pitifully + incredulous, wondering that she should seek by deceit to soften the blow; + he saw them running down her cheeks, and he believed. Yes, he believed, + though it seemed a thing beyond belief. Unworthy, unfit though he were, + she loved him. And his own love as he gazed at her, sevenfold increased as + it had been by the knowledge of losing her, changed in texture from homage + to worship—nay, to adoration. His punishment would still be heavy; + but whence had come such a wondrous gift to mitigate it? + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't you believe me?” she cried, “can't you see that it is true?” + </p> + <p> + And yet he could only hold her there at arm's length with that new and + strange reverence in his face. He was not worthy to touch her, but still + she loved him. + </p> + <p> + The flush had faded from the eastern sky, and the faintest border of + yellow light betrayed the ragged outlines of the mountain as they walked + together to the tannery house. + </p> + <p> + Millicent, in the kitchen, was making great preparations—for + Millicent. Miss Skinner was a person who had hitherto laid it down as a + principle of life to pay deference or do honor to no human made of mere + dust, like herself. Millicent's exception; if Cynthia had thought about + it, was a tribute of no mean order. Cynthia, alas, did not think about it: + she did not know that, in her absence, the fire had not been lighted in + the evening, Jethro supping on crackers and milk and Milly partaking of + the evening meal at home. Moreover, Miss Skinner had an engagement with a + young man. Cynthia saw the fire, and threw off her sealskin coat which Mr. + and Mrs. Merrill had given her for Christmas, and took down the saucepan + from the familiar nail on which it hung. It was a miraculous fact, for + which she did not attempt to account, that she was almost happy: happy, + indeed, in comparison to that which had been her state since the afternoon + before. Millicent snatched the saucepan angrily from her hand. + </p> + <p> + “What be you doin', Cynthy?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + Such was Miss Skinner's little way of showing deference. Though deference + is not usually vehement, Miss Skinner's was very real, nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Milly, what's the matter?” exclaimed Cynthia, in astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “You hain't a-goin' to do any cookin', that's all,” said Milly, very red + in the face. + </p> + <p> + “But I've always helped,” said Cynthia. “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + Why not? A tribute was one thing, but to have to put the reasons for that + tribute, into words was quite another. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” cried Milly, “because you hain't a-goin' to, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + Strange deference! But Cynthia turned and looked at the girl with a + little, sad smile of comprehension and affection. She took her by the + shoulders and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + Whereupon a most amazing thing happened—Millicent burst into tears—wild, + ungovernable tears they were. + </p> + <p> + “Because you hain't a-goin' to,” she repeated, her words interspersed with + violent sobs. “You go 'way, Cynthy,” she cried, “git out!” + </p> + <p> + “Milly,” said Cynthia, shaking her head, “you ought to be ashamed of + yourself.” But they were not words of reproof. She took a little lamp from + the shelf, and went up the narrow stairs to her own room in the gable, + where Lemuel had deposited the rawhide trunk. + </p> + <p> + Though she had had nothing all day, she felt no hunger, but for Milly's + sake she tried hard to eat the supper when it came. Before it had fairly + begun Moses Hatch had arrived, with Amandy and Eben; and Rias Richardson + came in, and other neighbors, to say a word of welcome to hear (if the + truth be not too disparaging to their characters) the reasons for her + sudden appearance, and such news of her Boston experiences as she might + choose to give them. They had learned from Lem Hallowell that Cynthia had + returned a lady: a real lady, not a sham one who relied on airs and + graces, such as had come to Coniston the summer before to look for a + summer place on the painter's recommendation. Lem was not a gossip, in the + disagreeable sense of the term, and he had not said a word to his + neighbors of his feelings on that terrible drive from Brampton. Knowing + that some blow had fallen upon Cynthia, he would have spared her these + visits if he could. But Lem was wise and kind, so he merely said that she + had returned a lady. + </p> + <p> + And they had found a lady. As they stood or sat around the kitchen (Eben + and Rias stood), Cynthia talked to them—about Coniston: rather, be + it said, that they talked about Coniston in answer to her questions. The + sledding had been good; Moses had hauled so many thousand feet of lumber + to Brampton; Sam Price's woman (she of Harwich) had had a spell of + sciatica; Chester Perkins's bull had tossed his brother-in-law, come from + Iowy on a visit, and broke his leg; yes, Amandy guessed her dyspepsy was + somewhat improved since she had tried Graham's Golden Remedy—it made + her feel real lighthearted; Eben (blushing furiously) was to have the + Brook Farm in the spring; there was a case of spotted fever in Tarleton. + </p> + <p> + Yes, Lem Hallowell had been right, Cynthia was a lady, but not a mite + stuck up. What was the difference in her? Not her clothes, which she wore + as if she had been used to them all her life. Poor Cynthia, the clothes + were simple enough. Not her manner, which was as kind and sweet as ever. + What was it that compelled their talk about themselves, that made them + refrain from asking those questions about Boston, and why she had come + back? Some such query was running in their minds as they talked, while + Jethro, having finished his milk and crackers, sat silent at the end of + the table with his eyes upon her. He rose when Mr. Satterlee came in. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Satterlee looked at her, and then he went quietly across the room and + kissed her. But then Mr. Satterlee was the minister. Cynthia thought his + hair a little thinner and the lines in his face a little deeper. And Mr. + Satterlee thought perhaps he was the only one of the visitors who guessed + why she had come back. He laid his thin hand on her head, as though in + benediction, and sat down beside her. + </p> + <p> + “And how is the learning, Cynthia?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Now, indeed, they were going to hear something at last. An intuition + impelled Cynthia to take advantage of that opportunity. + </p> + <p> + “The learning has become so great, Mr. Satterlee,” she said, “that I have + come back to try to make some use of it. It shall be wasted no more.” + </p> + <p> + She did not dare to look at Jethro, but she was aware that he had sat down + abruptly. What sacrifice will not a good woman make to ease the burden of + those whom she loves! And Jethro's burden would be heavy enough. Such a + woman will speak almost gayly, though her heart be heavy. But Cynthia's + was lighter now than it had been. + </p> + <p> + “I was always sure you would not waste your learning, Cynthia,” said Mr. + Satterlee, gravely; “that you would make the most of the advantages God + has given you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to try, Mr. Satterlee. I cannot be content in idleness. I was + wasting time in Boston, and I—I was not happy so far away from you + all—from Uncle Jethro. Mr. Satterlee, I am going to teach school. I + have always wanted to, and now I have made up my mind to do it.” + </p> + <p> + This was Jethro's punishment. But had she not lightened it for him a + little by choosing this way of telling him that she could not eat his + bread or partake of his bounty? Though by reason of that bounty she was + what she was, she could not live and thrive on it longer, coming as it did + from such a source. Mr. Satterlee might perhaps surmise the truth, but the + town and village would think her ambition a very natural one, certainly no + better time could have been chosen to announce it. + </p> + <p> + “To teach school.” She was sure now that Mr. Satterlee knew and approved, + and perceived something, at least, of her little ruse. He was a man whose + talents fitted him for a larger flock than he had at Coniston, but he + possessed neither the graces demanded of city ministers nor the power of + pushing himself. Never was a more retiring man. The years she had spent in + his study had not gone for nothing, for he who has cherished the bud can + predict what the flower will be, and Mr. Satterlee knew her spiritually + better than any one else in Coniston. He had heard of her return, and had + walked over to the tannery house, full of fears, the remembrance of those + expressions of simple faith in Jethro coming back to his mind. Had the + revelation which he had so long expected come at last? and how had she + taken it? would it embitter her? The good man believed that it would not, + and now he saw that it had not, and rejoiced accordingly. + </p> + <p> + “To teach school,” he said. “I expected that you would wish to, Cynthia. + It is a desire that most of us have, who like books and what is in them. I + should have taught school if I had not become a minister. It is a high + calling, and an absorbing one, to develop the minds of the young.” Mr. + Satterlee was often a little discursive, though there was reason for it on + this occasion, and Moses Hatch half closed his eyes and bowed his head a + little out of sheer habit at the sound of the minister's voice. But he + raised it suddenly at the next words. “I was in Brampton yesterday, and + saw Mr. Graves, who is on the prudential committee of that district. You + may not have heard that Miss Goddard has left. They have not yet succeeded + in filling her place, and I think it more than likely that you can get + it.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia glanced at Jethro, but the habit of years was so strong in him + that he gave no sign. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think so, Mr. Satterlee?” she said gratefully. “I had heard of the + place, and hoped for it, because it is near enough for me to spend the + Saturdays and Sundays with Uncle Jethro. And I meant to go to Brampton + tomorrow to see about it.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go with you,” said the minister; “I have business in Brampton + to-morrow.” He did not mention that this was the business. + </p> + <p> + When at length they had all departed, Jethro rose and went about the house + making fast the doors, as was his custom, while Cynthia sat staring + through the bars at the dying embers in the stove. He knew now, and it was + inevitable that he should know, what she had made up her mind to do. It + had been decreed that she, who owed him everything, should be made to pass + this most dreadful of censures upon his whole life. Oh, the cruelty of + that decree! + </p> + <p> + How, she mused, would it affect him? Had the blow been so great that he + would relinquish those practices which had become a lifelong habit with + him? Would he (she caught her breath at this thought) would he abandon + that struggle with Isaac D. Worthington in which he was striving to + maintain the mastery of the state by those very practices? Cynthia hated + Mr. Worthington. The term is not too strong, and it expresses her feeling. + But she would have got down on her knees on the board floor of the kitchen + that very night and implored Jethro to desist from that contest, if she + could. She remembered how, in her innocence, she had believed that the + people had given Jethro his power,—in those days when she was so + proud of that very power,—now she knew that he had wrested it from + them. What more supreme sacrifice could he make than to relinquish it! Ah, + there was a still greater sacrifice that Jethro was to make, had she known + it. + </p> + <p> + He came and stood over her by the stove, and she looked up into his face + with these yearnings in her eyes. Yes, she would have thrown herself on + her knees, if she could. But she could not. Perhaps he would abandon that + struggle. Perhaps—perhaps his heart was broken. And could a man with + a broken heart still fight on? She took his hand and pressed it against + her face, and he felt that it was wet with her tears. + </p> + <p> + “B-better go to bed now, Cynthy,” he said; “m-must be worn out—m-must + be worn out.” + </p> + <p> + He stooped and kissed her on the forehead. It was thus that Jethro Bass + accepted his sentence. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + At sunrise, in that Coniston hill-country, it is the western hills which + are red; and a distant hillock on the meadow farm which was soon to be + Eden's looked like the daintiest conical cake with pink icing as Cynthia + surveyed the familiar view the next morning. There was the mountain, the + pastures on the lower slopes all red, too, and higher up the dark masses + of bristling spruce and pine and hemlock mottled with white where the + snow-covered rocks showed through. + </p> + <p> + Sunrise in January is not very early, and sunrise at any season is not + early for Coniston. Cynthia sat at her window, and wondered whether that + beautiful landscape would any longer be hers. Her life had grown up on it; + but now her life had changed. Would the beauty be taken from it, too? + Almost hungrily she gazed at the scene. She might look upon it again—many + times, perhaps—but a conviction was strong in her that its daily + possession would now be only a memory. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Satterlee was as good as his word, for he was seated in the stage when + it drew up at the tannery house, ready to go to Brampton. And as they + drove away Cynthia took one last look at Jethro standing on the porch. It + seemed to her that it had been given her to feel all things, and to know + all things: to know, especially, this strange man, Jethro Bass, as none + other knew him, and to love him as none other loved him. The last severe + wrench was come, and she had left him standing there alone in the cold, + divining what was in his heart as though it were in her own. How worthless + was this mighty power which he had gained, how hateful, when he could not + bestow the smallest fragment of it upon one whom he loved? Someone has + described hell as disqualification in the face of opportunity. Such was + Jethro's torment that morning as he saw her drive away, the minister in + the place where he should have been, at her side, and he, Jethro Bass, as + helpless as though he had indeed been in the pit among the flames. Had the + prudential committee at Brampton promised the appointment ten times over, + he might still have obtained it for her by a word. And he must not speak + even that word. Who shall say that a large part of the punishment of + Jethro Bass did not come to him in the life upon this earth. + </p> + <p> + Some such thoughts were running in Cynthia's head as they jingled away to + Brampton that dazzling morning. Perhaps the stage driver, too, who knew + something of men and things and who meddled not at all, had made a guess + at the situation. He thought that Cynthia's spirits seemed lightened a + little, and he meant to lighten them more; so he joked as much as his + respect for his passengers would permit, and told the news of Brampton. + Not the least of the news concerned the first citizen of that place. There + was a certain railroad in the West which had got itself much into + Congress, and much into the newspapers, and Isaac D. Worthington had got + himself into that railroad: was gone West, it was said on that business, + and might not be back for many weeks. And Lem Hallowell remembered when + Mr. Worthington was a slim-cheated young man wandering up and down + Coniston Water in search of health. Good Mr. Satterlee, thinking this a + safe subject, allowed himself to be led into a discussion of the first + citizen's career, which indeed had something fascinating in it. + </p> + <p> + Thus they jingled into Brampton Street and stopped before the cottage of + Judge Graves—a courtesy title. The judge himself came to the door + and bestowed a pronounced bow on the minister, for Mr. Satterlee was + honored in Brampton. Just think of what Ezra Graves might have looked + like, and you have him. He greeted Cynthia, too, with a warm welcome—for + Ezra Graves,—and ushered them into a best parlor which was reserved + for ministers and funerals and great occasions in general, and actually + raised the blinds. Then Mr. Satterlee, with much hemming and hawing, + stated the business which had brought them, while Cynthia looked out of + the window. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Graves sat and twirled his lean thumbs. He went so far as to say that + he admired a young woman who scorned to live in idleness, who wished to + impart the learning with which she had been endowed. Fifteen applicants + were under consideration for the position, and the prudential committee + had so far been unable to declare that any of them were completely + qualified. (It was well named, that prudential committee?) Mr. Graves, + furthermore, volunteered that he had expressed a wish to Colonel Prescott + (Oh, Ephraim, you too have got a title with your new honors!), to Colonel + Prescott and others, that Miss Wetherell might take the place. The middle + term opened on the morrow, and Miss Bruce, of the Worthington Free + Library, had been induced to teach until a successor could be appointed, + although it was most inconvenient for Miss Bruce. + </p> + <p> + Could Miss Wetherell start in at once, provided the committee agreed? + Cynthia replied that she would like nothing better. There would be an + examination before Mr. Errol, the Brampton Superintendent of Schools. In + short, owing to the pressing nature of the occasion, the judge would take + the liberty of calling the committee together immediately. Would Mr. + Satterlee and Miss Wetherell make themselves at home in the parlor? + </p> + <p> + It very frequently happens that one member of a committee is the brain, + and the other members form the body of it. It was so in this case. Ezra + Graves typified all of prudence there was about it, which, it must be + admitted, was a great deal. He it was who had weighed in the balance the + fifteen applicants and found them wanting. Another member of the committee + was that comfortable Mr. Dodd, with the tuft of yellow beard, the hardware + dealer whom we have seen at the baseball game. Mr. Dodd was not a person + who had opinions unless they were presented to him from certain sources, + and then he had been known to cling to them tenaciously. It is sufficient + to add that, when Cynthia Wetherell's name was mentioned to him, he + remembered the girl to whom Bob Worthington had paid such marked + attentions on the grand stand. He knew literally nothing else about + Cynthia. Judge Graves, apparently, knew all about her; this was + sufficient, at that time, for Mr. Dodd; he was sick and tired of the whole + affair, and if, by the grace of heaven, an applicant had been sent who + conformed with Judge Graves's multitude of requirements, he was devoutly + thankful. The other member, Mr. Hill, was a feed and lumber dealer, and + not a very good one, for he was always in difficulties; certain scholarly + attainments were attributed to him, and therefore he had been put on the + committee. They met in Mr. Dodd's little office back of the store, and in + five minutes Cynthia was a schoolmistress, subject to examination by Mr. + Errol. + </p> + <p> + Just a word about Mr. Errol. He was a retired lawyer, with some means, who + took an interest in town affairs to occupy his time. He had a very + delicate wife, whom he had been obliged to send South at the beginning of + the winter. There she had for a while improved, but had been taken ill + again, and two days before Cynthia's appointment he had been summoned to + her bedside by a telegram. Cynthia could go into the school, and her + examination would take place when Mr. Errol returned. + </p> + <p> + All this was explained by the judge when, half an hour after he had left + them, he returned to the best parlor. Miss Wetherell would, then, be + prepared to take the school the following morning. Whereupon the judge + shook hands with her, and did not deny that he had been instrumental in + the matter. + </p> + <p> + “And, Mr. Satterlee, I am so grateful to you,” said Cynthia, when they + were in the street once more. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Cynthia, I did nothing,” answered the minister, quite bewildered + by the quick turn affairs had taken; “it is your own good reputation that + got you the place.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless Mr. Satterlee had done his share in the matter. He had known + Mr. Graves for a long time, and better than any other person in Brampton. + Mr. Graves remembered Cynthia Ware, and indeed had spoken to Cynthia that + day about her mother. Mr. Graves had also read poor William Wetherell's + contributions to the Newcastle Guardian, and he had not read that paper + since they had ceased. From time to time Mr. Satterlee had mentioned his + pupil to the judge, whose mind had immediately flown to her when the + vacancy occurred. So it all came about. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said Mr. Satterlee, “what will you do, Cynthia? We've got the + good part of a day to arrange where you will live, before the stage + returns.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't go back to-night, I think,” said Cynthia, turning her head away; + “if you would be good enough to tell Uncle Jethro to send my trunk and + some other things.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps that is just as well,” assented the minister, understanding + perfectly. “I have thought that Miss Bruce might be glad to board you,” he + continued, after a pause. “Let us go to see her.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Satterlee,” said Cynthia, “would you mind if we went first to see + Cousin Ephraim?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course, we must see Ephraim,” said Mr. Satterlee, briskly. So + they walked on past the mansion of the first citizen, and the new block of + stores which the first citizen had built, to the old brick building which + held the Brampton post-office, and right through the door of the partition + into the sanctum of the postmaster himself, which some one had nicknamed + the Brampton Club. On this occasion the postmaster was seated in his shirt + sleeves by the stove, alone, his listeners being conspicuously absent. + Cynthia, who had caught a glimpse of him through the little mail-window, + thought he looked very happy and comfortable. + </p> + <p> + “Great Tecumseh!” he cried,—an exclamation he reserved for + extraordinary occasions, “if it hain't Cynthy!” + </p> + <p> + He started to hobble toward her, but Cynthia ran to him. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said he, looking at her closely after the greeting was over, “you + be changed, Cynthy. Mercy, I don't know as I'd have dared done that if I'd + seed you first. What have you b'en doin' to yourself? You must have seed a + whole lot down there in Boston. And you're a full-blown lady, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I'm not, Cousin Eph,” she answered, trying to smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you be,” he insisted, still scrutinizing her, vainly trying to + account for the change. Tact, as we know, was not Ephraim's strong point. + Now he shook his head. “You always was beyond me. Got a sort of air about + you, and it grows on you, too. Wouldn't be surprised,” he declared, + speaking now to the minister, “wouldn't be a mite surprised to see her in + the White House, some day.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Cousin Eph,” said Cynthia, coloring a little, “you mustn't talk + nonsense. What have you done with your coat? You have no business to go + without it with your rheumatism.” + </p> + <p> + “It hain't b'en so bad since Uncle Sam took me over again, Cynthy,” he + answered, “with nothin' to do but sort letters in a nice hot room.” The + room was hot, indeed. “But where did you come from?” + </p> + <p> + “I grew tired of being taught, Cousin Eph. I—I've always wanted to + teach. Mr. Satterlee has been with me to see Mr. Graves, and they've given + me Miss Goddard's place. I'm coming to Brampton to live, to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Great Tecumseh!” exclaimed Ephraim again, overpowered by the yews. “I + want to know! What does Jethro say to that?” + </p> + <p> + “He—he is willing,” she replied in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Ephraim, “I always thought you'd come to it. It's in the + blood, I guess—teachin'. Your mother had it too. I'm kind of sorry + for Jethro, though, so I be. But I'm glad for myself, Cynthy. So you're + comin' to Brampton to live with me! + </p> + <p> + “I was going to ask Miss Bruce to take me in,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “No you hain't, anything of the kind,” said Ephraim, indignantly. “I've + got a little house up the street, and a room all ready for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you let me share expenses, Cousin Eph?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll let you do anything you want,” said he, “so's you come. Don't you + think she'd ought to come and take care of an old man, Mr. Satterlee?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Satterlee turned. He had been contemplating, during this conversation, + a life-size print of General Grant under two crossed flags, that was hung + conspicuously on the wall. + </p> + <p> + “I do not think you could do better, Cynthia,” he answered, smiling. The + minister liked Ephraim, and he liked a little joke, occasionally. He felt + that one would not be, particularly out of place just now; so he repeated, + “I do not think you could do better than to accept the offer of Colonel + Prescott.” + </p> + <p> + Ephraim grew very red, as was his wont when twitted about his new title. + He took things literally. + </p> + <p> + “I hain't a colonel, no more than you be, Mr. Satterlee. But the boys down + here will have it so.” + </p> + <p> + Three days later, by the early train which leaves the state capital at an + unheard-of hour in the morning, a young man arrived in Brampton. His jaw + seemed squarer than ever to the citizens who met the train out of + curiosity, and to Mr. Dodd, who was expecting a pump; and there was a set + look on his face like that of a man who is going into a race or a fight. + Mr. Dodd, though astonished, hastened toward him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, this is unexpected, Bob,” said he. “How be you? Harvard College + failed up?” + </p> + <p> + For Mr. Dodd never let slip a chance to assure a member of the Worthington + family of his continued friendship. + </p> + <p> + “How are you, Mr. Dodd?” answered Bob, nodding at him carelessly, and + passing on. Mr. Dodd did not dare to follow. What was young Worthington + doing in Brampton, and his father in the West on that railroad business? + Filled with curiosity, Mr. Dodd forgot his pump, but Bob was already + striding into Brampton Street, carrying his bag. If he had stopped for a + few moments with the hardware dealer, or chatted with any of the dozen + people who bowed and stared at him, he might have saved himself a good + deal of trouble. He turned in at the Worthington mansion, and rang the + bell, which was answered by Sarah, the housemaid. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bob!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Mrs. Holden?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Holden was the elderly housekeeper. She had gone, unfortunately, to + visit a bereaved relative; unfortunately for Bob, because she, too, might + have told him something. + </p> + <p> + “Get me some breakfast, Sarah. Anything,” he commanded, “and tell Silas to + hitch up the black trotters to my cutter.” + </p> + <p> + Sarah, though in consternation, did as she was bid. The breakfast was + forthcoming, and in half an hour Silas had the black trotters at the door. + Bob got in without a word, seized the reins, the cutter flew down Brampton + Street (observed by many of the residents thereof) and turned into the + Coniston road. Silas said nothing. Silas, as a matter of fact, never did + say anything. He had been the Worthington coachman for five and twenty + years, and he was known in Brampton as Silas the Silent. Young Mr. + Worthington had no desire to talk that morning. + </p> + <p> + The black trotters covered the ten miles in much quicker time than Lem + Hallowell could do it in his stage, but the distance seemed endless to + Bob. It was not much more than half an hour after he had left Brampton + Street, however, that he shot past the store, and by the time Rias + Richardson in his carpet slippers reached the platform the cutter was in + front of the tannery house, and the trotters, with their sides smoking, + were pawing up the snow under the butternut tree. + </p> + <p> + Bob leaped out, hurried up the path, and knocked at the door. It was + opened by Jethro Bass himself! + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Mr. Bass,” said the young man, gravely, and he held out + his hand. Jethro gave him such a scrutinizing look as he had given many a + man whose business he cared to guess, but Bob looked fearlessly into his + eyes. Jethro took his hand. + </p> + <p> + “C-come in,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Bob went into that little room where Jethro and Cynthia had spent so many + nights together, and his glance flew straight to the picture on the wall,—the + portrait of Cynthia Wetherell in crimson and seed pearls, so strangely set + amidst such surroundings. His glance went to the portrait, and his feet + followed, as to a lodestone. He stood in front of it for many minutes, in + silence, and Jethro watched him. At last he turned. + </p> + <p> + “Where is she?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + It was a queer question, and Jethro's answer was quite as lacking in + convention. + </p> + <p> + “G-gone to Brampton—gone to Brampton.” + </p> + <p> + “Gone to Brampton! Do you mean to say—? What is she doing there?” + Bob demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Teachin' school,” said Jethro; “g-got Miss Goddard's place.” + </p> + <p> + Bob did not reply for a moment. The little schoolhouse was the only + building in Brampton he had glanced at as he came through. Mrs. Merrill + had told him that she might take that place, but he had little imagined + she was already there on her platform facing the rows of shining little + faces at the desks. He had deemed it more than possible that he might see + Jethro at Coniston, but he had not taken into account that which he might + say to him. Bob had, indeed, thought of nothing but Cynthia, and of the + blow that had fallen upon her. He had tried to realize the multiple phases + of the situation which confronted him. Here was the man who, by the + conduct of his life, had caused the blow; he, too, was her benefactor; and + again, this same man was engaged in the bitterest of conflicts with his + father, Isaac D. Worthington, and it was this conflict which had + precipitated that blow. Bob could not have guessed, by looking at Jethro + Bass, how great was the sorrow which had fallen upon him. But Bob knew + that Jethro hated his father, must hate him now, because of Cynthia, with + a hatred given to few men to feel. He thought that Jethro would crush Mr. + Worthington and ruin him if he could; and Bob believed he could. + </p> + <p> + What was he to say? He did not fear Jethro, for Bob Worthington had + courage enough; but these things were running in his mind, and he felt the + power of the man before him, as all men did. Bob went to the window and + came back again. He knew that he must speak. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bass,” he said at last, “did Cynthia ever mention me to you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bass, I love her. I have told her so, and I have asked her to be my + wife.” + </p> + <p> + There was no need, indeed, to have told Jethro this. The shock of that + revelation had come to him when he had seen the trotters, had been + confirmed when the young man had stood before the portrait. Jethro's face + might have twitched when Bob stood there with his back to him. + </p> + <p> + Jethro could not speak. Once more there had come to him a moment when he + would not trust his voice to ask a question. He dreaded the answer, though + none might have surmised this. He knew Cynthia. He knew that, when she had + given her heart, it was for all time. He dreaded the answer; because it + might mean that her sorrow was doubled. + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” Bob continued painfully, seeing that Jethro would say + nothing, “I believe that Cynthia loves me. I should not dare to say it or + to hope it, without reason. She has not said so, but—” the words + were very hard for him, yet he stuck manfully to the truth; “but she told + me to write to my father and let him know what I had done, and not to come + back to her until I had his answer. This,” he added, wondering that a man + could listen to such a thing without a sign, “this was before—before + she had any idea of coming home.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, Cynthia, did love him. There was no doubt about it in Jethro's mind. + She would not have bade Bob write to his father if she had not loved him. + Still Jethro did not speak, but by some intangible force compelled Bob to + go on. + </p> + <p> + “I shall write to my father as soon as he comes back from the West, but I + wish to say to you, Mr. Bass, that whatever his answer contains, I mean to + marry Cynthia. Nothing can shake me from that resolution. I tell you this + because my father is fighting you, and you know what he will say.” (Jethro + knew Dudley Worthington well enough to appreciate that this would make no + particular difference in his opposition to the marriage except to make + that opposition more vehement.) “And because you do not know me,” + continued Bob. “When I say a thing, I mean it. Even if my father cuts me + off and casts me out, I will marry Cynthia. Good-by, Mr. Bass.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro took the young man's hand again. Bob imagined that he even pressed + it—a little—something he had never done before. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, Bob.” + </p> + <p> + Bob got as far as the door. + </p> + <p> + “Er—go back to Harvard, Bob?” + </p> + <p> + “I intend to, Mr. Bass.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—Bob?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “D-don't quarrel with your father—don't quarrel with your father.” + </p> + <p> + “I shan't be the one to quarrel, Mr. Bass.” + </p> + <p> + “Bob—hain't you pretty young—pretty young?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bob, rather unexpectedly, “I am.” Then he added, “I know my + own mind.” + </p> + <p> + “P-pretty young. Don't want to get married yet awhile—do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do,” said Bob, “but I suppose I shan't be able to.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—wait awhile, Bob. Go back to Harvard. W-wouldn't write that + letter if I was you.” + </p> + <p> + “But I will. I'll not have him think I'm ashamed of what I've done. I'm + proud of it, Mr. Bass.” + </p> + <p> + In the eyes of Coniston, which had been waiting for his reappearance, Bob + Worthington jumped into the sleigh and drove off. He left behind him + Jethro Bass, who sat in his chair the rest of the morning with his head + bent in revery so deep that Millicent had to call him twice to his simple + dinner. Bob left behind him, too, a score of rumors, sprung full grown + into life with his visit. Men and women an incredible distance away heard + them in an incredible time: those in the village found an immediate + pretext for leaving their legitimate occupation and going to the store, + and a gathering was in session there when young Mr. Worthington drove past + it on his way back. Bob thought little about the rumors, and not thinking + of them it did not occur to him that they might affect Cynthia. The only + person then in Coniston whom he thought about was Jethro Bass. Bob decided + that his liking for Jethro had not diminished, but rather increased; he + admired Jethro for the advice he had given, although he did not mean to + take it. And for the first time he pitied him. + </p> + <p> + Bob did not know that rumor, too, was spreading in Brampton. He had his + dinner in the big walnut dining room all alone, and after it he smoked his + father's cigars and paced up and down the big hall, watching the clock. + For he could not go to her in the school hours. At length he put on his + hat and hurried out, crossing the park-like enclosure in the middle of the + street; bowed at by Mr. Dodd, who always seemed to be on hand, and others, + and nodding absently in return. Concealment was not in Bob Worthington's + nature. He reached the post-office, where the partition door was open, and + he walked right into a comparatively full meeting of the Brampton Club. + Ephraim sat in their midst, and for once he was not telling war stories. + He was silent. And the others fell suddenly silent, too, at Bob's + entrance. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Mr. Prescott?” he said, as Ephraim struggled to his feet. + “How is the rheumatism?” + </p> + <p> + “How be you, Mr. Worthington?” said Ephraim; “this is a kind of a + surprise, hain't it?” Ephraim was getting used to surprises. “Well, it is + good-natured of you to come in and shake hands with an old soldier.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't mention it, Mr. Prescott,” answered honest Bob, a little abashed, + “I should have done so anyway, but the fact is, I wanted to speak to you a + moment in private.” + </p> + <p> + “Certain,” said Ephraim, glancing helplessly around him, “jest come out + front.” That space, where the public were supposed to be, was the only + private place in the Brampton post-office. But the members of the Brampton + Club could take a hint, and with one consent began to make excuses. Bob + knew them all from boyhood and spoke to them all. Some of them ventured to + ask him if Harvard had bust up. + </p> + <p> + “Where does Cynthia-live?” he demanded, coming straight to the point. + </p> + <p> + Ephraim stared at him for a moment in a bewildered fashion, and then a + light began to dawn on him. + </p> + <p> + “Lives with me,” he answered. He was quite as ashamed, for Bob's sake, as + if he himself had asked the question, and he went on talking to cover that + embarrassment. “It's made some difference, too, sence she come. House + looks like a different place. Afore she, come I cooked with a kit, same as + I used to in the harness shop. I l'arned it in the army. Cynthy's got a + stove.” + </p> + <p> + It was not the way Ephraim would have gone about a love affair, had he had + one. Sam Price's were the approved methods in that section of the country, + though Sam had overdone them somewhat. It was an unheard-of thing to ask a + man right out like that where a girl lived. + </p> + <p> + “Much obliged,” said Bob, and was gone. Ephraim raised his hands in + despair, and hobbled to the little window to get a last look at him. Where + were the proprieties in these days? The other aspect of the affair, what + Mr. Worthington would think of it when he returned, did not occur to the + innocent mind of the old soldier until people began to talk about it that + afternoon. Then it worried him into another attack of rheumatism. + </p> + <p> + Half of Brampton must have seen Bob Worthington march up to the little + yellow house which Ephraim had rented from John Billings. It had four + rooms around the big chimney in the middle, and that was all. Simple as it + was, an architect would have said that its proportions were nearly + perfect. John Billings had it from his Grandfather Post, who built it, and + though Brampton would have laughed at the statement, Isaac D. + Worthington's mansion was not to be compared with it for beauty. The old + cherry furniture was still in it, and the old wall papers and the + panelling in the little room to the right which Cynthia had made into a + sitting room. + </p> + <p> + Half of Brampton, too, must have seen Cynthia open the door and Bob walk + into the entry. Then the door was shut. But it had been held open for an + appreciable time, however,—while you could count twenty,—because + Cynthia had not the power to close it. For a while she could only look + into his eyes, and he into hers. She had not seen him coming, she had but + answered the knock. Then, slowly, the color came into her cheeks, and she + knew that she was trembling from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” he said, “mayn't I come in?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer, for fear her voice would tremble, too. And she could + not send him away in the face of all Brampton. She opened the door a + little wider, a very little, and he went in. Then she closed it, and for a + moment they stood facing each other in the entry, which was lighted only + by the fan-light over the door, Cynthia with her back against the wall. He + spoke her name again, his voice thick with the passion which had overtaken + him like a flood at the sight of her—a passion to seize her in his + arms, and cherish and comfort and protect her forever and ever. All this + he felt and more as he looked into her face and saw the traces of her + great sorrow there. He had not thought that that face could be more + beautiful in its strength and purity, but it was even so. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia-my love!” he cried, and raised his arms. But a look as of a great + fear came into her eyes, which for one exquisite moment had yielded to his + own; and her breath came quickly, as though she were spent—as indeed + she was. So far spent that the wall at her back was grateful. + </p> + <p> + “No!” she said; “no—you must not—you must not—you must + not!” Again and again she repeated the words, for she could summon no + others. They were a mandate—had he guessed it—to herself as to + him. For the time her brain refused its functions, and she could think of + nothing but the fact that he was there, beside her, ready to take her in + his arms. How she longed to fly into them, none but herself knew—to + fly into them as into a refuge secure against the evil powers of the + world. It was not reason that restrained her then, but something higher in + her, that restrained him likewise. Without moving from the wall she pushed + open the door of the sitting room. + </p> + <p> + “Go in there,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He went in as she bade him and stood before the flickering logs in the + wide and shallow chimney-place—logs that seemed to burn on the very + hearth itself, and yet the smoke rose unerring into the flue. No stove had + ever desecrated that room. Bob looked into the flames and waited, and + Cynthia stood in the entry fighting this second great battle which had + come upon her while her forces were still spent with that other one. Woman + in her very nature is created to be sheltered and protected; and the + yearning in her, when her love is given, is intense as nature itself to + seek sanctuary in that love. So it was with Cynthia leaning against the + entry wall, her arms full length in front of her, and her hands clasped as + she prayed for strength to withstand the temptation. At last she grew + calmer, though her breath still came deeply, and she went into the sitting + room. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps he knew, vaguely, why she had not followed him at once. He had + grown calmer himself, calmer with that desperation which comes to a man of + his type when his soul and body are burning with desire for a woman. He + knew that he would have to fight for her with herself. He knew now that + she was too strong in her position to be carried by storm, and the + interval had given him time to collect himself. He did not dare at first + to look up from the logs, for fear he should forget himself and be + defeated instantly. + </p> + <p> + “I have been to Coniston, Cynthia,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been to Coniston this morning, and I have seen Mr. Bass, and I + have told him that I love you, and that I will never give you up. I told + you so in Boston, Cynthia,” he said; “I knew that this this trouble would + come to you. I would have given my life to have saved you from it—from + the least part of it. I would have given my life to have been able to say + 'it shall not touch you.' I saw it flowing in like a great sea between you + and me, and yet I could not tell you of it. I could not prepare you for + it. I could only tell you that I would never give you up, and I can only + repeat that now.” + </p> + <p> + “You must, Bob,” she answered, in a voice so low that it was almost a + whisper; “you must give me up.” + </p> + <p> + “I would not,” he said, “I would not if the words were written on all the + rocks of Coniston Mountain. I love you.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush,” she said gently. “I have to say some things to you. They will be + very hard to say, but you must listen to them.” + </p> + <p> + “I will listen,” he said doggedly; “but they will not affect my + determination.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure you do not wish to drive me away from Brampton,” she continued, + in the same low voice, “when I have found a place to earn my living + near-near Uncle Jethro.” + </p> + <p> + These words told him all he had suspected—almost as much as though + he had been present at the scene in the tannery shed in Coniston. She knew + now the life of Jethro Bass, but he was still “Uncle Jethro” to her. It + was even as Bob had supposed,—that her affection once given could + not be taken away. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” he said, “I would not by an act or a word annoy or trouble you. + If you bade me, I would go to the other side of the world to-morrow. You + must know that. But I should come back again. You must know, that, too. I + should come back again for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Bob,” she said again, and her voice faltered a very little now, “you must + know that I can never be your wife.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know it,” he exclaimed, interrupting her vehemently, “I will not + know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Think,” she said, “think! I must say what I, have to say, however it + hurts me. If it had not been for—for your father, those things never + would have been written. They were in his newspaper, and they express his + feelings toward—toward Uncle Jethro.” + </p> + <p> + Once the words were out, she marvelled that she had found the courage to + pronounce them. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “yes, I know that, but listen—” + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” she went on, “wait until I have finished. I am not speaking of the + pain I had when I read these things, I—I am not speaking of the + truth that may be in them—I have learned from them what I should + have known before, and felt, indeed, that your father will never consent + to—to a marriage between us.” + </p> + <p> + “And if he does not,” cried Bob, “if he does not, do you think that I will + abide by what he says, when my life's happiness depends upon you, and my + life's welfare? I know that you are a good woman, and a true woman, that + you will be the best wife any man could have. Though he is my father, he + shall not deprive me of my soul, and he shall not take my life away from + me.” + </p> + <p> + As Cynthia listened she thought that never had words sounded sweeter than + these—no, and never would again. So she told herself as she let them + run into her heart to be stored among the treasures there. She believed in + his love—believed in it now with all her might. (Who, indeed, would + not?) She could not demean herself now by striving to belittle it or doubt + its continuance, as she had in Boston. He was young, yes; but he would + never be any older than this, could never love again like this. So much + was given her, ought she not to be content? Could she expect more? + </p> + <p> + She understood Isaac Worthington, now, as well as his son understood him. + She knew that, if she were to yield to Bob Worthington, his father would + disown and disinherit him. She looked ahead into the years as a woman + will, and allowed herself for the briefest of moments to wonder whether + any happiness could thrive in spite of the violence of that schism—any + happiness for him. She would be depriving him of his birthright, and it + may be that those who are born without birthrights often value them the + most. Cynthia saw these things, and more, for those who sit at the feet of + sorrow soon learn the world's ways. She saw herself pointed out as the + woman whose designs had beggared and ruined him in his youth, and + (agonizing and revolting thought!) the name of one would be spoken from + whom she had learned such craft. Lest he see the scalding tears in her + eyes, she turned away and conquered them. What could she do? Where should + she hide her love that it might not be seen of men? And how, in truth, + could she tell him these things? + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” he went on, seeing that she did not answer, and taking heart, + “I will not say a word against my father. I know you would not respect me + if I did. We are different, he and I, and find happiness in different + ways.” Bob wondered if his father had ever found it. “If I had never met + you and loved you, I should have refused to lead the life my father wishes + me to lead. It is not in me to do the things he will ask. I shall have to + carve out my own life, and I feel that I am as well able to do it as he + was. Percy Broke, a classmate of mine and my best friend, has a position + for me in a locomotive works in which his father is largely interested. We + are going in together, the day after we graduate; it is all arranged, and + his father has agreed. I shall work very hard, and in a few years, + Cynthia, we shall be together, never to part again. Oh, Cynthia,” he + cried, carried away by the ecstasy of this dream which he had, summoned + up, “why do you resist me? I love you as no man has ever loved,” he + exclaimed, with scornful egotism and contempt of those who had made the + world echo with that cry through the centuries, “and you love me! Ah, do + you think I do not see it—cannot feel it? You love me—tell me + so.” + </p> + <p> + He was coming toward her, and how was she to prevent his taking her by + storm? That was his way, and well she knew it. In her dreams she had felt + herself lifted and borne off, breathless in his arms, to Elysium. Her + breath was going now, her strength was going, and yet she made him pause + by the magic of a word. A concession was in that word, but one could not + struggle so piteously and concede nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Bob,” she said, “do you love me?” + </p> + <p> + Love her! If there was a love that acknowledged no bounds, that was + confined by no superlatives, it was his. He began to speak, but she + interrupted him with a wild passion that was new to her. As he sat in the + train on his way back to Cambridge through the darkening afternoon, the + note of it rang in his ears and gave him hope—yes, and through many + months afterward. + </p> + <p> + “If you love me I beg, I implore, I beseech you in the name of that love—for + your sake and my sake, to leave me. Oh, can you not see why you must go?” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, even as he had before in the parlor in Mount Vernon Street. He + could but stop in the face of such an appeal—and yet the blood beat + in his head with a mad joy. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me that you love me,—once,” he cried,—“once, Cynthia.” + </p> + <p> + “Do-do not ask me,” she faltered. “Go.” + </p> + <p> + Her words were a supplication, not a command. And in that they were a + supplication he had gained a victory. Yes, though she had striven with all + her might to deny, she had bade him hope. He left her without so much as a + touch of the hand, because she had wished it. And yet she loved him! + Incredible fact! Incredible conjury which made him doubt that his feet + touched the snow of Brampton Street, which blotted, as with a golden glow, + the faces and the houses of Brampton from his sight. He saw no one, though + many might have accosted him. That part of him which was clay, which + performed the menial tasks of his being, had kindly taken upon itself to + fetch his bag from the house to the station, and to board the train. + </p> + <p> + Ah, but Brampton had seen him! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + Great events, like young Mr. Worthington's visit to Brampton, are all very + well for a while, but they do not always develop with sufficient rapidity + to satisfy the audiences of the drama. Seven days were an interlude quite + long enough in which to discuss every phase and bearing of this opening + scene, and after that the play in all justice ought to move on. But there + it halted—for a while—and the curtain obstinately refused to + come up. If the inhabitants of Brampton had only known that the drama, + when it came, would be well worth waiting for, they might have been less + restless. + </p> + <p> + It is unnecessary to enrich the pages of this folio with all the footnotes + and remarks of, the sages of Brampton. These can be condensed into a + paragraph of two—and we can ring up the curtain when we like on the + next scene, for which Brampton had to wait considerably over a month. + There is to be no villain in this drama with the face of an Abbe Maury + like the seven cardinal sins. Comfortable looking Mr. Dodd of the + prudential committee, with his chin-tuft of yellow beard, is cast for the + part of the villain, but will play it badly; he would have been better + suited to a comedy part. + </p> + <p> + Young Mr. Worthington left Brampton on the five o'clock train, and at six + Mr. Dodd met his fellow-member of the committee, Judge Graves. + </p> + <p> + “Called a meetin'?” asked Mr. Dodd, pulling the yellow tuft. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” said the judge, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “What be you a-goin' to do about it?” said Mr. Dodd. + </p> + <p> + “Do about what?” demanded the judge, looking at the hardware dealer from + under his eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dodd knew well enough that this was not ignorance on the part of Mr. + Graves, whose position in the matter dad been very well defined in the two + sentences he had spoken. Mr. Dodd perceived that the judge was trying to + get him to commit himself, and would then proceed to annihilate him. He, + Levi Dodd, had no intention of walking into such a trap. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said he, with a final tug at the tuft, “if that's the way you feel + about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Feel about what?” said the judge, fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “Callate you know best,” said Mr. Dodd, and passed on up the street. But + he felt the judge's gimlet eyes boring holes in his back. The judge's + position was very fine, no doubt for the judge. All of which tends to show + that Levi Dodd had swept his mind, and that it was ready now for the + reception of an opinion. + </p> + <p> + Six weeks or more, as has been said, passed before the curtain rose again, + but the snarling trumpets of the orchestra played a fitting prelude. + Cynthia's feelings and Cynthia's life need not be gone into during this + interval knowing her character, they may well be imagined. They were + trying enough, but Brampton had no means of guessing them. During the + weeks she came and went between the little house and the little school, + putting all the strength that was in her into her duties. The Prudential + Committee, which sometimes sat on the platform, could find no fault with + the performance of these duties, or with the capability of the teacher, + and it is not going too far to state that the children grew to love her + better than Miss Goddard had been loved. It may be declared that children + are the fittest citizens of a republic, because they are apt to make up + their own minds on any subject without regard to public opinion. It was so + with the scholars of Brampton village lower school: they grew to love the + new teacher, careless of what the attitude of their elders might be, and + some of them could have been seen almost any day walking home with her + down the street. + </p> + <p> + As for the attitude of the elders—there was none. Before assuming + one they had thought it best, with characteristic caution, to await the + next act in the drama. There were ladies in Brampton whose hearts prompted + them, when they called on the new teacher, to speak a kindly word of + warning and advice; but somehow, when they were seated before her in the + little sitting room of the John Billings house, their courage failed them. + There was something about this daughter of the Coniston storekeeper and + ward of Jethro Bass that made them pause. So much for the ladies of + Brampton. What they said among themselves would fill a chapter, and more. + </p> + <p> + There was, at this time, a singular falling-off in the attendance of the + Brampton Club. Ephraim sat alone most of the day in his Windsor chair by + the stove, pretending to read newspapers. But he did not mention this fact + to Cynthia. He was more lonesome than ever on the Saturdays and Sundays + which she spent with Jethro Bass. + </p> + <p> + Jethro Bass! It is he who might be made the theme of the music of the + snarling trumpets. What was he about during those six weeks? That is what + the state at large was beginning to wonder, and the state at large was + looking on at a drama, too. A rumor reached the capital and radiated + thence to every city and town and hamlet, and was followed by other rumors + like confirmations. Jethro Bass, for the first time in a long life of + activity, was inactive: inactive, too, at this most critical period of his + career, the climax of it, with a war to be waged which for bitterness and + ferocity would have no precedent; with the town meetings at hand, where + the frontier fighting was to be done, and no quarter given. Lieutenants + had gone to Coniston for further orders and instructions, and had come + back without either. Achilles was sulking in the tannery house—some + said a broken Achilles. Not a word could be got out of him, or the sign of + an intention. Jake Wheeler moped through the days in Rias Richardson's + store, too sore at heart to speak to any man, and could have wept if tears + had been a relief to him. No more blithe errands over the mountain to + Clovelly and elsewhere, though Jake knew the issue now and itched for the + battle, and the vassals of the hill-Rajah under a jubilant Bijah Bixby + were arming cap-a-pie. Lieutenant-General-and-Senator Peleg Hartington of + Brampton, in his office over the livery stable, shook his head like a + mournful stork when questioned by brother officers from afar. Operations + were at a standstill, and the sinews of war relaxed. Rural givers of + mortgages, who had not had the opportunity of selling them or had feared + to do so, began (mirabile dictu) to express opinions. Most ominous sign of + all—the proprietor of the Pelican Hotel had confessed that the + Throne Room had not been engaged for the coming session. + </p> + <p> + Was it possible that Jethro Bass lay crushed under the weight of the + accusations which had been printed, and were still being printed, in the + Newcastle Guardian? He did not answer them, or retaliate in other + newspapers, but Jethro Bass had never made use of newspapers in this way. + Still, nothing ever printed about him could be compared with those + articles. Had remorse suddenly overtaken him in his old age? Such were the + questions people we're asking all over the state—people, at least, + who were interested in politics, or in those operations which went by the + name of politics: yes, and many private citizens—who had + participated in politics only to the extent of voting for such candidates + as Jethro in his wisdom had seen fit to give them, read the articles and + began to say that boss domination was at an end. A new era was at hand, + which they fondly (and very properly) believed was to be a golden era. It + was, indeed, to be a golden era—until things got working; and then + the gold would cease. The Newcastle Guardian, with unconscious irony, + proclaimed the golden era; and declared that its columns, even in other + days and under other ownership, had upheld the wisdom of Jethro Bass. And + he was still a wise man, said the Guardian, for he had had sense enough to + give up the fight. + </p> + <p> + Had he given up the fight? Cynthia fervently hoped and prayed that he had, + but she hoped and prayed in silence. Well she knew, if the event in the + tannery shed had not made him abandon his affairs, no appeal could do so. + Her happiest days in this period were the Saturdays and Sundays spent with + him in Coniston, and as the weeks went by she began to believe that the + change, miraculous as it seemed, had indeed taken place. He had given up + his power. It was a pleasure that made the weeks bearable for her. What + did it matter—whether he had made the sacrifice for the sake of his + love for her? He had made it. + </p> + <p> + On these Saturdays and Sundays they went on long drives together over the + hills, while she talked to him of her life in Brampton or the books she + was reading, and of those she had chosen for him to read. Sometimes they + did not turn homeward until the delicate tracery of the branches on the + snow warned them of the rising moon. Jethro was often silent for hours at + a time, but it seemed to Cynthia that it was the silence of peace—of + a peace he had never known before. There came no newspapers to the tannery + house now: during the mid-week he read the books of which she had spoken + William Wetherell's books; or sat in thought, counting, perhaps; the days + until she should come again. And the boy of those days for him was more + pathetic than much that is known to the world as sorrow. + </p> + <p> + And what did Coniston think? Coniston, indeed, knew not what to think, + when, little by little, the great men ceased to drive up to the door of + the tannery house, and presently came no more. Coniston sank then from its + proud position as the real capital of the state to a lonely hamlet among + the hills. Coniston, too, was watching the drama, and had had a better + view of the stage than Brampton, and saw some reason presently for the + change in Jethro Bass. Not that Mr. Satterlee told, but such evidence was + bound, in the end, to speak for itself. The Newcastle Guardian had been + read and debated at the store—debated with some heat by Chester + Perkins and other mortgagors; discussed, nevertheless, in a political + rather than a moral light. Then Cynthia had returned home; her face had + awed them by its sorrow, and she had begun to earn her own living. Then + the politicians had ceased to come. The credit belongs to Rias Richardson + for hawing been the first to piece these three facts together, causing him + to burn his hand so severely on the stove that he had to carry it bandaged + in soda for a week. Cynthia Wetherell had reformed Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Though the village loved and revered Cynthia, Coniston as a whole did not + rejoice in that reform. The town had fallen from its mighty estate, and + there were certain envious ones who whispered that it had remained for a + young girl who had learned city ways to twist Jethro around her finger; + that she had made him abandon his fight with Isaac D. Worthington because + Mr. Worthington had a son—but there is no use writing such scandal. + Stripped of his power—even though he stripped himself—Jethro + began to lose their respect, a trait tending to prove that the human race + may have had wolves for ancestors as well as apes. People had small + opportunity, however, of showing a lack of respect to his person, for in + these days he noticed no one and spoke to none. + </p> + <p> + When the lion is crippled, the jackals begin to range. A jackal + reconnoitered the lair to see how badly the lion was crippled, and + conceived with astounding insolence the plan of capturing the lion's + quarry. This jackal, who was an old one, well knew how to round up a + quarry, and fled back over the hills to consult with a bigger jackal, his + master. As a result, two days before March town-meeting day, Mr. Bijah + Bixby paid a visit to the Harwich bank and went among certain Coniston + farmers looking over the sheep, his clothes bulging out in places when he + began, and seemingly normal enough when he had finished. History repeats + itself, even among lions and jackals. Thirty-six years before there had + been a town-meeting in Coniston and a surprise. Established Church, decent + and orderly selectmen and proceedings had been toppled over that day, + every outlying farm sending its representative through the sleet to do it. + And now retribution was at hand. This March-meeting day was mild, the + grass showing a green color on the south slopes where the snow had melted, + and the outlying farmers drove through mud-holes up to the axles. Drove, + albeit, in procession along the roads, grimly enough, and the sheds Jock + Hallowell had built around the meeting-house could not hold the horses; + they lined the fences and usurped the hitching posts of the village + street, and still they came. Their owners trooped with muddy boots into + the meeting-house, and when the moderator rapped for order the Chairman of + the Board of Selectmen, Jethro Bass, was not in his place; never, indeed, + would be there again. Six and thirty years he had been supreme in that + town—long enough for any man. The beams and king posts would know + him no more. Mr. Amos Cuthbert was elected Chairman, not without a gallant + and desperate but unsupported fight of a minority led by Mr. Jake Wheeler, + whose loyalty must be taken as a tribute to his species. Farmer Cuthbert + was elected, and his mortgage was not foreclosed! Had it been, there was + more money in the Harwich bank. + </p> + <p> + There was no telegraph to Coniston in these days, and so Mr. Sam Price, + with his horse in a lather, might have been seen driving with unseemly + haste toward Brampton, where in due time he arrived. Half an hour later + there was excitement at Newcastle, sixty-five miles away, in the office of + the Guardian, and the next morning the excitement had spread over the + whole state. + </p> + <p> + Jethro Bass was dethroned in Coniston—discredited in his own town! + </p> + <p> + And where was Jethro? Did his heart ache, did he bow his head as he + thought of that supremacy, so hardly won, so superbly held, gone forever? + Many were the curious eyes on the tannery house that day, and for days + after, but its owner gave no signs of concern. He read and thought and + chopped wood in the tannery shed as usual. Never, I believe, did man, + shorn of power, accept his lot more quietly. His struggle was over, his + battle was fought, a greater peace than he had ever thought to hope for + was won. For the opinion and regard of the world he had never cared. A + greater reward awaited him, greater than any knew—the opinion and + regard and the praise of one whom he loved beyond all the world. On Friday + she came to him, on Friday at sunset, for the days were growing longer, + and that was the happiest sunset of his life. She said nothing as she + raised her face to his and kissed him and clung to him in the little + parlor, but he knew, and he had his reward. So much for earthly power + Cynthia brought the little rawhide trunk this time, and came to Coniston + for the March vacation—a happy two weeks that was soon gone. Happy + by comparison, that is, with what they both had suffered, and a haven of + rest after the struggle and despair of the wilderness. The bond between + them had, in truth, never been stronger, for both the young girl and the + old man had denied themselves the thing they held most dear. Jethro had + taken refuge and found comfort in his love. But Cynthia! Her greatest love + had now been bestowed elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + If there were letters for the tannery house, Milly Skinner, who made it a + point to meet the stage, brought them. And there were letters during + Cynthia's sojourn,—many of them, bearing the Cambridge postmark. One + evening it was Jethro who laid the letter on the table beside her as she + sat under the lamp. He did not look at her or speak, but she felt that he + knew her secret—felt that he deserved to have from her own lips what + he had been too proud—yes—and too humble to ask. Whose + sympathy could she be sure of, if not of his? Still she had longed to keep + this treasure to herself. She took the letter in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I do not answer them, Uncle Jethro, but—I cannot prevent his + writing them,” she faltered. She did not confess that she kept them, every + one, and read them over and over again; that she had grown, indeed, to + look forward to them as to a sustenance. “I—I do love him, but I + will not marry him.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, she could be sure of Jethro's sympathy, though he could not express + it in words. Yet she had not told him for this. She had told him, much as + the telling had hurt her, because she feared to cut him more deeply by her + silence. + </p> + <p> + It was a terrible moment for Jethro, and never had he desired the gift of + speech as now. Had it not been for him; Cynthia might have been Robert + Worthington's wife. He sat down beside her and put his hand over hers that + lay on the letter in her lap. It was the only answer he could make, but + perhaps it was the best, after all. Of what use were words at such a time! + </p> + <p> + Four days afterward, on a Monday morning, she went back to Brampton to + begin the new term. + </p> + <p> + That same Monday a circumstance of no small importance took place in + Brampton—nothing less than the return, after a prolonged absence in + the West and elsewhere, of its first citizen. Isaac D. Worthington was + again in residence. No bells were rung, indeed, and no delegation of + citizens as such, headed by the selectmen, met him at the station; and + other feudal expressions of fealty were lacking. No staff flew Mr. + Worthington's arms; nevertheless the lord of Brampton was in his castle + again, and Brampton felt that he was there. He arrived alone, wearing the + silk hat which had become habitual with him now, and stepping into his + barouche at the station had been driven up Brampton Street behind his + grays, looking neither to the right nor left. His reddish chop whiskers + seemed to cling a little more closely to his face than formerly, and long + years of compression made his mouth look sterner than ever. A hawk-like + man, Isaac Worthington, to be reckoned with and feared, whether in a frock + coat or in breastplate and mail. + </p> + <p> + His seneschal, Mr. Flint, was awaiting him in the library. Mr. Flint was + large and very ugly, big-boned, smooth-shaven, with coarse features all + askew, and a large nose with many excrescences, and thick lips. He was + forty-two. From a foreman of the mills he had risen, step by step, to his + present position, which no one seemed able to define. He was, indeed, a + seneschal. He managed the mills in his lord's absence, and—if the + truth be told—in his presence; knotty questions of the Truro + Railroad were brought to Mr. Flint and submitted to Mr. Worthington, who + decided them, with Mr. Flint's advice; and, within the last three months, + Mr. Flint had invaded the realm of politics, quietly, as such a man would, + under the cover of his patron's name and glory. Mr. Flint it was who had + bought the Newcastle Guardian, who went occasionally to Newcastle and + spoke a few effective words now and then to the editor; and, if the truth + will out, Mr. Flint had largely conceived that scheme about the railroads + which was to set Mr. Worthington on the throne of the state, although the + scheme was not now being carried out according to Mr. Flint's wishes. Mr. + Flint was, in a sense, a Bismarck, but he was not as yet all powerful. + Sometimes his august master or one of his fellow petty sovereigns would + sweep Mr. Flint's plans into the waste basket, and then Mr. Flint would be + content to wait. To complete the character sketch, Mr. Flint was not above + hanging up his master's hat and coat, Which he did upon the present + occasion, and went up to Mr. Worthington's bedroom to fetch a pocket + handkerchief out of the second drawer. He even knew where the + handkerchiefs were kept. Lucky petty sovereigns sometimes possess Mr. + Flints to make them emperors. + </p> + <p> + The august personage seated himself briskly at his desk. + </p> + <p> + “So that scoundrel Bass is actually discredited at last,” he said, blowing + his nose in the pocket handkerchief Mr. Flint had brought him. “I lose + patience when I think how long we've stood the rascal in this state. I + knew the people would rise in their indignation when they learned the + truth about him.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Flint did not answer this. He might have had other views. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder we did not think of it before,” Mr. Worthington continued. “A + very simple remedy, and only requiring a little courage and—and—” + (Mr. Worthington was going to say money, but thought better of it) “and + the chimera disappears. I congratulate you, Flint.” + </p> + <p> + “Congratulate yourself,” said Mr. Flint; “that would not have been my + way.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, I congratulate myself,” said the august personage, who was in + too good a humor to be put out by the rejection of a compliment. “You + remember what I said: the time was ripe, just publish a few biographical + articles telling people what he was, and Jethro Bass would snuff out like + a candle. Mr. Duncan tells me the town-meeting results are very good all + over the state. Even if we hadn't knocked out Jethro Bass, we'd have a + fair majority for our bill in the next legislature.” + </p> + <p> + “You know Bass's saying,” answered Mr. Flint, “You can hitch that kind of + a hoss, but they won't always stay hitched.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, I know,” said Mr. Worthington; “don't croak, Flint. We can buy + more hitch ropes, if necessary. Well, what's the outlay up to the present? + Large, I suppose. Well, whatever it is, it's small compared to what we'll + get for it.” He laughed a little and rubbed his hands, and then he + remembered that capacity in which he stood before the world. Yes, and he + stood before himself in the same capacity. Isaac Worthington may have + deceived himself, but he may or may not have been a hero to his seneschal. + “We have to fight fire with fire,” he added, in a pained voice. “Let me + see the account.” + </p> + <p> + “I have tabulated the expense in the different cities and towns,” answered + Mr. Flint; “I will show you the account in a little while. The expenses in + Coniston were somewhat greater than the size of the town justified, + perhaps. But Sutton thought—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” interrupted Mr. Worthington, “if it had cost as much to carry + Coniston as Newcastle, it would have been worth it—for the moral + effect alone.” + </p> + <p> + Moral effect! Mr. Flint thought of Mr. Bixby with his bulging pockets + going about the hills, and smiled at the manner in which moral effects are + sometimes obtained. + </p> + <p> + “Any news, Flint?” + </p> + <p> + No news yet, Mr. Flint might have answered. In a few minutes there might + be news, and plenty of it, for it lay ready to be hatched under Mr. + Worthington's eye. A letter in the bold and upright hand of his son was on + the top of the pile, placed there by Mr. Flint himself, who had examined + Mr. Worthington's face closely when he came in to see how much he might + know of its contents. He had decided that Mr. Worthington was in too good + a humor to know anything of them. Mr. Flint had not steamed the letter + open, and read the news; but he could guess at them pretty shrewdly, and + so could have the biggest fool in Brampton. That letter contained the + opening scene of the next act in the drama. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington cut the envelope and began to read, and while he did so + Mr. Flint, who was not afraid of man or beast, looked at him. It was a + manly and straight forward letter, and Mr. Worthington, no matter what his + opinions on the subject were, should have been proud of it. Bob announced, + first of all, that he was going to marry Cynthia Wetherell; then he + proceeded with praiseworthy self-control (for a lover) to describe + Cynthia's character and attainments: after which he stated that Cynthia + had refused him—twice, because she believed that Mr. Worthington + would oppose the marriage, and had declared that she would never be the + cause of a breach between father and son. Bob asked for his father's + consent, and hoped to have it, but he thought it only right to add that he + had given his word and his love, and did not mean to retract either. He + spoke of his visit to Brampton, and explained that Cynthia was teaching + school there, and urged his father to see her before he made a decision. + Mr. Worthington read it through to the end, his lips closing tighter and + tighter until his mouth was but a line across his face. There was pain in + the face, too, the kind of pain which anger sends, and which comes with + the tottering of a pride that is false. Of what gratification now was the + overthrow of Jethro Bass? + </p> + <p> + He stared at the letter for a moment after he had finished it, and his + face grew a dark red. Then he seized the paper and tore it slowly, + deliberately, into bits. + </p> + <p> + Dudley Worthington was not thinking then—not he!—of the young + man in the white beaver who had called at the Social Library many years + before to see a young woman whose name, too, had been Cynthia.—He + was thinking, in fact, for he was a man to think in anger, whether it were + not possible to remove this Cynthia from the face of the earth—at + least to a place beyond his horizon and that of his son. Had he worn the + chain mail instead of the frock coat he would have had her hung outside + the town walls. + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” he exclaimed. And the words sounded profane indeed as he fixed + his eyes upon Mr. Flint. “You knew that Robert had been to Brampton.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Flint, “the whole village knew it.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” cried Mr. Worthington again, “why was I not informed of this? + Why was I not warned of this? Have I no friends? Do you pretend to look + after my interests and not take the trouble to write me on such a + subject.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I could have prevented it?” asked Mr. Flint, very calmly. + </p> + <p> + “You allow this—this woman to come here to Brampton and teach school + in a place where she can further her designs? What were you about?” + </p> + <p> + “When the prudential committee appointed her, nothing of this was known, + Mr. Worthington.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but now—now! What are you doing, what are they doing to allow + her to remain? Who are on that committee?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Flint named the men. They had been reelected, as usual, at the recent + town-meeting. Mr. Errol, who had also been reelected, had returned but had + not yet issued the certificate or conducted the examination. + </p> + <p> + “Send for them, have them here at once,” commanded Mr. Worthington, + without listening to this. + </p> + <p> + “If you take my advice, you will do nothing of the kind,” said Mr. Flint, + who, as usual, had the whole situation at his fingers' ends. He had taken + the trouble to inform himself about the girl, and he had discovered, + shrewdly enough, that she was the kind which might be led, but not driven. + If Mr. Flint's advice had been listened to, this story might have had + quite a different ending. But Mr. Flint had not reached the stage where + his advice was always listened to, and he had a maddened man to deal with + now. At that moment, as if fate had determined to intervene, the housemaid + came into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dodd to see you, sir,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Show him in,” shouted Mr. Worthington; “show him in!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dodd was not a man who could wait for a summons which he had felt in + his bones was coming. He was ordinarily, as we have seen, officious. But + now he was thoroughly frightened. He had seen the great man in the + barouche as he drove past the hardware store, and he had made up his mind + to go up at once, and have it over with. His opinions were formed now, He + put a smile on his face when he was a foot outside of the library door. + </p> + <p> + “This is a great pleasure, Mr. Worthington, a great pleasure, to see you + back,” he said, coming forward. “I callated—” + </p> + <p> + But the great man sat in his chair, and made no attempt to return the + greeting. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dodd, I thought you were my friend,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dodd went all to pieces at this reception. + </p> + <p> + “So I be, Mr. Worthington—so I be,” he cried. “That's why I'm here + now. I've b'en a friend of yours ever since I can remember—never + fluctuated. I'd rather have chopped my hand off than had this happen—so + I would. If I could have foreseen what she was, she'd never have had the + place, as sure as my name's Levi Dodd.” + </p> + <p> + If Mr. Dodd had taken the trouble to look at the seneschal's face, he + would have seen a well-defined sneer there. + </p> + <p> + “And now that you know what she is,” cried Mr. Worthington, rising and + smiting the pile of letters on his desk, “why do you keep her there an + instant?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dodd stopped to pick up the letters, which had flown over the floor. + But the great man was now in the full tide of his anger. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind the letters,” he shouted; “tell me why you keep her there.” + </p> + <p> + “We callated we'd wait and see what steps you'd like taken,” said the + trembling townsman. + </p> + <p> + “Steps! Steps! Good God! What kind of man are you to serve in such a place + when you allow the professed ward of Jethro Bass—of Jethro Bass, the + most notoriously depraved man in this state, to teach the children of this + town. Steps! How soon can you call your committee together?” + </p> + <p> + “Right away,” answered Mr. Dodd, breathlessly. He would have gone on to + exculpate himself, but Mr. Worthington's inexorable finger was pointing at + the door. + </p> + <p> + “If you are a friend of mine,” said that gentleman, “and if you have any + regard for the fair name of this town, you will do so at once.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dodd departed precipitately, and Mr. Worthington began to pace the + room, clasping his hands now in front of him, now behind him, in his + agony: repeating now and again various appellations which need not be + printed here, which he applied in turn to the prudential committee, to his + son, and to Cynthia Wetherell. + </p> + <p> + “I'll run her out of Brampton,” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + “If you do,” said Mr. Flint, who had been watching him apparently unmoved, + “you may have Jethro Bass on your back.” + </p> + <p> + “Jethro Bass?” shouted Mr. Worthington, with a laugh that was not pleasant + to hear, “Jethro Bass is as dead as Julius Caesar.” + </p> + <p> + It was one thing for Mr. Dodd to promise so readily a meeting of the + committee, and quite another to decide how he was going to get through the + affair without any more burns and scratches than were absolutely + necessary. He had reversed the usual order, and had been in the fire—now + he was going to the frying-pan. He stood in the street for some time, + pulling at his tuft, and then made his way to Mr. Jonathan Hill's feed + store. Mr. Hill was reading “Sartor Resartus” in his little office, the + temperature of which must have been 95, and Mr. Dodd was perspiring when + he got there. + </p> + <p> + “It's come,” said Mr. Dodd, sententiously. + </p> + <p> + “What's come?” inquired Mr. Hill, mildly. + </p> + <p> + “Isaac D.'s come, that's what,” said Mr. Dodd. “I hain't b'en sleepin' + well of nights, lately. I can't think what we was about, Jonathan, puttin' + that girl in the school. We'd ought to've knowed she wahn't fit.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with her?” inquired Mr. Hill. + </p> + <p> + “Matter with her!” exclaimed his fellow-committeeman, “she lives with + Jethro Bass—she's his ward.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what of it?” said Mr. Hill, who never bothered himself about gossip + or newspapers, or indeed about anything not between the covers of a book, + except when he couldn't help it. + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” exclaimed Mr. Dodd, “he's the most notorious, depraved man in + the state. Hain't we got to look out for the fair name of Brampton?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hill sighed and closed his book. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said; “I'd hoped we were through with that. Let's go up and see + what Judge Graves says about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on,” said Mr. Dodd, seizing the feed dealer by the coat, “we've got + to get it fixed in our minds what we're goin' to do, first. We can't allow + no notorious people in our schools. We've got to stand up to the jedge, + and tell him so. We app'inted her on his recommendation, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I like the girl,” replied Mr. Hill. “I don't think we ever had a better + teacher. She's quiet, and nice appearin', and attends to her business.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dodd pulled his tuft, and cocked his head. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Worthington holds a note of yours, don't he, Jonathan?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hill reflected. He said he thought perhaps Mr. Worthington did. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mr. Dodd, “I guess we might as well go along up to the jedge + now as any time.” + </p> + <p> + But when they got there Mr. Dodd's knock was so timid that he had to + repeat it before the judge came to the door and peered at them over his + spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you?” he asked, severely, though he + knew well enough. He had not been taken by surprise many times during the + last forty years. Mr. Dodd explained that they wished a little meeting of + the committee. The judge ushered them into his bedroom, the parlor being + too good for such an occasion. + </p> + <p> + “Now, gentlemen,” said he, “let us get down to business. Mr. Worthington + arrived here to-day, he has seen Mr. Dodd, and Mr. Dodd has seen Mr. Hill. + Mr. Worthington is a political opponent of Jethro Bass, and wishes Miss + Wetherell dismissed. Mr. Dodd and Mr. Hill have agreed, for various + reasons which I will spare you, that Miss Wetherell should be dismissed. + Have I stated the case, gentlemen, or have I not?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Graves took off his spectacles and wiped them, looking from one to the + other of his very uncomfortable fellow-members. Mr. Hill did not attempt + to speak; but Mr. Dodd, who was not sure now that this was not the fire + and the other the frying-pan, pulled at his tuft until words came to him. + </p> + <p> + “Jedge,” he said finally, “I must say I'm a mite surprised. I must say + your language is unwarranted.” + </p> + <p> + “The truth is never unwarranted,” said the judge. + </p> + <p> + “For the sake of the fair name of Brampton,” began Mr. Dodd, “we cannot + allow—” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dodd,” interrupted the judge, “I would rather have Mr. Worthington's + arguments from Mr. Worthington himself, if I wanted them at all. There is + no need of prolonging this meeting. If I were to waste my breath until six + o'clock, it would be no use. I was about to say that your opinions were + formed, but I will alter that, and say that your minds are fixed. You are + determined to dismiss Miss Wetherell. Is it not so?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you'd hear me, Jedge,” said Mr. Dodd, desperately. + </p> + <p> + “Will you kindly answer me yes or no to that question,” said the judge; + “my time is valuable.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you put it that way, I guess we are agreed that she hadn't ought + to stay. Not that I've anything against her personally—” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said the judge, with a calmness that made them tremble. They + had never bearded him before. “All right, you are two to one and no + certificate has been issued. But I tell you this, gentlemen, that you will + live to see the day when you will bitterly regret this injustice to an + innocent and a noble woman, and Isaac D. Worthington will live to regret + it. You may tell him I said so. Good day, gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + They rose. + </p> + <p> + “Jedge,” began Mr. Dodd again, “I don't think you've been quite fair with + us.” + </p> + <p> + “Fair!” repeated the judge, with unutterable scorn. “Good day, gentlemen.” + And he slammed the door behind them. + </p> + <p> + They walked down the street some distance before either of them spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Goliah,” said Mr. Dodd, at last, “did you ever hear such talk? He's got + the drattedest temper of any man I ever knew, and he never callates to + make a mistake. It's a little mite hard to do your duty when a man talks + that way.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sure we've done it,” answered Mr. Hill. + </p> + <p> + “Not sure!” ejaculated the hardware dealer, for he was now far enough away + from the judge's house to speak in his normal tone, “and she connected + with that depraved—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on,” said Mr. Hill, with an astonishing amount of spirit for him, + “I've heard that before.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dodd looked at him, swallowed the wrong way and began to choke. + </p> + <p> + “You hain't wavered, Jonathan?” he said, when he got his breath. + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven't,” said Mr. Hill, sadly; “but I wish to hell I had.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dodd looked at him again, and began to choke again. It was the first + time he had known Jonathan Hill to swear. + </p> + <p> + “You're a-goin' to stick by what you agreed—by your principles?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to stick by my bread and butter,” said Mr. Hill, “not by my + principles. I wish to hell I wasn't.” + </p> + <p> + And so saying that gentleman departed, cutting diagonally across the + street through the snow, leaving Mr. Dodd still choking and pulling at his + tuft. This third and totally-unexpected shaking-up had caused him to feel + somewhat deranged internally, though it had not altered the opinions now + so firmly planted in his head. After a few moments, however, he had + collected himself sufficiently to move on once more, when he discovered + that he was repeating to himself, quite unconsciously, Mr. Hill's + profanity “I wish to hell I wasn't.” The iron mastiffs glaring at him + angrily out of the snow banks reminded him that he was in front of Mr. + Worthington's door, and he thought he might as well go in at once and + receive the great man's gratitude. He certainly deserved it. But as he put + his hand on the bell Mr. Worthington himself came out of the house, and + would actually have gone by without noticing Mr. Dodd if he had not + spoken. + </p> + <p> + “I've got that little matter fixed, Mr. Worthington,” he said, “called the + committee, and we voted to discharge the—the young woman.” No, he + did not deliver Judge Graves's message. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, Mr. Dodd,” answered the great man, passing on so that Mr. Dodd + was obliged to follow him in order to hear, “I'm glad you've come to your + senses at last. Kindly step into the library and tell Miss Bruce from me + that she may fill the place to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Certain,” said Mr. Dodd, with his hand to his chin. He watched the great + man turn in at his bank in the new block, and then he did as he was bid. + </p> + <p> + By the time school was out that day the news had leaped across Brampton + Street and spread up and down both sides of it that the new teacher had + been dismissed. The story ran fairly straight—there were enough + clews, certainly. The great man's return, the visit of Mr. Dodd, the call + on Judge Graves, all had been marked. The fiat of the first citizen had + gone forth that the ward of Jethro Bass must be got rid of; the designing + young woman who had sought to entrap his son must be punished for her + amazing effrontery. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia came out of school happily unaware that her name was on the lips + of Brampton: unaware, too, that the lord of the place had come into + residence that day. She had looked forward to living in the same town with + Bob's father as an evil which was necessary to be borne, as one of the + things which are more or less inevitable in the lives of those who have to + make their own ways in the world. The children trooped around her, and the + little girls held her hand, and she talked and laughed with them as she + came up the street in the eyes of Brampton,—came up the street to + the block of new buildings where the bank was. Stepping out of the bank, + with that businesslike alertness which characterized him, was the first + citizen—none other. He found himself entangled among the romping + children and—horror of horrors he bumped into the schoolmistress + herself! Worse than this, he had taken off his hat and begged her pardon + before he looked at her and realized the enormity of his mistake. And the + schoolmistress had actually paid no attention to him, but with merely + heightened color had drawn the children out of his way and passed on + without a word. The first citizen, raging inwardly, but trying to appear + unconcerned, walked rapidly back to his house. On the street of his own + town, before the eyes of men, he had been snubbed by a school-teacher. And + such a schoolteacher! + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington, as he paced his library burning with the shame of this + occurrence, remembered that he had had to glance at her twice before it + came over him who she was. His first sensation had been astonishment. And + now, in spite of his bitter anger, he had to acknowledge that the face had + made an impression on him—a fact that only served to increase his + rage. A conviction grew upon him that it was a face which his son, or any + other man, would not be likely to forget. He himself could not forget it. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Cynthia had reached her home, her cheeks still smarting, + conscious that people had stared at her. This much, of course, she knew—that + Brampton believed Bob Worthington to be in love with her: and the + knowledge at such times made her so miserable that the thought of Jethro's + isolation alone deterred her from asking Miss Lucretia Penniman for a + position in Boston. For she wrote to Miss Lucretia about her life and her + reading, as that lady had made her promise to do. She sat down now at the + cherry chest of drawers that was also a desk, to write: not to pour out + her troubles, for she never had done that,—but to calm her mind by + drawing little character sketches of her pupils. But she had only written + the words, “My dear Miss Lucretia,” when she looked out of the window and + saw Judge Graves coming up the path, and ran to open the door for him. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Judge?” she said, for she recognized Mr. Graves as one of + her few friends in Brampton. “I have sent to Boston for the new reader, + but it has not come.” + </p> + <p> + The judge took her hand and pressed it and led her into the little sitting + room. His face was very stern, but his eyes, which had flung fire at Mr. + Dodd, looked at her with a vast compassion. Her heart misgave her. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” he said,—it was long since the judge had called any woman + “my dear,”—“I have bad news for you. The committee have decided that + you cannot teach any longer in the Brampton school.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Judge,” she answered, trying to force back the tears which would + come, “I have tried so hard. I had begun to believe that I could fill the + place.” + </p> + <p> + “Fill the place!” cried the judge, startling her with his sudden anger. + “No woman in the state can fill it better than you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why am I dismissed?” she asked breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + The judge looked at her in silence, his blue lips quivering. Sometimes + even he found it hard to tell the truth. And yet he had come to tell it, + that she might suffer less. He remembered the time when Isaac D. + Worthington had done him a great wrong. + </p> + <p> + “You are dismissed,” he said, “because Mr. Worthington has come home, and + because the two other members of the committee are dogs and cowards.” Mr. + Graves never minced matters when he began, and his voice shook with + passion. “If Mr. Errol had examined you, and you had your certificate, it + might have been different. Errol is not a sycophant. Worthington does not + hold his mortgage.” + </p> + <p> + “Mortgage!” exclaimed Cynthia. The word always struck terror to her soul. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Worthington holds Mr. Hill's mortgage,” said Mr. Graves, more than + ever beside himself at the sight of her suffering. “That man's tyranny is + not to be borne. We will not give up, Cynthia. I will fight him in this + matter if it takes my last ounce of strength, so help me God!” + </p> + <p> + Mortgage! Cynthia sank down in the chair by the desk. In spite of the + misery the news had brought, the thought that his father, too, who was + fighting Jethro Bass as a righteous man, dealt in mortgages and coerced + men to do his will, was overwhelming. So she sat for a while staring at + the landscape on the old wall paper. + </p> + <p> + “I will go to Coniston to-night,” she said at last. + </p> + <p> + “No,” cried the judge, seizing her shoulder in his excitement, “no. Do you + think that I have been your friend—that I am your friend?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Judge Graves—” + </p> + <p> + “Then stay here, where you are. I ask it as a favor to me. You need not go + to the school to-morrow—indeed, you cannot. But stay here for a day + or two at least, and if there is any justice left in a free country, we + shall have it. Will you stay, as a favor to me?” + </p> + <p> + “I will stay, since you ask it,” said Cynthia. “I will do what you think + right.” + </p> + <p> + Her voice was firmer than he expected—much firmer. He glanced at her + quickly, with something very like admiration in his eye. + </p> + <p> + “You are a good woman, and a brave woman,” he said, and with this somewhat + surprising tribute he took his departure instantly. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia was left to her thoughts, and these were harassing and sorrowful + enough. One idea, however, persisted through them all. Mr. Worthington, + whose power she had lived long enough in Brampton to know, was an unjust + man and a hypocrite. That thought was both sweet and bitter: sweet, as a + retribution; and bitter, because he was Bob's father. She realized, now, + that Bob knew these things, and she respected and loved him the more, if + that were possible, because he had refrained from speaking of them to her. + And now another thought came, and though she put it resolutely from her, + persisted. Was she not justified now in marrying him? The reasoning was + false, so she told herself. She had no right to separate Bob from his + father, whatever his father might be. Did not she still love Jethro Bass? + Yes, but he had renounced his ways. Her heart swelled gratefully as she + spoke the words to herself, and she reflected that he, at least, had never + been a hypocrite. + </p> + <p> + Of one thing she was sure, now. In the matter of the school she had right + on her side, and she must allow Judge Graves to do whatever he thought + proper to maintain that right. If Isaac D. Worthington's character had + been different, this would not have been her decision. Now she would not + leave Brampton in disgrace, when she had done nothing to merit it. Not + that she believed that the judge would prevail against such mighty odds. + So little did she think so that she fell, presently, into a despondency + which in all her troubles had not overtaken her—the despondency + which comes even to the pure and the strong when they feel the unjust + strength of the world against them. In this state her eyes fell on the + letter she had started to Miss Lucretia Penniman, and in desperation she + began to write. + </p> + <p> + It was a short letter, reserved enough, and quite in character. It was + right that she should defend herself, which she did with dignity, saying + that she believed the committee had no fault to find with her duties, but + that Mr. Worthington had seen fit to bring influence to bear upon them + because of her connection with Jethro Bass. + </p> + <p> + It was not the whole truth, but Cynthia could not bring herself to write + of that other reason. At the end she asked, very simply, if Miss Lucretia + could find her something to do in Boston in case her dismissal became + certain. Then she put on her coat, and walked to the postoffice to post + the letter, for she resolved that there could be no shame without reason + for it. There was a little more color in her cheeks, and she held her head + high, preparing to be slighted. But she was not slighted, and got more + salutations, if anything, than usual. She was, indeed, in the right not to + hide her head, and policy alone would have forbade it, had Cynthia thought + of policy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + Public opinion is like the wind—it bloweth where it listeth. It + whistled around Brampton the next day, whirling husbands and wives apart, + and families into smithereens. Brampton had a storm all to itself—save + for a sympathetic storm raging in Coniston—and all about a + school-teacher. + </p> + <p> + Had Cynthia been a certain type of woman, she would have had all the men + on her side and all of her own sex against her. It is a decided point to + be recorded in her favor that she had among her sympathizers as many women + as men. But the excitement of a day long remembered in Brampton began, for + her, when a score or more of children assembled in front of the little + house, tramping down the snow on the grass plots, shouting for her to come + to school with them. Children give no mortgages, or keep no hardware + stores. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia, trying to read in front of the fire, was all in a tremble at the + sound of the high-pitched little voices she had grown to love, and she + longed to go out and kiss them, every one. Her nature, however, shrank + from any act which might appear dramatic or sensational. She could not + resist going to the window and smiling at them, though they appeared but + dimly—little dancing figures in a mist. And when they shouted, the + more she shook her head and put her finger to her lips in reproof and + vanished from their sight. Then they trooped sadly on to school, resolved + to make matters as disagreeable as possible for poor Miss Bruce, who had + not offended in any way. + </p> + <p> + Two other episodes worthy of a place in this act of the drama occurred + that morning, and one had to do with Ephraim. Poor Ephraim! His way had + ever been to fight and ask no questions, and in his journey through the + world he had gathered but little knowledge of it. He had limped home the + night before in a state of anger of which Cynthia had not believed him + capable, and had reappeared in the sitting room in his best suit of blue. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going, Cousin Eph?” Cynthia had asked suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “Never you mind, Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + “But I do mind,” she said, catching hold of his sleeve. “I won't let you + go until you confess.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm a-goin' to tell Isaac Worthington what I think of him, that's whar + I'm a-goin',” cried Ephraim “what I always hev thought of him sence he + sent a substitute to the war an' acted treasonable here to home talkin' + ag'in' Lincoln.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cousin Eph, you mustn't,” said Cynthia, clinging to him with all her + strength in her dismay. It had taken every whit of her influence to + persuade him to relinquish his purpose. Cynthia knew very well that + Ephraim meant to lay hands on Mr. Worthington, and it would indeed have + been a disastrous hour for the first citizen if the old soldier had ever + got into his library. Cynthia pointed out, as best she might, that it + would be an evil hour for her, too, and that her cause would be greatly + injured by such a proceeding; she knew very well that it would ruin + Ephraim, but he would not have listened to such an argument. + </p> + <p> + The next thing he wished to do was to go to Coniston and rouse Jethro. + Cynthia's heart stood still when he proposed this, for it touched upon her + greatest fear,—which had impelled her to go to Coniston. But she had + hoped and believed that Jethro, knowing her feelings, would do nothing—since + for her sake he had chosen to give up his power. Now an acute attack of + rheumatism had come to her rescue, and she succeeded in getting Ephraim + off to bed, swathed in bandages. + </p> + <p> + The next morning he had insisted upon hobbling away to the postoffice, + where in due time he was discovered by certain members of the Brampton + Club nailing to the wall a new engraving of Abraham Lincoln, and draping + it with a little silk flag he had bought in Boston. By which it will be + seen that a potion of the Club were coming back to their old haunt. This + portion, it may be surmised, was composed of such persons alone as were + likely to be welcomed by the postmaster. Some of these had grievances + against Mr. Worthington or Mr. Flint; others, in more prosperous + circumstances, might have been moved by envy of these gentlemen; still + others might have been actuated largely by righteous resentment at what + they deemed oppression by wealth and power. These members who came that + morning comprised about one-fourth of those who formerly had been in the + habit of dropping in for a chat, and their numbers were a fair indication + of the fact that those who from various motives took the part of the + schoolteacher in Brampton were as one to three. + </p> + <p> + It is not necessary to repeat their expressions of indignation and + sympathy. There was a certain Mr. Gamaliel Ives in the town, belonging to + an old Brampton family, who would have been the first citizen if that + other first citizen had not, by his rise to wealth and power, so + completely overshadowed him. Mr. Ives owned a small mill on Coniston Water + below the town. He fairly bubbled over with civic pride, and he was an + authority on all matters pertaining to Brampton's history. He knew the + “Hymn to Coniston” by heart. But we are digressing a little. Mr. Ives, + like that other Gamaliel of old, had exhorted his fellow-townsmen to wash + their hands of the controversy. But he was an intimate of Judge Graves, + and after talking with that gentleman he became a partisan overnight; and + when he had stopped to get his mail he had been lured behind the window by + the debate in progress. He was in the midst of some impromptu remarks when + he recognized a certain brisk step behind him, and Isaac D. Worthington + himself entered the sanctum! + </p> + <p> + It must be explained that Mr. Worthington sometimes had an important + letter to be registered which he carried to the postoffice with his own + hands. On such occasions—though not a member of the Brampton Club—he + walked, as an overlord will, into any private place he chose, and + recognized no partitions or barriers. Now he handed the letter (addressed + to a certain person in Cambridge, Massachusetts) to the postmaster. + </p> + <p> + “You will kindly register that and give me a receipt, Mr. Prescott,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + Ephraim turned from his contemplation of the features of the martyred + President, and on his face was something of the look it might have worn + when he confronted his enemies over the log-works at Five Forks. No, for + there was a vast contempt in his gaze now, and he had had no contempt for + the Southerners, and would have shaken hands with any of them the moment + the battle was over. Mr. Worthington, in spite of himself, recoiled a + little before that look, fearing, perhaps, physical violence. + </p> + <p> + “I hain't a-goin' to hurt you, Mr. Worthington,” Ephraim said, “but I am + a-goin' to ask you to git out in front, and mighty quick. If you hev any + business with the postmaster, there's the window,” and Ephraim pointed to + it with his twisted finger. “I don't allow nobody but my friends here, Mr. + Worthington, and people I respect.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington looked—well, eye-witnesses give various versions as + to how he looked. All agree that his lip trembled; some say his eyes + watered: at any rate, he quailed, stood a moment undecided, and then swung + on his heel and walked to the partition door. At this safe distance he + turned. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Prescott,” he said, his voice quivering with passion and perhaps + another emotion, “I will make it my duty to report to the + postmaster-general the manner in which this office is run. Instead of + attending to your business, you make the place a resort for loafers and + idlers. Good morning, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later Mr. Flint himself came to register the letter. But it + was done at the window, and the loafers and idlers were still there. + </p> + <p> + The curtain had risen again, indeed, and the action was soon fast enough + for the most impatient that day. No sooner had the town heard with bated + breath of the expulsion of the first citizen from the inner sanctuary of + the post-office, than the news of another event began to go the rounds. + Mr. Worthington had other and more important things to think about than + minor postmasters, and after his anger and—yes, and momentary fear + had subsided, he forgot the incident except to make a mental note to + remember to deprive Mr. Prescott of his postmastership, which he believed + could be done readily enough now that Jethro Bass was out of the way. Then + he had stepped into the bank, which he had come to regard as his own bank, + as he regarded most institutions in Brampton. He had, in the old days, + been president of it, as we know. He stepped into the bank, and then—he + stepped out again. + </p> + <p> + Most people have experienced that sickly feeling of the diaphragm which + sometimes comes from a sadden shock. Mr. Worthington had it now as he + hurried up the street, and he presently discovered that he was walking in + the direction opposite to that of his own home. He crossed the street, + made a pretence of going into Mr. Goldthwaite's drug store, and hurried + back again. When he reached his own library, he found Mr. Flint busy there + at his desk. Mr. Flint rose. Mr. Worthington sat down and began to pull + the papers about in a manner which betrayed to his seneschal (who knew + every mood of his master) mental perturbation. + </p> + <p> + “Flint,” he said at last, striving his best for an indifferent accent, + “Jethro Bass is here—I ran across him just now drawing money in the + bank.” + </p> + <p> + “I could have told you that this morning,” answered Mr. Flint. “Wheeler, + who runs errands for him in Coniston, drove him in this morning, and he's + been with Peleg Hartington for two hours over Sherman's livery stable.” + </p> + <p> + An interval of silence followed, during which Mr. Worthington shuffled + with his letters and pretended to read them. + </p> + <p> + “Graves has called a mass meeting to-night, I understand,” he remarked in + the same casual way. “The man's a demagogue, and mad as a loon. I believe + he sent back one of our passes once, didn't he? I suppose Bass has come in + to get Hartington to work up the meeting. They'll be laughed out of the + town hall, or hissed out.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess you'll find Bass has come down for something else,” said Mr. + Flint, looking up from a division report. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” demanded Mr. Worthington, changing his attitude to one + of fierceness. But he was well aware that whatever tone he took with his + seneschal, he never fooled him. + </p> + <p> + “I mean what I told you yesterday,” said Flint, “that you've stirred up + the dragon.” + </p> + <p> + Even Mr. Flint did not know how like a knell his words sounded in Isaac + Worthington's ears. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” he cried, “you're talking nonsense, Flint. We maimed him too + thoroughly for that. He hasn't power enough left to carry his own town.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said the seneschal. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that?” said his master, with extreme irritation. + </p> + <p> + “I mean what I said yesterday, that we haven't maimed him at all. He had + his own reasons for going into his hole, and he never would have come out + again if you hadn't goaded him. Now he's out, and we'll have to step + around pretty lively, I can tell you, or he'll maim us.” + </p> + <p> + All of which goes to show that Mr. Flint had some notion of men and + affairs. He became, as may be predicted, the head of many material things + in later days, and he may sometime reappear in company with other + characters in this story. + </p> + <p> + The sickly feeling in Mr. Worthington's diaphragm had now returned. + </p> + <p> + “I think you will find you are mistaken, Flint,” he said, attempting + dignity now. “Very much mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Flint, “perhaps I am. But I believe you'll find he left + for the capital on the eleven o'clock, and if you take the trouble to + inquire from Bedding you will probably learn that the Throne Room is + bespoken for the session.” + </p> + <p> + All of that which Mr. Flint had predicted turned out to be true. The + dragon had indeed waked up. It all began with the news Milly Skinner had + got from the stage driver, imparted to Jethro as he sat reading about + Hiawatha. And terrible indeed had been that awakening. This dragon did not + bellow and roar and lash his tail when he was roused, but he stood up, and + there seemed to emanate from him a fire which frightened poor Milly + Skinner, upset though she was by the news of Cynthia's dismissal. O, + wondrous and paradoxical might of love, which can tame the most powerful + of beasts, and stir them again into furies by a touch! + </p> + <p> + Coniston was the first to tremble, as though the forces stretching + themselves in the tannery house were shaking the very ground, and the name + of Jethro Bass took on once more, as by magic, a terrible meaning. When + Vesuvius is silent, pygmies may make faces on the very lip of the crater, + and they on the slopes forget the black terror of the fiery hail. Jake + Wheeler himself, loyal as he was, did not care to look into the crater now + that he was summoned; but a force pulled him all the way to the tannery + house. He left behind him an awe-stricken gathering at the store, composed + of inhabitants who had recently spoken slightingly of the volcano. + </p> + <p> + We are getting a little mixed in our metaphors between lions and dragons + and volcanoes, and yet none of them are too strong to represent Jethro + Bass when he heard that Isaac Worthington had had the teacher dismissed + from Brampton lower school. He did not stop to reason then that action + might distress her. The beast in him awoke again; the desire for vengeance + on a man whom he had hated most of his life, and who now had dared to + cause pain to the woman whom he loved with all his soul, and even idolize, + was too great to resist. He had no thought of resisting it, for the waters + of it swept over his soul like the Atlantic over a lost continent. He + would crush Isaac Worthington if it took the last breath from his body. + </p> + <p> + Jake went to the tannery house and received his orders—orders of + which he made a great mystery afterward at the store, although they + consisted simply of directions to be prepared to drive Jethro to Brampton + the next morning. But the look of the man had frightened Jake. He had + never seen vengeance so indelibly written on that face, and he had never + before realized the terrible power of vengeance. Mr. Wheeler returned from + that meeting in such a state of trepidation that he found it necessary to + accompany Rias to a certain keg in the cellar; after which he found his + tongue. His description of Jethro's appearance awed his hearers, and Jake + declared that he would not be in Isaac Worthington's shoes for all of + Isaac Worthington's money. There were others right here in Coniston, Jake + hinted, who might now find it convenient to emigrate to the far West. + </p> + <p> + Jethro's face had not changed when Jake drove him out of Coniston the next + morning. Good Mr. Satterlee saw it, and felt that the visit he had wished + to make would have been useless; Mr. Amos Cuthbert and Mr. Sam Price saw + it, from a safe distance within the store, and it is a fact that Mr. Price + seriously thought of taking Mr. Wheeler's advice about a residence in the + West; Mr. Cuthbert, of a sterner nature, made up his mind to be hung and + quartered. A few minutes before Jethro walked into his office over the + livery stable, Senator Peleg Hartington would have denied, with that + peculiar and mournful scorn of which he was master, that Jethro Bass could + ever again have any influence over him. Peleg was, indeed, at that moment + preparing, in his own way, to make overtures to the party of Isaac D. + Worthington. Jethro walked into the office, leaving Jake below with Mr. + Sherman; and Senator Hartington was very glad he had not made the + overtures. And when he accompanied Jethro to the station when he left for + the capital, the senator felt that the eyes of men were upon him. + </p> + <p> + And Cynthia? Happily, Cynthia passed the day in ignorance that Jethro had + gone through Brampton. Ephraim, though he knew of it, did not speak of it + when he came home to his dinner; Mr. Graves had called, and informed her + of the meeting in the town hall that night. + </p> + <p> + “It is our only chance,” he said obdurately, in answer to her protests. + “We must lay the case before the people of Brampton. If they have not the + courage to right the wrong, and force your reinstatement through public + opinion, there is nothing more to be done.” + </p> + <p> + To Cynthia, the idea of having a mass meeting concerning herself was + particularly repellent. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Judge Graves!” she cried, “if there isn't any other way, please drop + the matter. There are plenty of teachers who will—be acceptable to + everybody.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” said the judge, “I can understand that this publicity is very + painful to you. I beg you to remember that we are contending for a + principle. In such cases the individual must be sacrificed to the common + good.” + </p> + <p> + “But I cannot go to the meeting—I cannot.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the judge; “I don't think that will be necessary.” + </p> + <p> + After he was gone, she could think of nothing but the horror of having her + name—yes, and her character—discussed in that public place; + and it seemed to her, if she listened, she could hear a clatter of tongues + throughout the length of Brampton Street, and that she must fain stop her + ears or go mad. The few ladies who called during the day out of kindness + or curiosity, or both, only added to her torture. She was not one who + could open her heart to acquaintances: the curious ones got but little + satisfaction, and the kind ones thought her cold, and they did not + perceive that she was really grateful for their little attentions. + Gratitude, on such occasions, does not always consist in pouring out one's + troubles in the laps of visitors. + </p> + <p> + So the visitors went home, wondering whether it were worth while after all + to interest themselves in the cause of such a self-contained and + self-reliant young woman. In spite of all her efforts, Cynthia had never + wholly succeeded in making most of the Brampton ladies believe that she + did not secretly deem herself above them. They belonged to a reserved race + themselves; but Cynthia had a reserve which was even different from their + own. + </p> + <p> + As night drew on the predictions of Mr. Worthington seemed likely to be + fulfilled, and it looked as if Judge Graves would have a useless bill to + pay for gas in the new town hall. The judge had never been a man who could + compel a following, and he had no magnetism with which to lead a cause: + the town tradesmen, especially those in the new brick block, would be + chary as to risking the displeasure of their best customer. At half-past + seven Mr. Graves: came in, alone, and sat on the platform staring grimly + at his gas. Is there a lecturer, or, a playwright, or a politician, who + has not, at one time or another, been in the judge's place? Who cannot + sympathize with him as he watched the thin and hesitating stream of people + out of the corner of his eye as they came in at the door? The judge + despised them with all his soul, but it is human nature not to wish to sit + in a hall or a theatre that is three-quarters empty. + </p> + <p> + At sixteen minutes to eight a mild excitement occurred, an incident of + some significance which served to detain many waverers. Senator Peleg + Hartington walked up the aisle, and the judge rose and shook him by the + hand, and as Deacon Hartington he was invited to sit on the platform. The + senator's personal influence was not to be ignored; and it had sufficed to + carry his district in the last election against the Worthington forces, in + spite of the abdication of Jethro Bass. Mr. Page, the editor of the + Clarion, Senator Hartington's organ, was also on the platform. But where + was Mr. Ives? Where was that Gamaliel who had been such a warm partisan in + the postoffice that morning? + </p> + <p> + “Saw him outside the hall—wahn't but ten minutes ago,” said Deacon + Hartington, sadly; “thought he was a-comin' in.” + </p> + <p> + Eight o'clock came, and no Mr. Ives; ten minutes past—fifteen + minutes past. If the truth must be told, Mr. Ives had been on the very + threshold of the hall, and one glance at the poor sprinkling of people + there had decided him. Mr. Ives had a natural aversion to being laughed + at, and as he walked back on the darker side of the street he wished + heartily that he had stuck to his original Gamaliel-advocacy of no + interference, of allowing the Supreme Judge to decide. Such opinions were + inevitably just, Mr. Ives was well aware, though not always handed down + immediately. If he were to humble the first citizen, Mr. Ives reflected + that a better opportunity might present itself. The whistle of the + up-train served to strengthen his resolution, for he was reminded thereby + that his mill often had occasion to ask favors of the Truro Railroad. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime it was twenty minutes past eight in the town hall, and Mr. + Graves had not rapped for order. Deacon Hartington sat as motionless as a + stork on the borders of a glassy lake at sunrise, the judge had begun + seriously to estimate the gas bill, and Mr. Page had chewed up the end of + a pencil. There was one, at least, in the audience of whom the judge could + be sure. A certain old soldier in blue sat uncompromisingly on the front + bench with his hands crossed over the head of his stick; but the ladies + and gentlemen nearest the door were beginning to vanish, one by one, + silently as ghosts, when suddenly the judge sat up. He would have rubbed + his eyes, had he been that kind of a man. Four persons had entered the + hall—he was sure of it—and with no uncertain steps as if + frightened by its emptiness. No, they came boldly. And after them trooped + others, and still others were heard in the street beyond, not whispering, + but talking in the unmistakable tones of people who had more coming behind + them. Yes, and more came. It was no illusion, or delusion: there they were + filling the hall as if they meant to stay, and buzzing with excitement. + The judge was quivering with excitement now, but he, too, was only a + spectator of the drama. And what a drama, with a miracle-play for + Brampton! + </p> + <p> + Mr. Page rose from his chair and leaned over the edge of the platform that + something might be whispered in his ear. The news, whatever it was, was + apparently electrifying, and after the first shock he turned to impart it + to Mr. Graves; but turned too late, for the judge had already rapped for + order and was clearing his throat. He could not account for this + extraordinary and unlooked-for audience, among whom he spied many who had + thought it wiser not to protest against the dictum of the first citizen, + and many who had professed to believe that the teacher's connection with + Jethro Bass was a good and sufficient reason for dismissal. The judge was + prepared to take advantage of the tide, whatever its cause. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I take the liberty of calling this + meeting to order. And before a chairman be elected, I mean to ask your + indulgence to explain my purposes in requesting the use of this hall + to-night. In our system of government, the inalienable and most precious + gift—” + </p> + <p> + Whatever the gift was, the judge never explained. He paused at the words, + and repeated them, and stopped altogether because no one was paying any + attention to him. The hall was almost full, the people had risen, with a + hum, and as one man had turned toward the door. Mr. Gamaliel Ives was + triumphantly marching down the aisle, and with him was—well, another + person. Nay, personage would perhaps be the better word. + </p> + <p> + Let us go back for a moment. There descended from that train of which we + have heard the whistle a lady with features of no ordinary moulding, with + curls and a string bonnet and a cloak that seemed strangely to harmonize + with the lady's character. She had the way of one in authority, and Mr. + Sherman himself ran to open the door of his only closed carriage, and the + driver galloped off with her all the way to the Brampton House. Once + there, the lady seized the pen as a soldier seizes the sword, and wrote + her name in most uncompromising characters on the register, Miss Lucretia + Penniman, Boston. Then she marched up to her room. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lucretia Penniman, author of the “Hymn to Coniston,” in the reflected + glory of whose fame Brampton had shone for thirty years! Whose name was + lauded and whose poem was recited at every Fourth of July celebration, + that the very children might learn it and honor its composer! + Stratford-on-Avon is not prouder of Shakespeare than Brampton of Miss + Lucretia, and now she was come back, unheralded, to her birthplace. Mr. + Raines, the clerk, looked at the handwriting on the book, and would not + believe his own sight until it was vouched for by sundry citizens who had + followed the lady from the station—on foot. And then there was a + to-do. + </p> + <p> + Send for Mr. Gamaliel Ives; send for Miss Bruce, the librarian; send for + Mr. Page, editor of the Clarion, and notify the first citizen. He, indeed, + could not be sent for, but had he known of her coming he would undoubtedly + have had her met at the portals and presented with the keys in gold. Up + and down the street flew the news which overshadowed and blotted out all + other, and the poor little school-teacher was forgotten. + </p> + <p> + One of these notables was at hand, though he did not deserve to be. Mr. + Gamaliel Ives sent up his card to Miss Lucretia, and was shown + deferentially into the parlor, where he sat mopping his brow and growing + hot and cold by turns. How would the celebrity treat him? The celebrity + herself answered the question by entering the room in such stately manner + as he had expected, to the rustle of the bombazine. Whereupon Mr. Ives + bounced out of his chair and bowed, though his body was not formed to bend + that way. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Penniman,” he exclaimed, “what an honor for Brampton! And what a + pleasure, the greater because so unexpected! How cruel not to have given + us warning, and we could have greeted you as your great fame deserves! You + could never take time from your great duties to accept the invitations of + our literary committee, alas! But now that you are here, you will find a + warm welcome, Miss Penniman. How long it has been—thirty years,—you + see I know it to a day, thirty years since you left us. Thirty years, I + may say, we have kept burning the vestal fire in your worship, hoping for + this hour.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lucretia may have had her own ideas about the propriety of the + reference to the vestal fire. + </p> + <p> + “Gamaliel,” she said sharply, “straighten up and don't talk nonsense to + me. I've had you on my knee, and I knew your mother and father.” + </p> + <p> + Gamaliel did straighten up, as though Miss Lucretia had applied a lump of + ice to the small of his back. So it is when the literary deities, vestal + or otherwise, return to their Stratfords. There are generally surprises in + store for the people they have had on their knees, and for others. + </p> + <p> + “Gamaliel,” said Miss Lucretia, “I want to see the prudential committee + for the village district.” + </p> + <p> + “The prudential committee!” Mr. Ives fairly shrieked the words in his + astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “I tried to speak plainly,” said Miss Lucretia. “Who are on that + committee?” + </p> + <p> + “Ezra Graves,” said Mr. Ives, as though mechanically compelled, for his + head was spinning round. “Ezra Graves always has run it, until now. But + he's in the town hall.” + </p> + <p> + “What's he doing there?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ives was no fool. Some inkling of the facts began to shoot through his + brain, and he saw his chance. + </p> + <p> + “He called a mass meeting to protest against the dismissal of a teacher.” + </p> + <p> + “Gamaliel,” said Miss Lucretia, “you will conduct me to that meeting. I + will get my cloak.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ives wasted no time in the interval, and he fairly ran out into the + office. Miss Lucretia Penniman was in town, and would attend the mass + meeting. Now, indeed, it was to be a mass meeting. Away flew the tidings, + broadcast, and people threw off their carpet slippers and dressing gowns, + and some who had gone to bed got up again. Mr. Dodd heard it, and changed + his shoes three times, and his intentions three times three. Should he go, + or should he not? Already he heard in imagination the first distant note + of the populace, and he was not of the metal to defend a Bastille or a + Louvre for his royal master with the last drop of his blood. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime Gamaliel Ives was conducting Miss Lucretia toward the town + hall, and speaking in no measured tones of indignation of the cringing, + truckling qualities of that very Mr. Dodd. The injustice to Miss + Wetherell, which Mr. Ives explained as well as he could, made his blood + boil: so he declared. + </p> + <p> + And note we are back again at the meeting, when the judge, with his hand + on his Adam's apple, is pronouncing the word “gift.” Mr. Ives is + triumphantly marching down the aisle, escorting the celebrity of Brampton + to the platform, and quite aware of the heart burnings of his + fellow-citizens on the benches. And Miss Lucretia, with that stern + composure with which celebrities accept public situations, follows up the + steps as of right and takes the chair he assigns her beside the chairman. + The judge, still grasping his Adam's apple, stares at the newcomer in + amazement, and recognizes her in spite of the years, and trembles. Miss + Lucretia Penniman! Blucher was not more welcome to Wellington, or + Lafayette to Washington, than was Miss Lucretia to Ezra Graves as he + turned his back on the audience and bowed to her deferentially. Then he + turned again, cleared his throat once more to collect his senses, and was + about to utter the familiar words, “We have with us tonight,” when they + were taken out of his mouth—taken out of his mouth by one who had in + all conscience stolen enough thunder for one man,—Mr. Gamaliel Ives. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Chairman,” said Mr. Ives, taking a slight dropping of the judge's + lower jaw for recognition, “and ladies and gentlemen of Brampton. It is + our great good fortune to have with us to-night, most unexpectedly, one of + whom Brampton is, and for many years has been, justly proud.” (Cheers.) + “One whose career Brampton has followed with a mother's eyes and with a + mother's heart. One who has chosen a broader field for the exercise of + those great powers with which Nature endowed her than Brampton could give. + One who has taken her place among the luminaries of literature of her + time.” (Cheers.) “One who has done more than any other woman of her + generation toward the uplifting of the sex which she honors.” (Cheers and + clapping of hands.) “And one who, though her lot has fallen among the + great, has not forgotten the home of her childhood. For has she not + written those beautiful lines which we all know by heart? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Ah, Coniston! Thy lordly form I see + Before mine eyes in exile drear.' +</pre> + <p> + “Mr. Chairman and fellow-townsmen and women, I have the extreme honor of + introducing to you one whom we all love and revere, the author of the + 'Hymn to Coniston,' the editor of the Woman's Hour, Miss Lucretia + Penniman.'” (Loud and long-continued applause.) + </p> + <p> + Well might Brampton be proud, too, of Gamaliel Ives, president of its + literary club, who could make such a speech as this on such short notice. + If the truth be told, the literary club had sent Miss Lucretia no less + than seven invitations, and this was the speech Mr. Ives had intended to + make on those seven occasions. It was unquestionably a neat speech, and + Judge Graves or no other chairman should cheat him out of making it. Mr. + Ives, with a wave of his hand toward the celebrity, sat down by no means + dissatisfied with himself. What did he care how the judge glared. He did + not see how stiffly Miss Lucretia sat in her chair. She could not take him + on her knee then, but she would have liked to. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lucretia rose, and stood quite as stiffly as she had sat, and the + judge rose, too. He was very angry, but this was not the time to get even + with Mr. Ives. As it turned out, he did not need to bother about getting + even. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies and gentlemen,” said he, “in the absence of any other chairman I + take pleasure in introducing to you Miss Lucretia Penniman.” + </p> + <p> + More applause was started, but Miss Lucretia put a stop to it by the + lifting of a hand. Then there was a breathless silence. Then she cast her + eyes around the hall, as though daring any one to break that silence, and + finally they rested upon Mr. Ives. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Chairman,” she said, with an inclination toward the judge, “my + friends—for I hope you will be my friends when I have finished” + (Miss Lucretia made it quite clear by her tone that it entirely depended + upon them whether they would be or not), “I understood when I came here + that this was to be a mass meeting to protest against an injustice, and + not a feast of literature and oratory, as Gamaliel Ives seems to suppose.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, and when the first shock of amazement was past an audible + titter ran through the audience, and Mr. Ives squirmed visibly. + </p> + <p> + “Am I right, Mr. Chairman?” asked Miss Lucretia. + </p> + <p> + “You are unquestionably right, Miss Penniman,” answered the chairman, + rising, “unquestionably.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will proceed,” said Miss Lucretia. “I wrote the Hymn to Coniston' + many years ago, when I was younger, and yet it is true that I have always + remembered Brampton with kindly feelings. The friends of our youth are + dear to us. We look indulgently upon their failings, even as they do on + ours. I have scanned the faces here in the hall to-night, and there are + some that have not changed beyond recognition in thirty years. Ezra Graves + I remember, and it is a pleasure to see him in that chair.” (Mr. Graves + inclined his head, reverently. None knew how the inner man exulted.) “But + there was one who was often in Brampton in those days,” Miss Lucretia + continued, “whom we all loved and with whom we found no fault, and I + confess that when I have thought of Brampton I have oftenest thought of + her. Her name,” said Miss Lucretia, her hand now in the reticule, “her + name was Cynthia Ware.” + </p> + <p> + There was a decided stir among the audience, and many leaned forward to + catch every word. + </p> + <p> + “Even old people may have an ideal,” said Miss Lucretia, “and you will + forgive me for speaking of mine. Where should I speak of it, if not in + this village, among those who knew her and among their children? Cynthia + Ware, although she was younger than I, has been my ideal, and is still. + She was the daughter of the Rev. Samuel Ware of Coniston, and a descendant + of Captain Timothy Prescott, whom General Stark called 'Honest Tim.' She + was, to me, all that a woman should be, in intellect, in her scorn of all + that is ignoble and false, and in her loyalty to her friends.” Here the + handkerchief came out of the reticule. “She went to Boston to teach + school, and some time afterward I was offered a position in New York, and + I never saw her again. But she married in Boston a man of learning and + literary attainments, though his health was feeble and he was poor, + William Wetherell.” (Another stir.) “Mr. Wetherell was a gentleman—Cynthia + Ware could have married no other—and he came of good and honorable + people in Portsmouth. Very recently I read a collection of letters which + he wrote to the Newcastle Guardian, which some of you may know. I did not + trust my own judgment as to those letters, but I took them to an author + whose name is known wherever English is spoken, but which I will not + mention. And the author expressed it as his opinion, in writing to me, + that William Wetherell was undoubtedly a genius of a high order, and that + he would have been so recognized if life had given him a chance. Mr. + Wetherell, after his wife died, was taken in a dying condition to + Coniston, where he was forced, in order to earn his living, to become the + storekeeper there. But he took his books with him, and found time to write + the letters of which I have spoken, and to give his daughter an early + education such as few girls have. + </p> + <p> + “My friends, I am rejoiced to see that the spirit of justice and the sense + of right are as strong in Brampton as they used to be—strong enough + to fill this town hall to overflowing because a teacher has been wrongly—yes, + and iniquitously—dismissed from the lower school.” (Here there was a + considerable stir, and many wondered whether Miss Lucretia was aware of + the irony in her words.) “I say wrongly and iniquitously, because I have + had the opportunity in Boston this winter of learning to know and love + that teacher. I am not given to exaggeration, my friends, and when I tell + you that I know her, that her character is as high and pure as her + mother's, I can say no more. I am here to tell you this to-night because I + do not believe you know her as I do. During the seventy years I have lived + I have grown to have but little faith in outward demonstration, to believe + in deeds and attainments rather than expressions. And as for her fitness + to teach, I believe that even the prudential committee could find no fault + with that.” (I wonder whether Mr. Dodd was in the back of the hall.) “I + can find no fault with it. I am constantly called upon to recommend + teachers, and I tell you I should have no hesitation in sending Cynthia + Wetherell to a high school, young as she is.” + </p> + <p> + “And now, my friends, why was she dismissed? I have heard the facts, + though not from her. Cynthia Wetherell does not know that I have come to + Brampton, unless somebody has told her, and did not know that I was + coming. I have heard the facts, and I find it difficult to believe that so + great a wrong could be attempted against a woman, and if the name of + Cynthia Wetherell had meant no more to me than the letters in it I should + have travelled twice as far as Brampton, old as I am, to do my utmost to + right that wrong. I give you my word of honor that I have never been so + indignant in my life. I do not come here to stir up enmities among you, + and I will mention no more names. I prefer to believe that the prudential + committee of this district has made a mistake, the gravity of which they + must now realize, and that they will reinstate Cynthia Wetherell + to-morrow. And if they should not of their own free will, I have only to + look around this meeting to be convinced that they will be compelled to. + Compelled to, my friends, by the sense of justice and the righteous + indignation of the citizens of Brampton.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lucretia sat down, her strong face alight with the spirit that was in + her. Not the least of the compelling forces in this world is righteous + anger, and when it is exercised by a man or a woman whose life has been a + continual warfare against the pests of wrong, it is well-nigh + irresistible. While you could count five seconds the audience sat silent, + and then began such tumult and applause as had never been seen in Brampton—all + started, so it is said, by an old soldier in the front row with his stick. + Isaac D. Worthington, sitting alone in the library of his mansion, heard + it, and had no need to send for Mr. Flint to ask what it was, or who it + was had fired the Third Estate. And Mr. Dodd heard it. He may have been in + the hall, but now he sat at home, seeing visions of the lantern, and he + would have fled to the palace had he thought to get any sympathy from his + sovereign. No, Mr. Dodd did not hold the Bastille or even fight for it. + Another and a better man gave up the keys, for heroes are sometimes hidden + away in meek and retiring people who wear spectacles and have a stoop to + their shoulders. Long before the excitement died away a dozen men were on + their feet shouting at the chairman, and among them was the tall, stooping + man with spectacles. He did not shout, but Judge Graves saw him and made + up his mind that this was the man to speak. The chairman raised his hand + and rapped with his gavel, and at length he had obtained silence. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “I am going to recognize Mr. Hill of the + prudential committee, and ask him to step up on the platform.” + </p> + <p> + There fell another silence, as absolute as the first, when Mr. Hill walked + down the aisle and climbed the steps. Indeed, people were stupefied, for + the feed dealer was a man who had never opened his mouth in town-meeting; + who had never taken an initiative of any kind; who had allowed other men + to take advantage of him, and had never resented it. And now he was going + to speak. Would he defend the prudential committee, or would he declare + for the teacher? Either course, in Mr. Hill's case, required courage, and + he had never been credited with any. If Mr. Hill was going to speak at + all, he was going to straddle. + </p> + <p> + He reached the platform, bowed irresolutely to the chairman, and then + stood awkwardly with one knee bent, peering at his audience over his + glasses. He began without any address whatever. + </p> + <p> + “I want to say,” he began in a low voice, “that I had no intention of + coming to this meeting. And I am going to confess—I am going to + confess that I was afraid to come.” He raised his voice a little defiantly + a the words, and paused. One could almost hear the people breathing. “I + was afraid to come for fear that I should do the very thing I am going to + do now. And yet I was impelled to come. I want to say that my conscience + has not been clear since, as a member of the prudential committee, I gave + my consent to the dismissal of Miss Wetherell. I know that I was + influenced by personal and selfish considerations which should have had no + weight. And after listening to Miss Penniman I take this opportunity to + declare, of my own free will, that I will add my vote to that of Judge + Graves to reinstate Miss Wetherell.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hill bowed slightly, and was about to descend the steps when the + chairman, throwing parliamentary dignity to the winds, arose and seized + the feed dealer's hand. And the people in the hall almost as one man + sprang to their feet and cheered, and some—Ephraim Prescott among + these—even waved their hats and shouted Mr. Hill's name. A New + England audience does not frequently forget itself, but there were few + present who did not understand the heroism of the man's confession, who + were not carried away by the simple and dramatic dignity of it. He had no + need to mention Mr. Worthington's name, or specify the nature of his + obligations to that gentleman. In that hour Jonathan Hill rose high in the + respect of Brampton, and some pressed into the aisle to congratulate him + on his way back to his seat. Not a few were grateful to him for another + reason. He had relieved the meeting of the necessity of taking any further + action: of putting their names, for instance, in their enthusiasm to a + paper which the first citizen might see. + </p> + <p> + Judge Graves, whose sense of a climax was acute, rapped for order. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, in a voice not wholly free from emotion, + “you will all wish to pay your respects to the famous lady, who is with + us. I see that the Rev. Mr. Sweet is present, and I suggest that we + adjourn, after he has favored us with a prayer.” + </p> + <p> + As the minister came forward, Deacon Hartington dropped his head and began + to flutter his eyelids. The Rev. Mr. Sweet prayed, and so was brought to + an end the most exciting meeting ever held in Brampton town hall. + </p> + <p> + But Miss Lucretia did not like being called “a famous lady.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + While Miss Lucretia was standing, unwillingly enough, listening to the + speeches that were poured into her ear by various members of the audience, + receiving the incense and myrrh to which so great a celebrity was + entitled, the old soldier hobbled away to his little house as fast as his + three legs would carry him. Only one event in his life had eclipsed this + in happiness—the interview in front of the White House. He rapped on + the window with his stick, thereby frightening Cynthia half out of her + wits as she sat musing sorrowfully by the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Cousin Ephraim,” she said, taking off his corded hat, “what in the + world's the matter with you?” + </p> + <p> + “You're a schoolmarm again, Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Lucretia Penniman done it.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Lucretia Penniman!” Cynthia began to think his rheumatism was + driving him out of his mind. + </p> + <p> + “You bet. 'Long toward the openin' of the engagement there wahn't scarcely + anybody thar but me, and they was a-goin'. But they come fast enough when + they l'arned she was in town, and she blew 'em up higher'n the Petersburg + crater. Great Tecumseh, there's a woman! Next to General Grant, I'd sooner + shake her hand than anybody's livin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say that Miss Lucretia is in Brampton and spoke at the + mass meeting?” + </p> + <p> + “Spoke!” exclaimed Ephraim, “callate she did—some. Tore 'em all up. + They'd a hung Isaac D. Worthington or Levi Dodd if they'd a had 'em thar.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia, striving to be calm herself, got him into a chair and took his + stick and straightened out his leg, and then Ephraim told her the story, + and it lost no dramatic effect in his telling. He would have talked all + night. But at length the sound of wheels was heard in the street, Cynthia + flew to the door, and a familiar voice came out of the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “You need not wait, Gamaliel. No, thank you, I think I will stay at the + hotel.” + </p> + <p> + Gamaliel was still protesting when Miss Lucretia came in and seized + Cynthia in her arms, and the door was closed behind her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Miss Lucretia, why did you come?” said Cynthia, “if I had known you + would do such a thing, I should never have written that letter. I have + been sorry to-day that I did write it, and now I'm sorrier than ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you glad to see me?” demanded Miss Lucretia. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Lucretia!” + </p> + <p> + “What are friends for?” asked Miss Lucretia, patting her hand. “If you had + known how I wished to see you, Cynthia, and I thought a little trip would + be good for such a provincial Bostonian as I am. Dear, dear, I remember + this house. It used to belong to Gabriel Post in my time, and right across + from it was the Social Library, where I have spent so many pleasant hours + with your mother. And this is Ephraim Prescott. I thought it was, when I + saw him sitting in the front row, and I think he must have been very + lonesome there at one time.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” said Ephraim, giving her his gnarled fingers; “I was just + sayin' to Cynthy that I'd ruther shake your hand than anybody's livin' + exceptin' General Grant.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'd rather shake yours than the General's,” said Miss Lucretia, for + the Woman's Hour had taken the opposition side in a certain recent public + question concerning women. + </p> + <p> + “If you'd a fit with him, you wouldn't say that, Miss Lucrety.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't a word to say against his fighting qualities,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Guess the General might say the same of you,” said Ephraim. “If you'd a + b'en a man, I callate you'd a come out of the war with two stars on your + shoulder. Godfrey, Miss Lucrety, you'd ought to've b'en a man.” + </p> + <p> + “A man!” cried Miss Lucretia, “and 'stars on my shoulder'! I think this + kind of talk has gone far enough, Ephraim Prescott.” + </p> + <p> + “Cousin Eph,” said Cynthia, laughing, “you're no match for Miss Lucretia, + and it's long past your bedtime.” + </p> + <p> + “A man!” repeated Miss Lucretia, after he had retired, and after Cynthia + had tried to express her gratitude and had been silenced. They sat side by + side in front of the chimney. “I suppose he meant that as a compliment. I + never yet saw the man I couldn't back down, and I haven't any patience + with a woman who gives in to them.” Miss Lucretia poked vigorously a log + which had fallen down, as though that were a man, too, and she was putting + him back in his proper place. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia, strange to say, did not reply to this remark. + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia,” said Miss Lucretia, abruptly, “you don't mean to say that you + are in love!” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia drew a long breath, and grew as red as the embers. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Lucretia!” she exclaimed, in astonishment and dismay. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” Miss Lucretia said, “I should have thought you could have gotten + along, for a while at least, without anything of that kind. My dear,” she + said leaning toward Cynthia, “who is he?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia turned away. She found it very hard to speak of her troubles, even + to Miss Lucretia, and she would have kept this secret even from Jethro, + had it been possible. + </p> + <p> + “You must let him know his place,” said Miss Lucretia, “and I hope he is + in some degree worthy of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not intend to marry him,” said Cynthia, with head still turned away. + </p> + <p> + It was now Miss Lucretia who was silent. + </p> + <p> + “I came near getting married once,” she said presently, with + characteristic abruptness. + </p> + <p> + “You!” cried Cynthia, looking around in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “You see, I am franker than you, my dear—though I never told any one + else. I believe you can keep a secret.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I can. Who—was it anyone in Brampton, Miss Lucretia?” The + question was out before Cynthia realized its import. She was turning the + tables with a vengeance. + </p> + <p> + “It was Ezra Graves,” said Miss Lucretia. + </p> + <p> + “Ezra Graves!” And then Cynthia pressed Miss Lucretia's hand in silence, + thinking how strange it was that both of them should have been her + champions that evening. + </p> + <p> + Miss Lucretia poked the fire again. + </p> + <p> + “It was shortly after that, when I went to Boston, that I wrote the 'Hymn + to Coniston.' I suppose we must all be fools once or twice, or we should + not be human.” + </p> + <p> + “And—weren't you ever—sorry?” asked Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + Again there was a silence. + </p> + <p> + “I could not have done the work I have had to do in the world if I had + married. But I have often wondered whether that work was worth the while. + Such a feeling must come over all workers, occasionally. Yes,” said Miss + Lucretia, “there have been times when I have been sorry, my dear, though I + have never confessed it to another soul. I am telling you this for your + own good—not mine. If you have the love of a good man, Cynthia, be + careful what you do with it.” + </p> + <p> + The tears had come into Cynthia's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I should have told you, Miss Lucretia,” she faltered. “If I could have + married him, it would have been easier.” + </p> + <p> + “Why can't you marry him?” demanded Miss Lucretia, sharply—to hide + her own emotion. + </p> + <p> + “His name,” said Cynthia, “is Bob Worthington:” + </p> + <p> + “Isaac Worthington's son?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Another silence, Miss Lucretia being utterly unable to say anything for a + space. + </p> + <p> + “Is he a good man?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia was on the point of indignant-protest, but she stopped herself in + time. + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you what he has done,” she answered, “and then you shall + judge for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + And she told Miss Lucretia, simply, all that Bob had done, and all that + she herself had done. + </p> + <p> + “He is like his mother, Sarah Hollingsworth; I knew her well,” said Miss + Lucretia. “If Isaac Worthington were a man, he would be down on his knees + begging you to marry his son. He tried hard enough to marry your own + mother.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother!” exclaimed Cynthia, who had never believed that rumor. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Miss Lucretia, “and you may thank your stars he didn't + succeed. I mistrusted him when he was a young man, and now I know that he + hasn't changed. He is a coward and a hypocrite.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia could not deny this. + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” she said, after a moment's silence, “I am sure you will say + that I have been right. My own conscience tells me that it is wrong to + deprive Bob of his inheritance, and to separate him from his father, + whatever his father—may be.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall see what happens in five years,” said Miss Lucretia. + </p> + <p> + “Five years!” said Cynthia, in spite of herself. + </p> + <p> + “Jacob served seven for Rachel,” answered Miss Lucretia; “that period is + scarcely too short to test a man, and you are both young.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Cynthia, “I cannot marry him, Miss Lucretia. The world would + accuse me of design, and I feel that I should not be happy. I am sure that + he would never reproach me, even if things went wrong, but—the day + might come when—when he would wish that it had been otherwise.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Lucretia kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “You are very young, my dear,” she repeated, “and none of us may say what + changes time may bring forth. And now I must go.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia insisted upon walking with her friend down the street to the hotel—an + undertaking that was without danger in Brampton. And it was only a step, + after all. A late moon floated in the sky, throwing in relief the shadow + of the Worthington mansion against the white patches of snow. A light was + still burning in the library. + </p> + <p> + The next morning after breakfast Miss Lucretia appeared at the little + house, and informed Cynthia that she would walk to school with her. + </p> + <p> + “But I have not yet been notified by the Committee,” said Cynthia. There + was a knock at the door, and in walked Judge Ezra Graves. Miss Lucretia + may have blushed, but it is certain that Cynthia did. Never had she seen + the judge so spick and span, and he wore the broadcloth coat he usually + reserved for Sundays. He paused at the threshold, with his hand on his + Adam's apple. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, ladies,” he said, and looked shyly at Miss Lucretia and + cleared his throat, and spoke with the elaborate decorum he used on + occasions, “Miss Penniman, I wish to thank you again for your noble action + of last evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't 'Miss Penniman' me, Ezra Graves,” retorted Miss Lucretia; “the only + noble action I know of was poor Jonathan Hill's—unless it was paying + for the gas.” + </p> + <p> + This was the way in which Miss Lucretia treated her lover after thirty + years! Cynthia thought of what the lady had said to her a few hours since, + by this very fire, and began to believe she must have dreamed it. Fires + look very differently at night—and sometimes burn brighter then. The + judge parted his coat tails, and seated himself on the wooden edge of a + cane-bottomed chair. + </p> + <p> + “Lucretia,” he said, “you haven't changed.” + </p> + <p> + “You have, Ezra,” she replied, looking at the Adam's apple. + </p> + <p> + “I'm an old man,” said Ezra Graves. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia could not help thinking that he was a very different man, in Miss + Lucretia's presence, than when at the head of the prudential committee. + </p> + <p> + “Ezra,” said Miss Lucretia, “for a man you do very well.” + </p> + <p> + The judge smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Lucretia,” said he. He seemed to appreciate the full extent of + the compliment. + </p> + <p> + “Judge Graves,” said Cynthia, “I can tell you how good you are, at least, + and thank you for your great kindness to me, which I shall never forget.” + </p> + <p> + She took his withered hands from his knees and pressed them. He returned + the pressure, and then searched his coat tails, found a handkerchief, and + blew his nose violently. + </p> + <p> + “I merely did my duty, Miss Wetherell,” he said. “I would not wilfully + submit to a wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “You called me Cynthia yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “So I did,” he answered, “so I did.” Then he looked at Miss Lucretia. + </p> + <p> + “Ezra,” said that lady, smiling a little, “I don't believe you have + changed, after all.” + </p> + <p> + What she meant by that nobody knows. + </p> + <p> + “I had thought, Cynthia,” said the judge, “that it might be more + comfortable for you to have me go to the school with you. That is the + reason for my early call.” + </p> + <p> + “Judge Graves, I do appreciate your kindness,” said Cynthia; “I hope you + won't think I'm rude if I say I'd rather go alone.” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, my dear,” replied the judge, “I think I can understand + and esteem your feeling in the matter, and it shall be as you wish.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I think I had better be going,” said Cynthia. The judge rose in + alarm at the words, but she put her hand on his shoulder. “Won't you sit + down and stay,” she begged, “you haven't seen Miss Lucretia for how many + years,—thirty, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + Again he glanced at Miss Lucretia, uncertainly. “Sit down, Ezra,” she + commanded, “and for goodness' sake don't be afraid of the cane bottom. You + won't go through it. I should like to talk to you, and most of the gossips + of our day are dead. I shall stay in Brampton to-day, Cynthia, and eat + supper with you here this evening.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia, as she went out of the door, wondered what they would talk about. + Then she turned toward the school. It was not the March wind that burned + her cheeks; as she thought of the mass meeting the night before, which was + all about her, she wished she might go to school that morning through the + woods and pasture lots rather than down Brampton Street. What—what + would Bob say when he heard of the meeting? Would he come again to + Brampton? If he did, she would run away to Boston with Miss Lucretia. + Every day it had been a trial to pass the Worthington house, but she could + not cross the wide street to avoid it. She hurried a little, + unconsciously, when she came to it, for there was Mr. Worthington on the + steps talking to Mr. Flint. How he must hate her now, Cynthia reflected! + He did not so much as look up when she passed. + </p> + <p> + The other citizens whom she met made up for Mr. Worthington's coldness, + and gave her a hearty greeting, and some stopped to offer their + congratulations. Cynthia did not pause to philosophize: she was learning + to accept the world as it was, and hurried swiftly on to the little + schoolhouse. The children saw her coming, and ran to meet her and escorted + her triumphantly in at the door. Of their welcome she could be sure. Thus + she became again teacher of the lower school. + </p> + <p> + How the judge and Miss Lucretia got along that morning, Cynthia never + knew. Miss Lucretia spent the day in her old home, submitting to + hero-worship, and attended an evening party in her honor at Mr. Gamaliel + Ives's house—a mansion not so large as the first citizen's, though + it had two bay-windows and was not altogether unimposing. The first + citizen, needless to say, was not there, but the rest of the elite + attended. Mr. Ives will tell you all about the entertainment if you go to + Brampton, but the real reason Miss Lucretia consented to go was to please + Lucy Baird, who was Gamaliel's wife, and to chat with certain old friends + whom she had not seen. The next morning she called at the school to bid + Cynthia good-by, and to whisper something in her ear which made her very + red before all the scholars. She shook her head when Miss Lucretia said + it, for it had to do with an incident in the 29th chapter of Genesis. + </p> + <p> + While Jonathan Hill was being made a hero of in the little two-by-four + office of the feed store the morning after the mass meeting (though nobody + offered to take over his mortgage), Mr. Dodd was complaining to his wife + of shooting pains, and “callated” he would stay at home that day. + </p> + <p> + “Shootin' fiddlesticks!” said Mrs. Dodd. “Get along down to the store and + face the music, Levi Dodd. You'd have had shootin' pains if you'd a went + to the meetin'.” + </p> + <p> + “I might stop by at Mr. Worthington's house and explain how powerless I + was—” + </p> + <p> + “For goodness' sake git out, Levi. I guess he knows how powerless you are + with your shootin' pains. If you only could forget Isaac D. Worthington + for three minutes, you wouldn't have 'em.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dodd's two clerks saw him enter the store by the back door and he was + very much interested in the new ploughs which were piled up in crates + outside of it. Then he disappeared into his office and shut the door, and + supposedly became very much absorbed in book-keeping. If any one called, + he was out—any one. Plenty of people did call, but he was not + disturbed—until ten o'clock. Mr. Dodd had a very sensitive ear, and + he could often recognize a man by his step, and this man he recognized. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Mr. Dodd?” demanded the owner of the step, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “He's out, Mr. Worthington. Anything I can do for you, Mr. Worthington?” + </p> + <p> + “You can tell him to come up to my house the moment he comes in.” + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately Mr. Dodd in the office had got into a strained position. He + found it necessary to move a little; the day-book fell heavily to the + floor, and the perspiration popped out all over his forehead. Come out, + Levi Dodd. The Bastille is taken, but there are other fortresses still in + the royal hands where you may be confined. + </p> + <p> + “Who's in the office?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, sir,” answered the clerk, winking at his companion, who was + sorting nails. + </p> + <p> + In three strides the great man had his hand on the office door and had + flung it open, disclosing the culprit cowering over the day-book on the + floor. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Dodd,” cried the first citizen, “what do you mean by—?” + </p> + <p> + Some natures, when terrified, are struck dumb. Mr. Dodd's was the kind + which bursts into speech. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't help it, Mr. Worthington,” he cried, “they would have it. I + don't know what got into 'em. They lost their senses, Mr. Worthington, + plumb lost their senses. If you'd a b'en there, you might have brought 'em + to. I tried to git the floor, but Ezry Graves—” + </p> + <p> + “Confound Ezra Graves, and wait till I have done, can't you,” interrupted + the first citizen, angrily. “What do you mean by putting a bath-tub into + my house with the tin loose, so that I cut my leg on it?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Dodd nearly fainted from sheer relief. + </p> + <p> + “I'll put a new one in to-day, right now,” he gasped. + </p> + <p> + “See that you do,” said the first citizen, “and if I lose my leg, I'll sue + you for a hundred thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “I was a-goin' to explain about them losin' their heads at the mass + meetin'—” + </p> + <p> + “Damn their heads!” said the first citizen. “And yours, too,” he may have + added under his breath as he stalked out. It was not worth a swing of the + executioner's axe in these times of war. News had arrived from the state + capital that morning of which Mr. Dodd knew nothing. Certain feudal chiefs + from the North Country, of whose allegiance Mr. Worthington had felt sure, + had obeyed the summons of their old sovereign, Jethro Bass, and had come + South to hold a conclave under him at the Pelican. Those chiefs of the + North Country, with their clans behind them as one man, what a power they + were in the state! What magnificent qualities they had, in battle or + strategy, and how cunning and shrewd was their generalship! Year after + year they came down from their mountains and fought shoulder to shoulder, + and year after year they carried back the lion's share of the spoils + between them. The great South, as a whole, was powerless to resist them, + for there could be no lasting alliance between Harwich and Brampton and + Newcastle and Gosport. Now their king had come back, and the North Country + men were rallying again to his standard. No wonder that Levi Dodd's head, + poor thing that it was, was safe for a while. + </p> + <p> + “Organize what you have left, and be quick about it,” said Mr. Flint, when + the news had come, and they sat in the library planning a new campaign in + the face of this evident defection. There was no time to cry over spilt + milk or reinstated school-teachers. The messages flew far and wide to the + manufacturing towns to range their guilds into line for the railroads. The + seneschal wrote the messages, and sent the summons to the sleek men of the + cities, and let it be known that the coffers were full and not too tightly + sealed, that the faithful should not lack for the sinews of war. Mr. Flint + found time, too, to write some carefully worded but nevertheless + convincing articles for the Newcastle Guardian, very damaging to certain + commanders who had proved unfaithful. + </p> + <p> + “Flint,” said Mr. Worthington, when they had worked far into the night, + “if Bass beats us, I'm a crippled man.” + </p> + <p> + “And if you postpone the fight now that you have begun it? What then?” + </p> + <p> + The answer, Mr. Worthington knew, was the same either way. He did not + repeat it. He went to his bed, but not to sleep for many hours, and when + he came down to his breakfast in the morning, he was in no mood to read + the letter from Cambridge which Mrs. Holden had put on his plate. But he + did read it, with what anger and bitterness may be imagined. There was the + ultimatum,—respectful, even affectionate, but firm. “I know that you + will, in all probability, disinherit me as you say, and I tell you + honestly that I regret the necessity of quarrelling with you more than I + do the money. I do not pretend to say that I despise money, and I like the + things that it buys, but the woman I love is more to me than all that you + have.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington laid the letter down, and there came irresistibly to his + mind something that his wife had said to him before she died, shortly + after they had moved into the mansion. “Dudley, how happy we used to be + together before we were rich!” Money had not been everything to Sarah + Worthington, either. But now no tender wave of feeling swept over him as + he recalled those words. He was thinking of what weapon he had to prevent + the marriage beyond that which was now useless—disinheritance. He + would disinherit Bob, and that very day. He would punish his son to the + utmost of his power for marrying the ward of Jethro Bass. He wondered + bitterly, in case a certain event occurred, whether he would have much to + alienate. + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Flint arrived, fresh as usual in spite of the work he had + accomplished and the cigars he had smoked the night before, Mr. + Worthington still had the letter in his hand, and was pacing his library + floor, and broke into a tirade against his son. + </p> + <p> + “After all I have done for him, building up for him a position and a + fortune that is only surpassed by young Duncan's, to treat me in this way, + to drag down the name of Worthington in the mire. I'll never forgive him. + I'll send for Dixon and leave the money for a hospital in Brampton. Can't + you suggest any way out of this, Flint?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Flint, “not now. The only chance you have is to ignore the + thing from now on. He may get tired of her—I've known such things to + happen.” + </p> + <p> + “When she hears that I've disinherited him, she will get tired of him,” + declared Mr. Worthington. + </p> + <p> + “Try it and see, if you like,” said Flint. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Flint, if the woman has a spark of decent feeling, as you seem + to think, I'll send for her and tell her that she will ruin Robert if she + marries him.” Mr. Worthington always spoke of his son as “Robert.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have thought of that before the mass meeting. Perhaps it + would have done some good then.” + </p> + <p> + “Because this Penniman woman has stirred people up—is that what you + mean? I don't care anything about that. Money counts in the long run.” + </p> + <p> + “If money counted with this school-teacher, it would be a simple matter. I + think you'll find it doesn't.” + </p> + <p> + “I've known you to make some serious mistakes,” snapped Mr. Worthington. + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you ask for my advice?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll send for her, and appeal to her better nature,” said Mr. + Worthington, with an unconscious and sublime irony. + </p> + <p> + Flint gave no sign that he heard. Mr. Worthington seated himself at his + desk, and after some thought wrote on a piece of note-paper the following + lines: “My dear Miss Wetherell, I should be greatly obliged if you would + find it convenient to call at my house at eight o'clock this evening,” and + signed them, “Sincerely Yours.” He sealed them up in an envelope and + addressed it to Miss Wetherell, at the schoolhouse; and handed it to Mr. + Flint. That gentleman got as far as the door, and then he hesitated and + turned. + </p> + <p> + “There is just one way out of this for you, that I can see, Mr. + Worthington,” he said. “It's a desperate measure, but it's worth thinking + about.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + It took some courage for Mr. Flint, to make the suggestion. “The girl's a + good girl, well educated, and by no means bad looking. Bob might do a + thousand times worse. Give your consent to the marriage, and Jethro Bass + will go back to Coniston.” + </p> + <p> + It was wisdom such as few lords get from their seneschals, but Isaac D. + Worthington did not so recognize it. His anger rose and took away his + breath as he listened to it. + </p> + <p> + “I will never give my consent to it, never—do you hear?—never. + Send that note!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Flint walked out, sent the note, and returned and took his place + silently at his own table. He was a man of concentration, and he put his + mind on the arguments he was composing to certain political leaders. Mr. + Worthington merely pretended to work as he waited for the answer to come + back. And presently, when it did come back, he tore it open and read it + with an expression not often on his lips. He flung the paper at Mr. Flint. + </p> + <p> + “Read that,” he said. + </p> + <p> + This is what Mr. Flint read: “Miss Wetherell begs to inform Mr. Isaac D. + Worthington that she can have no communication or intercourse with him + whatsoever.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Flint handed it back without a word. His opinion of the school-teacher + had risen mightily, but he did not say so. Mr. Worthington took the note, + too, without a word. Speech was beyond him, and he crushed the paper as + fiercely as he would have liked to have crushed Cynthia, had she been in + his hands. + </p> + <p> + One accomplishment which Cynthia had learned at Miss Sadler's school was + to write a letter in the third person, Miss Sadler holding that there were + occasions when it was beneath a lady's dignity to write a direct note. And + Cynthia, sitting at her little desk in the schoolhouse during her recess, + had deemed this one of the occasions. She could not bring herself to + write, “My dear Mr. Worthington.” Her anger, when the note had been handed + to her, was for the moment so great that she could not go on with her + classes; but she had controlled it, and compelled Silas to stand in the + entry until recess, when she sat with her pen in her hand until that happy + notion of the third person occurred to her. And after Silas had gone she + sat still; though trembling a little at intervals, picturing with some + satisfaction Mr. Worthington's appearance when he received her answer. Her + instinct told her that he had received his son's letter, and that he had + sent for her to insult her. By sending for her, indeed, he had insulted + her irrevocably, and that is why she trembled. + </p> + <p> + Poor Cynthia! her troubles came thick and fast upon her in those days. + When she reached home, there was the letter which Ephraim had left on the + table addressed in the familiar, upright handwriting, and when Cynthia saw + it, she caught her hand sharply at her breast, as if the pain there had + stopped the beating of her heart. Well it was for Bob's peace of mind that + he could not see her as she read it, and before she had come to the end + there were drops on the sheets where the purple ink had run. How precious + would have been those drops to him! He would never give her up. No mandate + or decree could separate them—nothing but death. And he was happier + now so he told her—than he had been for months: happy in the thought + that he was going out into the world to win bread for her, as became a + man. Even if he had not her to strive for, he saw now that such was the + only course for him. He could not conform. + </p> + <p> + It was a manly letter,—how manly Bob himself never knew. But Cynthia + knew, and she wept over it and even pressed it to her lips—for there + was no one to see. Yes, she loved him as she would not have believed it + possible to love, and she sat through the afternoon reading his words and + repeating them until it seemed that he were there by her side, speaking + them. They came, untrammelled and undefiled, from his heart into hers. + </p> + <p> + And now that he had quarrelled with his father for her sake, and was bent + with all the determination of his character upon making his own way in the + world, what was she to do? What was her duty? Not one letter of the + twoscore she had received (so she kept their count from day to day)—not + one had she answered. His faith had indeed been great. But she must answer + this: must write, too, on that subject of her dismissal, lest it should be + wrongly told him. He was rash in his anger, and fearless; this she knew, + and loved him for such qualities as he had. + </p> + <p> + She must stay in Brampton and do her work,—so much was clearly her + duty, although she longed to flee from it. And at last she sat down and + wrote to him. Some things are too sacred to be set forth on a printed + page, and this letter is one of those things. Try as she would, she could + not find it in her heart at such a time to destroy his hope,—or her + own. The hope which she would not acknowledge, and the love which she + strove to conceal from him seeped up between the words of her letter like + water through grains of sand. Words, indeed, are but as grains of sand to + conceal strong feelings, and as Cynthia read the letter over she felt that + every line betrayed her, and knew that she could compose no lines which + would not. + </p> + <p> + She said nothing of the summons which she had received that morning, or of + her answer; and her account of the matter of the dismissal and + reinstatement was brief and dignified, and contained no mention of Mr. + Worthington's name or agency. It was her duty, too, to rebuke Bob for the + quarrel with his father, to point out the folly of it, and the wrong, and + to urge him as strongly as she could to retract, though she felt that all + this was useless. And then—then came the betrayal of hope. She could + not ask him never to see her again, but she did beseech him for her sake, + and for the sake of that love which he had declared, not to attempt to see + her: not for a year, she wrote, though the word looked to her like + eternity. Her reasons, aside from her own scruples, were so obvious, while + she taught in Brampton, that she felt that he would consent to banishment—until + the summer holidays in July, at least: and then she would be in Coniston,—and + would have had time to decide upon future steps. A reprieve was all she + craved,—a reprieve in which to reflect, for she was in no condition + to reflect now. Of one thing she was sure, that it would not be right at + this time to encourage him although she had a guilty feeling that the + letter had given him encouragement in spite of all the prohibitions it + contained. “If, in the future years,” thought Cynthia, as she sealed the + envelope, “he persists in his determination, what then?” You, Miss + Lucretia, of all people in the world, have planted the seeds with your + talk about Genesis! + </p> + <p> + The letter was signed “One who will always remain your friend, Cynthia + Wetherell.” And she posted it herself. + </p> + <p> + When Ephraim came home to supper that evening, he brought the Brampton + Clarion, just out, and in it was an account of Miss Lucretia Penniman's + speech at the mass meeting, and of her visit, and of her career. It was + written in Mr. Page's best vein, and so laudatory was it that we shall + have to spare Miss Lucretia in not repeating it here: yes, and omit the + encomiums, too, on the teacher of the Brampton lower school. Mr. + Worthington was not mentioned, and for this, at least, Cynthia drew along + breath of relief, though Ephraim was of the opinion that the first citizen + should have been scored as he deserved, and held up to the contempt of his + fellow-townsmen. The dismissal of the teacher, indeed, was put down to a + regrettable misconception on the part of “one of the prudential + committee,” who had confessed his mistake in “a manly and altogether + praiseworthy speech.” The article was as near the truth, perhaps, as the + Clarions may come on such matters—which is not very near. Cynthia + would have been better pleased if Mr. Page had spared his readers the + recital of her qualities, and she did not in the least recognize the + paragon whom Miss Lucretia had befriended and defended. She was thankful + that Mr. Page did pot state that the celebrity had come up from Boston on + her account. Miss Penniman had been “actuated by a sudden desire to see + once more the beauties of her old home, to look into the faces of the old + friends who had followed her career with such pardonable pride.” The + speech of the president of the literary club, you may be sure, was printed + in full, for Mr. Ives himself had taken the trouble to write it out for + the editor—by request, of course. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia turned over the sheet, and read many interesting items: one + concerning the beauty and fashion and intellect which attended the party + at Mr. Gamaliel Ives's; in the Clovelly notes she saw that Miss Judy + Hatch, of Coniston, was visiting relatives there; she learned the output + of the Worthington Mills for the past week. Cynthia was about to fold up + the paper and send it to Miss Lucretia, whom she thought it would amuse, + when her eyes were arrested by the sight of a familiar name. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Jethro Bass come to life again. + From the State Tribune.” + </pre> + <p> + That was the heading. “One of the greatest political surprises in many + years was the arrival in the capital on Wednesday of Judge Bass, whom it + was thought, had permanently retired from politics. This, at least, seems + to have been the confident belief of a faction in the state who have at + heart the consolidation of certain lines of railroads. Judge Bass was + found by a Tribune reporter in the familiar Throne Room at the Pelican, + but, as usual, he could not be induced to talk for publication. He was in + conference throughout the afternoon with several well-known leaders from + the North Country. The return of Jethro Bass to activity seriously + complicates the railroad situation, and many prominent politicians are + freely predicting to-night that, in spite of the town-meeting returns, the + proposed bill for consolidation will not go through. Judge Bass is a man + of such remarkable personality that he has regained at a stroke much of + the influence that he lost by the sudden and unaccountable retirement + which electrified the state some months since. His reappearance, the news + of which was the one topic in all political centres yesterday, is equally + unaccountable. It is hinted that some action on the part of Isaac D. + Worthington has brought Jethro Bass to life. They are known to be bitter + enemies, and it is said that Jethro Bass has but one object in returning + to the field—to crush the president of the Truro Railroad. Another + theory is that the railroads and interests opposed to the consolidation + have induced Judge Bass to take charge of their fight for them. All + indications point to the fiercest struggle the state has ever seen in + June, when the Legislature meets. The Tribune, whose sentiments are well + known to be opposed to the iniquity of consolidation, extends a hearty + welcome to the judge. No state, we believe, can claim a party leader of a + higher order of ability than Jethro Bass.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia dropped the paper in her lap, and sat very still. This, then, was + what happened when Jethro had heard of her dismissal—he had left + Coniston without writing her a word and passed through Brampton without + seeing her. He had gone back to that life which he had abandoned for her + sake; the temptation had been too strong, the desire for vengeance too + great. He had not dared to see her. And yet the love for her which had + been strong enough to make him renounce the homage of men, and even incur + their ridicule, had incited him to this very act of vengeance. + </p> + <p> + What should she do now, indeed? Had those peaceful and happy Saturdays and + Sundays in Coniston passed away forever? Should she follow him to the + capital and appeal to him? Ah no, she felt that were a useless pain to + them both. She believed, now, that he had gone away from her for all time, + that the veil of limitless space was set between, them. Silently she + arose,—so silently that Ephraim, dozing by the fire, did not awake. + She went into her own room and wept, and after many hours fell into a + dreamless sleep of sheer exhaustion. + </p> + <p> + The days passed, and the weeks; the snow ran from the brown fields, and + melted at length even in the moist crotches under the hemlocks of the + northern slopes; the robin and bluebird came, the hillsides were mottled + with exquisite shades of green, and the scent of fruit blossom and balm of + Gilead was in the air. June came as a maiden and grew into womanhood. But + Jethro Bass did not return to Coniston. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + The legends which surround the famous war which we are about to touch upon + are as dim as those of Troy or Tuscany. Decorous chronicles and + biographies and monographs and eulogies exist, bound in leather and + stamped in gold, each lauding its own hero: chronicles written in really + beautiful language, and high-minded and noble, out of which the heroes + come unstained. Horatius holds the bridge, and not a dent in his armor; + and swims the Tiber without getting wet or muddy. Castor and Pollux fight + in the front rank at Lake Regillus, in the midst of all that gore and + slaughter, and emerge all white and pure at the end of the day—but + they are gods. + </p> + <p> + Out of the classic wars to which we have referred sprang the great Roman + Republic and Empire, and legend runs into authentic and written history. + Just so, parva componere magnis, out of the cloud-wrapped conflicts of the + five railroads of which our own Gaul is composed, emerged one imperial + railroad, authentically and legally written down on the statute books, for + all men to see. We cannot go behind that statute except to collect the + legends and write homilies about the heroes who held the bridges. + </p> + <p> + If we were not in mortal terror of the imperial power, and a little + fearful, too, of tiring our readers, we would write out all the legends we + have collected of this first fight for consolidation, and show the blood, + too. + </p> + <p> + In the statute books of a certain state may be found a number of laws + setting forth the various things that a railroad or railroads may do, and + on the margin of these pages is invariably printed a date, that being the + particular year in which these laws were passed. By a singular coincidence + it is the very year at which we have now arrived in our story. We do not + intend to give a map of the state, or discuss the merits or demerits of + the consolidation of the Central and the Northwestern and the Truro + railroads. Such discussions are not the province of a novelist, and may + all be found in the files of the Tribune at the State Library. There were, + likewise, decisions without number handed down by the various courts + before and after that celebrated session,—opinions on the validity + of leases, on the extension of railroads, on the rights of individual + stockholders—all dry reading enough. + </p> + <p> + At the risk of being picked to pieces by the corporation lawyers who may + read these pages, we shall attempt to state the situation and with all + modesty and impartiality—for we, at least, hold no brief. When Mr. + Isaac D. Worthington obtained that extension of the Truro Railroad (which + we have read about from the somewhat verdant point of view of William + Wetherell), that railroad then formed a connection with another road which + ran northward from Harwich through another state, and with which we have + nothing to do. Having previously purchased a line to the southward from + the capital, Mr. Worthington's railroad was in a position to compete with + Mr. Duncan's (the “Central”) for Canadian traffic, and also to cut into + the profits of the “Northwestern,” Mr. Lovejoy's road. In brief, the Truro + Railroad found itself very advantageously placed, as Mr. Worthington and + Mr. Flint had foreseen. There followed a period of bickering and + recrimination, of attempts of the other two railroads to secure + representation in the Truro directorate, of suits and injunctions and + appeals to the Legislature and I know not what else—in all of which + affairs Mr. Bijah Bixby and other gentlemen we could name found both + pleasure and remuneration. + </p> + <p> + Oh, that those halcyon days of the little wars would come again, when a + captain could ride out almost any time at the held of his band of + mercenaries and see honest fighting and divide honest spoils! There was + much knocking about of men and horses, but very little bloodshed, so we + are told. Mr. Bixby will sit on the sunny side of his barns in Clovelly + and tell you stories of that golden period with tears in his eyes, when he + went to conventions with a pocketful of proxies from the river towns, and + controlled in the greatest legislative year of all a “block” which + included the President of the Senate, for which he got the fabulous sum of——. + He will tell you, but I won't. Mr. Bixby's occupation is gone now. We have + changed all that, and we are ruled from imperial Rome. If you don't do + right, they cut off your (political) head, and it is of no use to run + away, because there is no one to run to. + </p> + <p> + It was Isaac D. Worthington—or shall we say Mr. Flint?—who was + responsible for this pernicious change for the worse, who conceived the + notion of leasing for the Truro the Central and the Northwestern,—thus + making one railroad out of the three. If such a gigantic undertaking could + be got through, Mr. Worthington very rightly deemed that the other + railroads of the state would eventually fall like ripe fruit into their + caps—owning the ground under the tree, as they would. A movement, + which we need not go unto, was first made upon the courts, and for a while + adverse decisions came down like summer rain. A genius by the name of + Jethro Bass had for many years presided (in the room of the governor and + council at the State House) at the political birth of justices of the + Supreme Court. None of them actually wore livery, but we have seen one of + them—along time ago—in a horse blanket. None of them were + favorable to the plans of Mr. Worthington and Mr. Duncan. + </p> + <p> + We have listened to the firing on the skirmish lines for a long time, and + now the real battle is at hand. It is June, and the Legislature is + meeting, and Bijah Bixby has come down to the capital at the head of his + regiment of mercenaries, of which Mr. Sutton is the honorary colonel; the + clans are here from the north, well quartered and well fed; the Throne + Room, within the sacred precincts of which we have been before, is + occupied. But there is another headquarters now, too, in the Pelican House—a + Railroad Room; larger than the Throne Room, with a bath-room leading out + of it. Another old friend of ours, Judge Abner Parkinson of Harwich, he + who gave the sardonic laugh when Sam Price applied for the post of road + agent, may often be seen in that Railroad Room from now on. The fact is + that the judge is about to become famous far beyond the confines of + Harwich; for he, and none other, is the author of the Consolidation Bill + itself. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Flint is the generalissimo of the allied railroads, and sits in his + headquarters early and late, going over the details of the campaign with + his lieutenants; scanning the clauses of the bill with Judge Parkinson for + the last time, and giving orders to the captains of mercenaries as to the + disposition of their forces; writing out passes for the deserving and the + true. For these latter, also, and for the wavering there is a claw-hammer + on the marble-topped mantel wielded by Mr. Bijah Bixby, pro tem chief of + staff—or of the hammer, for he is self-appointed and very useful. He + opens the mysterious packing cases which come up to the Railroad Room + thrice a week, and there is water to be had in the bath-room—and + glasses. Mr. Bixby also finds time to do some of the scouting about the + rotunda and lobbies, for which he is justly celebrated, and to drill his + regiment every day. The Honorable Heth Sutton, M.C.,—who held the + bridge in the Woodchuck Session,—is there also, sitting in a corner, + swelled with importance, smoking big Florizel cigars which come from—somewhere. + There are, indeed, many great and battle-scarred veterans who congregate + in that room—too numerous and great to mention; and saunterers in + the Capitol Park opposite know when a council of war is being held by the + volumes of smoke which pour out of the window, just as the Romans are made + cognizant by the smoking of a chimney of when another notable event takes + place. + </p> + <p> + Who, then, are left to frequent the Throne Room? Is that ancient seat of + power deserted, and does Jethro Bass sit there alone behind the curtains, + in his bitterness, thinking of other bright June days that are gone? + </p> + <p> + Of all those who had been amazed when Jethro Bass suddenly emerged from + his retirement and appeared in the capital some months before, none were + more thunderstruck than certain gentlemen who had been to Coniston + repeatedly, but in vain, to urge him to make this very fight. The most + important of these had been Mr. Balch, president of the “Down East” Road, + and the representatives of two railroads of another state. They had at + last offered Jethro fabulous sums to take charge of their armies in the + field—sums, at least, that would seem fabulous to many people, and + had seemed so to them. When they heard that the lion had roused and shaken + himself and had unaccountably come forth of his own accord, they hastened + to the state capital to renew their offers. Another shock, but of a + different kind, was in store for them. Mr. Balch had not actually driven + the pack-mules, laden with treasure, to the door of the Pelican House, + where Jethro might see them from his window; but he requested a private + audience, and it was probably accidental that the end of his personal + check-book protruded a little from his pocket. He was a big, + coarse-grained man, Mr. Balch, who had once been a brakeman, and had risen + by what is known as horse sense to the presidency of his road. There was a + wonderful sunset beyond the Capitol, but Mr. Balch did not talk about the + sunset, although Jethro was watching it from behind the curtains. + </p> + <p> + “If you are willing to undertake this fight against consolidation,” said + Mr. Balch, “we are ready to talk business with you.” + </p> + <p> + “D-don't know what you're going to, do,” answered Jethro; “I'm going to + prevent consolidation, if I can.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Balch, smiling. He regarded this reply as one of + Jethro's delicate euphemisms. “We're prepared to give that same little + retainer.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro did not look up. Mr. Balch went to the table and seized a pen and + filled out a check for an amount that shall be nameless. + </p> + <p> + “I have made it payable to bearer, as usual,” he said, and he handed it to + Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Jethro took it, and absently tore it into little pieces, and threw the + pieces on the floor. Mr. Balch watched him in consternation. He began to + think the report that Jethro had reached his second childhood was true. + </p> + <p> + “What in Halifax are you doing, Bass?” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “W-want to stop this consolidation, don't you—want' to stop it?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I do.” + </p> + <p> + “G-goin' to do all you can to stop it hain't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I am.” + </p> + <p> + “I-I'll help you,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Help us!” exclaimed Balch. “Great Scott, we want you to take charge of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “I-I'll do all I can, but I won't guarantee it—w-won't guarantee + it,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “We don't ask you to guarantee it. If you'll do all you can, that's + enough. You won't take a retainer?” + </p> + <p> + “W-won't take anything,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “You mean to say you don't want anything for your for your time and your + services if the bill is defeated?” + </p> + <p> + “T-that's about it, Ed. Little p-private matter with both of us. You don't + want consolidation, and I don't. I hain't offered to give you a retainer—have + I?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the astounded Mr. Balch. He scratched his head and fingered the + leaves of his check-book. The captains over the tens and the captains over + the hundreds would want little retainers—and who was to pay these? + “How about the boys?” asked Mr. Balch. + </p> + <p> + “S-still got the same office in the depot—hain't you, Ed, s-same + office?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “G-guess the boys hev b'en there before,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Balch went away, meditating upon those sayings, and took the train for + Boston. If he had waked up of a fine morning to find himself at the head + of some benevolent and charitable organization, instead of the “Down East” + Railroad, he could not have been more astonished than he had been at the + unaccountable change of heart of Jethro Bass. He did not know what to make + of it, and told his colleagues so; and at first they feared one of two + things,—treachery or lunacy. But a little later a rumor reached Mr. + Balch's ears that Jethro's hatred of Isaac D. Worthington was at the + bottom of his reappearance in public life, although Jethro himself never + mentioned Mr. Worthington's name. Jethro sat in the Throne Room, + consulting, directing day after day, and when the Legislature assembled, + “the boys” began to call at Mr. Balch's office. But Mr. Balch never again + broached the subject of money to Jethro Bass. + </p> + <p> + We have to sing the song of sixpence for the last time in these pages; and + as it is an old song now, there will be no encores. If you can buy one + member of the lower house for ten dollars, how many members can you buy + for fifty? It was no such problem in primary arithmetic that Mr. Balch and + his associates had to solve—theirs was in higher mathematics, in + permutations and combinations, and in least squares. No wonder the old + campaigners speak with tears in their eyes of the days of that ever + memorable summer. There were spoils to be picked up in the very streets + richer than the sack of the thirty cities; and as the session wore on it + is affirmed by men still living that money rained down in the Capitol Park + and elsewhere like manna from the skies, if you were one of a chosen band. + If you were, all you had to do was to look in your vest pockets when you + took your clothes off in the evening and extract enough legal tender to + pay your bill at the Pelican for a week. Mr. Lovejoy having been overheard + one day to make a remark concerning the diet of hogs, the next morning + certain visitors to the capital were horrified to discover trails of corn + leading from the Pelican House to their doorways. Men who had never seen a + receiving teller opened bank accounts. No, it was not a problem in simple + arithmetic, and Mr. Balch and Mr. Flint, and even Mr. Duncan and Mr. + Worthington, covered whole sheets with figures during the stifling days in + July. Some men are so valuable that they can be bought twice, or even + three times, and they make figuring complicated. + </p> + <p> + Jethro Bass did no calculating. He sat behind the curtains, and he must + have kept the figures in his head. + </p> + <p> + The battle had closed in earnest, and for twelve long, sultry weeks it + raged with unabated fierceness. Consolidation had a terror for the rural + mind, and the state Tribune skilfully played its stream upon the + constituents of those gentlemen who stood tamely at the Worthington + hitching-posts, and the constituents flocked to the capital; that able + newspaper, too, found space to return, with interest, the attacks of Mr. + Worthington's organ, the Newcastle Guardian. These amenities are much too + personal to reproduce here, now that the smoke of battle has rolled away. + An epic could be written upon the conflict, if there were space: Canto + One, the first position carried triumphantly, though at some expense, by + the Worthington forces, who elect the Speaker. That had been a crucial + time before the town meetings, when Jethro abdicated. The Worthington + Speaker goes ahead with his committees, and it is needless to say that Mr. + Chauncey Weed is not made Chairman of the Committee on Corporations. As an + offset to this, the Jethro forces gain on the extreme right, where the + Honorable Peleg Hartington is made President of the Senate, etc. + </p> + <p> + For twelve hot weeks, with a public spirit which is worthy of the highest + praise, the Committee sit in their shirt sleeves all day long and listen + to arguments for and against consolidation; and ask learned questions that + startle rural witnesses; and smoke big Florizel cigars (a majority of + them). Judge Abner Parkinson defends his bill, quoting from the + Constitution and the Declaration of Independence and the Bible; a + celebrated lawyer from the capital riddles it, using the same authorities, + and citing the Federalist and the Golden Rule in addition. The Committee + sit open-minded, listening with laudable impartiality; it does not become + them to arrive at a hasty decision on a question of such magnitude. In the + meantime the House passes an important bill dealing with the bounty on + hedgehogs, and there are several card games going on in the cellar, where + it is cool. + </p> + <p> + The governor of the state is a free lance, and may be seen any afternoon + walking through the park, consorting with no one. He may be recognized + even at a distance by his portly figure, his silk hat, and his dignified + mien. Yes, it is an old and valued friend, the Honorable Alva Hopkins, + patron of the drama, and sometimes he has a beautiful young woman (still + unattached) by his side. He lives in a suite of rooms at the Pelican. It + is a well-known fact (among Mr. Worthington's supporters) that the + Honorable Alva promised in January, when Mr. Bass retired, to sign the + Consolidation Bill, and that he suddenly became open-minded in March, and + has remained open-minded ever since, listening gravely to arguments, and + giving much study to the subject. He is an executive now, although it is + the last year of his term, and of course he is never seen either in the + Throne Room or the Railroad Room. And besides, he may become a senator. + </p> + <p> + August has come, and the forces are spent and panting, and neither side + dares to risk the final charge. The reputation of Jethro Bass is at stake. + Should he risk and lose, he must go back to Coniston a beaten man, subject + to the contempt of his neighbors and his state. People do not know that he + has nothing now to go back to, and that he cares nothing for contempt. As + he sits in his window day after day he has only one thought and one wish,—to + ruin Isaac D. Worthington. And he will do it if he can. Those who know—and + among them is Mr. Balch himself—say that Jethro has never conducted + a more masterly campaign than this, and that all the others have been mere + childish trials of strength compared to it. So he sits there through those + twelve weeks while the session slips by, while his opponents grumble, and + while even his supporters, eager for the charge, complain. The truth is + that in all the years of his activity be has never had such an antagonist + as Mr. Flint. Victory hangs in the balance, and a false move will throw it + to either side. + </p> + <p> + Victory hangs now, to be explicit, upon two factors. The first and most + immediate of these is a certain canny captain of many wars whose regiment + is still at the disposal of either army—for a price, a regiment + which has hitherto remained strictly neutral. And what a regiment it is! A + block of river towns and a senator, and not a casualty since they marched + boldly into camp twelve weeks ago. Mr. Batch is getting very much worried + about this regiment, and beginning to doubt Jethro's judgment. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, Bass,” he said one evening, “if you allow him to run around + loose much longer, we're lost, that's all there is to it!” (Mr. Batch + referred to the captain in question.) “They'll buy up his block at his + figure—see, if they don't. They're getting desperate. Don't you + think I'd better bid him in?” + </p> + <p> + “B-bid him in if you've a mind to; Ed.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Jethro,” said Mr. Batch, savagely biting off the end of a + cigar, “I'm beginning to think you don't care a continental about this + business. Which side are you on, anyway?” The heat and the length and the + uncertainty of the struggle were telling on the nerves of the railroad + president. “You sit there from morning till night and won't say anything; + and now, when there's only one block out, you won't give the word to buy + it.” + </p> + <p> + “N-never told you to buy anything, did I—Ed?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Mr. Batch, “you haven't. I don't know what the devil's got + into you.” + </p> + <p> + “D-done all the payin' without consultin' me, hain't you, Ed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I have. What are you driving at?” + </p> + <p> + “D-done it if I hadn't b'en here, wouldn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and more too,” said Mr. Batch. + </p> + <p> + “W-wouldn't make much difference to you if I wasn't here—would it?” + </p> + <p> + “Great Scott, Jethro, what do you mean?” cried the railroad president, in + genuine alarm; “you're not going to pull out, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “W-wouldn't make much odds if I did—would it, Ed?” + </p> + <p> + “The devil it wouldn't!” exclaimed Mr. Balch. “If you pulled out, we'd + lose the North Country, and Peleg, and Gosport, and nobody can tell which + way Alva Hopkins will swing. I guess you know what he'll do—you're + so d—d secretive I can't tell whether you do or not. If you pulled + out, they'd have their bill on Friday.” + </p> + <p> + “H-hain't under any obligations to you, Ed—am I?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Mr. Batch, “but I don't see why you keep harping on that.” + </p> + <p> + “J-dust wanted to have it clear,” said Jethro, and relapsed into silence. + </p> + <p> + There was a fireproof carpet on the Throne Room, and Mr. Batch flung down + his cigar and stamped on it and went out. No wonder he could not + understand Jethro's sudden scruples about money and obligations—about + railroad money, that is. Jethro was spending some of his own, but not in + the capital, and in a manner which was most effective. In short, at the + very moment when Mr. Batch stamped on his cigar, Jethro had the victory in + his hands—only he did not choose to say so. He had had a mysterious + telegram that day from Harwich, signed by Chauncey Weed, and Mr. Weed + himself appeared at the door of Number 7, fresh from his travels, shortly + after Mr. Batch had gone out of it. Mr. Weed closed the door gently, and + locked it, and sat down in a rocking chair close to Jethro and put his + hand over his mouth. We cannot hear what Mr. Weed is saying. All is + mystery here, and in order to preserve that mystery we shall delay for a + little the few words which will explain Mr. Weed's successful mission. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Batch, angry and bewildered, descended into the rotunda, where he + shortly heard two astounding pieces of news. The first was that the + Honorable Heth Sutton had abandoned the Florizel cigars and had gone home + to Clovelly. The second; that Mr. Bijah Bixby had resigned the claw-hammer + and had ceased to open the packing cases in the Railroad Room. + Consternation reigned in that room, so it was said (and this was true). + Mr. Worthington and Mr. Duncan and Mr. Lovejoy were closeted there with + Mr. Flint, and the door was locked and the transom shut, and smoke was + coming out of the windows. + </p> + <p> + Yes, Mr. Bijah Bixby is the canny captain of whom Mr. Balch spoke: he it + is who owns that block of river towns, intact, and the one senator. + Impossible! We have seen him opening the packing cases, we have seen him + working for the Worthington faction for the last two years. Mr. Bixby was + very willing to open boxes, and to make himself useful and agreeable; but + it must be remembered that a good captain of mercenaries owes a sacred + duty to his followers. At first Mr. Flint had thought he could count on + Mr. Bixby; after a while he made several unsuccessful attempts to talk + business with him; a particularly difficult thing to do, even for Mr. + Flint, when Mr. Bixby did not wish to talk business. Mr. Balch had found + it quite as difficult to entice Mr. Bixby away from the boxes and the + Railroad Room. The weeks drifted on, until twelve went by, and then Mr. + Bixby found himself, with his block of river towns and one senator, in the + incomparable position of being the arbiter of the fate of the + Consolidation Bill in the House and Senate. No wonder Mr. Balch wanted to + buy the services of that famous regiment at any price! + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Bixby, for once in his life, had waited too long. + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Balch, rejoicing, but not a little indignant at not having been + taken into confidence, ascended to the Throne Room after supper to + question Jethro concerning the meaning of the things he had heard, he + found Senator Peleg Hartington seated mournfully on the bed, talking at + intervals, and Jethro listening. + </p> + <p> + “Come up and eat out of my hand,” said the senator. + </p> + <p> + “Who?” demanded Mr. Balch. + </p> + <p> + “Bije,” answered the senator. + </p> + <p> + “Great Scott, do you mean to say you've got Bixby?” exclaimed the railroad + president. He felt as if he would like to shake the senator, who was so + deliberate and mournful in his answers. “What did you pay him?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Hartington appeared shocked by the question. + </p> + <p> + “Guess Heth Sutton will settle with him,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Heth Sutton! Why the—why should Heth pay him?” + </p> + <p> + “Guess Heth'd like to make him a little present, under the circumstances. + I was goin' through the barber shop,” Mr. Hartington continued, speaking + to Jethro and ignoring the railroad president, “and I heard somebody + whisperin' my name. Sound came out of that little shampoo closet; went in + there and found Bije. 'Peleg,' says he, right into my ear, 'tell Jethro + it's all right—you understand. We want Heth to go back—break + his heart if he didn't—you understand. If I'd knowed last winter + Jethro meant business, I wouldn't hev' helped Gus Flint out. Tell Jethro + he can have 'em—you know what I mean.' Bije waited a little mite too + long,” said the senator, who had given a very fair imitation of Mr. + Bixby's nasal voice and manner. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm d—d!” ejaculated Mr. Balch, staring at Jethro. “How did + you work it?” + </p> + <p> + “Sent Chauncey through the deestrict,” said Mr. Hartington. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Chauncey Weed had, in truth, gone through a part of the congressional + district of the Honorable Heth Sutton with a little leather bag. Mr. Weed + had been able to do some of his work (with the little leather bag) in the + capital itself. In this way Mr. Bixby's regiment, Sutton was the honorary + colonel, had been attacked in the rear and routed. Here was to be a + congressional convention that autumn, and a large part of Mr. Sutton's + district lay in the North Country, which, as we have seen, was loyal to + Jethro to the back bone. The district, too, was largely rural, and + therefore anti-consolidation, and the inability of the Worthington forces + to get their bill through had made it apparent that Jethro Bass was as + powerful as ever. Under these circumstances it had not been very difficult + for a gentleman of Mr. Chauncey Weed's powers of persuasion to induce + various lieutenants in the district to agree to send delegates to the + coming convention who would be conscientiously opposed to Mr. Sutton's + renomination: hence the departure from the capital of Mr. Sutton; hence + the generous offer of Mr. Bixby to put his regiment at the disposal of Mr. + Bass—free of charge. + </p> + <p> + The second factor on which victory hung (we can use the past tense now) + was none other than his Excellency Alva Hopkins, governor of the state. + The bill would never get to his Excellency now—so people said; would + never get beyond that committee who had listened so patiently to the + twelve weeks of argument. These were only rumors, after all, for the + rotunda never knows positively what goes on in high circles; but the + rotunda does figuring, too, when at length the problem is reduced to a + simple equation, with Bijah Bixby as x. If it were true that Bijah had + gone over to Jethro Bass, the Consolidation Bill was dead. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + When Jethro Bass walked out of the hotel that evening men looked at him, + and made way for him, but none spoke to him. There was something in his + face that forbade speech. He was a great man once more—a greater man + than ever; and he had, if the persistent rumors were true, accomplished an + almost incomprehensible feat, even for Jethro Bass. There was another + reason, too, why they stared at him. In all those twelve weeks of that + most trying of all sessions he had not once gone into the street, and he + had been less than ever common in the eyes of men. Twice a day he had + descended to the dining room for a simple meal—that was all; and + fewer had gained entrance to Room Number 7 this session than ever before. + </p> + <p> + There is a river that flows by the capital, a wide and gentle river + bordered by green meadows and fringed with willows; higher up, if you go + far enough, a forest comes down to the water on the western side. Jethro + walked through the hooded bridge, and up the eastern bank until he could + see the forest like a black band between the orange sky and the orange + river, and there he sat down upon a fallen log on the edge of the bank. + But Jethro was thinking of another scene,—of a granite-ribbed + pasture on Coniston Mountain that swings in limitless space, from either + end of which a man may step off into eternity. William Wetherell, in one + of his letters, had described that place as the Threshold of the Nameless + Worlds, and so it had seemed to Jethro in the years of his desolation. He + was thinking of it now, even as it had been in his mind that winter's + evening when Cynthia had come to Coniston and had surprised him with that + look of terrible loneliness on his face. + </p> + <p> + Yes, and he was thinking of Cynthia. When, indeed, had he not been + thinking of her? How many tunes had he rehearsed the events in the tannery + house—for they were the events of his life now. The triumphs over + his opponents and enemies fell away, and the pride of power. Such had not + been his achievements. She had loved him, and no man had reached a higher + pinnacle than that. + </p> + <p> + Why he had forfeited that love for vengeance, he could not tell. The + embers of a man's passions will suddenly burst into flame, and he will + fiddle madly while the fire burns his soul. He had avenged her as well as + himself; but had he avenged her, now that he held Isaac Worthington in his + power? By crushing him, had he not added to her trouble and her sorrow? + She had confessed that she loved Isaac Worthington's son, and was not he + (Jethro) widening the breach between Cynthia and the son by crushing the + father? Jethro had not thought of this. But he had thought of her, night + and day, as he had sat in his room directing the battle. Not a day had + passed that he had not looked for a letter, hoping against hope. If she + had written to him once, if she had come to him once, would he have + desisted? He could not say—the fires of hatred had burned so + fiercely, and still burned so fiercely, that he clenched his fists when it + came over him that Isaac Worthington was at last in his power. + </p> + <p> + A white line above the forest was all that remained of the sunset when he + rose up and took from his coat a silver locket and opened it and held it + to the fading light. Presently he closed it again, and walked slowly along + the river bank toward the little city twinkling on its hill. He crossed + the hooded bridge and climbed the slope, stopping for a moment at a little + stationery shop; he passed through the groups which were still loudly + discussing this thing he had done, and gained his room and locked the + door. Men came to it and knocked and got no answer. The room was in + darkness, and the night breeze stirred among the trees in the park and + blew in at the window. + </p> + <p> + At last Jethro got up and lighted the gas and paused at the centre table. + He was to violate more than one principle of his life that night, though + not without a struggle; and he sat for a long while looking at the blank + paper before him. Then he wrote, and sealed the letter—which + contained three lines—and pulled the bell cord. The call was + answered by a messenger who had been far many years in the service of the + Pelican House, and who knew many secrets of the gods. The man actually + grew pale when he saw the address on the envelope which was put in his + hand and read the denomination of the crisp note under it that was the + price of silence. + </p> + <p> + “F-find the gentleman and give it to him yourself. Er—John?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Bass?” + </p> + <p> + “If you don't find him, bring it—back.” + </p> + <p> + When the man had gone, Jethro turned down the gas and went again to his + chair by the window. For a while voices came up to him from the street, + but at length the groups dispersed, one by one; and a distant clock boomed + out eleven solemn strokes. Twice the clock struck again, at the half-hour + and midnight, and the noises in the house—the banging of doors and + the jangling of keys and the hurrying of feet in the corridors—were + hushed. Jethro took no thought of these or of time, and sat gazing at the + stars in the depths of the sky above the capital dome until a shadow + emerged from the black mass of the trees opposite and crossed the street. + In a few minutes there were footsteps in the corridor,—stealthy + footsteps—and a knock on the door. Jethro got up and opened it, and + closed it again and locked it. Then he turned up the gas. + </p> + <p> + “S-sit down,” he said, and nodded his head toward the chair by the table. + </p> + <p> + Isaac Worthington laid his silk hat on the table, and sat down. He looked + very haggard and worn in that light, very unlike the first citizen who had + entered Brampton in triumph on his return from the West not many months + before. The long strain of a long fight, in which he had risked much for + which he had labored a life to gain, had told on him, and there were + crow's-feet at the corners of, his eyes, and dark circles under them. + Isaac Worthington had never lost before, and to destroy the fruits of such + a man's ambition is to destroy the man. He was not as young as he had once + been. But now, in the very hour of defeat, hope had rekindled the fire in + the eyes and brought back the peculiar, tight-lipped, mocking smile to the + mouth. An hour ago, when he had been pacing Alexander Duncan's library, + the eyes and the mouth had been different. + </p> + <p> + Long habit asserts itself at the strangest moments. Jethro Bass took his + seat by the window, and remained silent. The clock tolled the half-hour + after midnight. + </p> + <p> + “You wanted to see me,” said Mr. Worthington, finally. + </p> + <p> + Jethro nodded, almost imperceptibly. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Mr. Worthington, slowly, “I suppose you are ready to + sell out.” He found it a little difficult to control his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Jethro, “r-ready to sell out.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington was somewhat taken aback by this simple admission. He + glanced at Jethro sitting motionless by the window, and in his heart he + feared him: he had come into that room when the gas was low, afraid. + Although he would not confess it to himself, he had been in fear of Jethro + Bass all his life, and his fear had been greater than ever since the March + day when Jethro had left Coniston. And could he have known, now, the fires + of hatred burning in Jethro's breast, Isaac Worthington would have been in + terror indeed. + </p> + <p> + “What have you got to sell?” he demanded sharply. + </p> + <p> + “G-guess you know, or you wouldn't have come here.” + </p> + <p> + “What proof have I that you have it to sell?” + </p> + <p> + Jethro looked at him for an instant. + </p> + <p> + “M-my word,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Isaac Worthington was silent for a while: he was striving to calm himself, + for an indefinable something had shaken him. The strange stillness of the + hour and the stranger atmosphere which seemed to surround this transaction + filled him with a nameless dread. The man in the window had been his + lifelong enemy: more than this, Jethro Bass, was not like ordinary men—his + ways were enshrouded in mystery, and when he struck, he struck hard. There + grew upon Isaac Worthington a sense that this midnight hour was in some + way to be the culmination of the long years of hatred between them. + </p> + <p> + He believed Jethro: he would have believed him even if Mr. Flint had not + informed him that afternoon that he was beaten, and bitterly he wished he + had taken Mr. Flint's advice many months before. Denunciation sprang to + his lips which he dared not utter. He was beaten, and he must pay—the + pound of flesh. Isaac Worthington almost thought it would be a pound of + flesh. + </p> + <p> + “How much do you want?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Again Jethro looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “B-biggest price you can pay,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “You must have made up your mind what you want. You've had time enough.” + </p> + <p> + “H-have made up my mind,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Make your demand,” said Mr. Worthington, “and I'll give you my answer.” + </p> + <p> + “B-biggest price you can pay,” said Jethro, again. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington's nerves could stand it no longer. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” he cried, rising in his chair, “if you've brought me here to + trifle with me, you've made a mistake. It's your business to get control + of things that belong to other people, and sell them out. I am here to + buy. Nothing but necessity brings me here, and nothing but necessity will + keep me here a moment longer than I have to stay to finish this abominable + affair. I am ready to pay you twenty thousand dollars the day that bill + becomes a law.” + </p> + <p> + This time Jethro did not look at him. + </p> + <p> + “P-pay me now,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I will pay you the day the bill becomes a law. Then I shall know where I + stand.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro did not answer this ultimatum in any manner, but remained perfectly + still looking out of the window. Mr. Worthington glanced at him, twice, + and got his fingers on the brim of his hat, but he did not pick it up. He + stood so for a while, knowing full well that if he went out of that room + his chance was gone. Consolidation might come in other years, but he, + Isaac Worthington, would not be a factor in it. + </p> + <p> + “You don't want a check, do you?” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + “No—d-don't want a check.” + </p> + <p> + “What in God's name do you want? I haven't got twenty thousand dollars in + currency in my pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Isaac Worthington,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington sat down—out of sheer astonishment, perhaps. + </p> + <p> + “W-want the consolidation—don't you? Want it bad—don't you?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington did, not answer. Jethro stood over him now, looking down + at him from the other side of the narrow table. + </p> + <p> + “Know Cynthy Wetherell?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Then Isaac Worthington understood that his premonitions had been real. The + pound of flesh was to be demanded, but strangely enough, he did not yet + comprehend the nature of it. + </p> + <p> + “I know that there is such a person,” he answered, for his pride would not + permit him to say more. + </p> + <p> + “W-what do you know about her?” + </p> + <p> + Isaac Worthington was bitterly angry—the more so because he was + helpless, and could not question Jethro's right to ask. What did he know + about her? Nothing, except that she had intrigued to marry his son. Bob's + letter had described her, to be sure, but he could not be expected to + believe that: and he had not heard Miss Lucretia Penniman's speech. And + yet he could not tell Jethro that he knew nothing about her, for he was + shrewd enough to perceive the drift of the next question. + </p> + <p> + “Kn-know anything against her?” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington leaned back in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “I can't see what Miss Wetherell has to do with the present occasion,” he + replied. + </p> + <p> + “H-had her dismissed by the prudential committee had her dismissed—didn't + you?” + </p> + <p> + “They chose to act as they saw fit.” + </p> + <p> + “T-told Levi Dodd to dismiss her—didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + That was a matter of common knowledge in Brampton, having leaked out + through Jonathan Hill. + </p> + <p> + “I must decline to discuss this,” said Mr. Worthington. + </p> + <p> + “W-wouldn't if I was you.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “What I say. T-told Levi Dodd to dismiss her, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did.” Isaac Worthington had lost in self-esteem by not saying so + before. + </p> + <p> + “Why? Wahn't she honest? Wahn't she capable? Wahn't she a lady?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't say that I know anything against Miss Wetherell's character, if + that's what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “F-fit to teach—wahn't she—fit to teach?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe she has since qualified before Mr. Errol.” + </p> + <p> + “Fit to teach—wahn't fit to marry your son—was she?” + </p> + <p> + Isaac Worthington clutched the table and started from his chair. He grew + white to his lips with anger, and yet he knew that he must control + himself. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bass,” he said, “you have something to sell, and I have something to + buy—if the price is not ruinous. Let us confine ourselves to that. + My affairs and my son's affairs are neither here nor there. I ask you + again, how much do you want for this Consolidation Bill?” + </p> + <p> + “N-no money will buy it.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” + </p> + <p> + “C-consent to this marriage, c-consent to this marriage.” There was yet + room for Isaac Worthington to be amazed, and for a while he stared up at + Jethro, speechless. + </p> + <p> + “Is that your price?” he asked at last. + </p> + <p> + “Th-that's my price,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Isaac Worthington got up and went to the window and stood looking out + above the black mass of trees at the dome outlined against the + star-flecked sky. At first his anger choked him, and he could not think; + he had just enough reason left not to walk out of the door. But presently + habit asserted itself in him, too, and he began to reflect and calculate + in spite of his anger. It is strange that memory plays so small a part in + such a man. Before he allowed his mind to dwell on the fearful price, he + thought of his ambitions gratified; and yet he did not think then of the + woman to whom he had once confided those ambitions—the woman who was + the girl's mother. Perhaps Jethro was thinking of her. + </p> + <p> + It may have been—I know not—that Isaac Worthington wondered at + this revelation of the character of Jethro Bass, for it was a revelation. + For this girl's sake Jethro was willing to forego his revenge, was willing + at the end of his days to allow the world to believe that he had sold out + to his enemy, or that he had been defeated by him. + </p> + <p> + But when he thought of the marriage, Isaac Worthington ground his teeth. A + certain sentiment which we may call pride was so strong in him that he + felt ready to make almost any sacrifice to prevent it. To hinder it he had + quarrelled with his son, and driven him away, and threatened + disinheritance. The price was indeed heavy—the heaviest he could + pay. But the alternative—was not that heavier? To relinquish his + dream of power, to sink for a while into a crippled state; for he had + spent large sums, and one of those periodical depressions had come in the + business of the mills, and those Western investments were not looking so + bright now. + </p> + <p> + So, with his hands opening and closing in front of him, Isaac Worthington + fought out his battle. A terrible war, that, between ambition and pride—a + war to the knife. The issue may yet have been undecided when he turned + round to Jethro with a sneer which he could not resist. + </p> + <p> + “Why doesn't she marry him without my consent?” + </p> + <p> + In a moment Mr. Worthington knew he had gone too far. A certain kind of an + eye is an incomparable weapon, and armed men have been cowed by those who + possess it, though otherwise defenceless. Jethro Bass had that kind of an + eye. + </p> + <p> + “G-guess you wouldn't understand if I was to tell you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington walked to the window again, perhaps to compose himself, + and then came back again. + </p> + <p> + “Your proposition is,” he said at length, “that if I give my consent to + this marriage, we are to have Bixby and the governor, and the + Consolidation Bill will become a law. Is that it?” + </p> + <p> + “Th-that's it,” said Jethro, taking his accustomed seat. + </p> + <p> + “And this consent is to be given when the bill becomes a law?” + </p> + <p> + “Given now. T-to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington took another turn as far as the door, and suddenly came + and stood before Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I consent.” + </p> + <p> + Jethro nodded toward the table. + </p> + <p> + “Er—pen and paper there,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want me to do?” demanded Mr. Worthington. + </p> + <p> + “W-write to Bob—write to Cynthy. Nice letters.” + </p> + <p> + “This is carrying matters with too high a hand, Mr. Bass. I will write the + letters to-morrow morning.” It was intolerable that he, the first citizen + of Brampton, should have to submit to such humiliation. + </p> + <p> + “Write 'em now. W-want to see 'em.” + </p> + <p> + “But if I give you my word they will be written and sent to you to-morrow + afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “T-too late,” said Jethro; “sit down and write 'em now.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington went irresolutely to the table, stood for a minute, and + dropped suddenly into the chair there. He would have given anything + (except the realization of his ambitions) to have marched out of the room + and to have slammed the door behind him. The letter paper and envelopes + which Jethro had bought stood in a little pile, and Mr. Worthington picked + up the pen. The clock struck two as he wrote the date, as though to remind + him that he had written it wrong. If Flint could see him now! Would Flint + guess? Would anybody guess? He stared at the white paper, and his rage + came on again like a gust of wind, and he felt that he would rather beg in + the streets than write such a thing. And yet—and yet he sat there. + Surely Jethro Bass must have known that he could have taken no more + exquisite vengeance than this, to compel a man—and such a man—to + sit down in the white heat of passion—and write two letters of + forgiveness! Jethro sat by the window, to all appearances oblivious to the + tortures of his victim. + </p> + <p> + He who has tried to write a note—the simplest note when his mind was + harassed, will understand something of Isaac Worthington's sensations. He + would no sooner get an inkling of what his opening sentence was to be than + the flames of his anger would rise and sweep it away. He could not even + decide which letter he was to write first: to his son, who had defied him + and who (the father knew in his heart) condemned him? or to the + schoolteacher, who was responsible for all his misery; who—Mr. + Worthington believed—had taken advantage of his son's youth by + feminine wiles of no mean order so as to gain possession of him. I can + almost bring myself to pity the first citizen of Brampton as he sits there + with his pen poised over the paper, and his enemy waiting to read those + tender epistles of forgiveness which he has yet to write. The clock has + almost got round to the half-hour again, and there is only the date—and + a wrong one at that. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Miss Wetherell,—Circumstances (over which I have no + control?)”—ought he not to call her Cynthia? He has to make the + letter credible in the eyes of the censor who sits by the window. “My dear + Miss Wetherell, I have come to the conclusion”—two sheets torn up, + or thrust into Mr. Worthington's pocket. By this time words have begun to + have a colorless look. “My dear Miss Wetherell,—Having become + convinced of the sincere attachment which my son Robert has for you, I am + writing him to-night to give my full consent to his marriage. He has given + me to understand that you have hitherto persistently refused to accept him + because I have withheld that consent, and I take this opportunity of + expressing my admiration of this praiseworthy resolution on your part.” + (If this be irony, it is sublime! Perhaps Isaac Worthington has a little + of the artist in him, and now that he is in the heat of creation has + forgotten the circumstances under which he is composing.) “My son's + happiness and career in life are of such moment to me that, until the + present, I could not give my sanction to what I at first regarded as a + youthful fancy. Now that, my son, for your sake, has shown his + determination and ability to make his own way in the world,” (Isaac + Worthington was not a little proud of this) “I have determined that it is + wise to withdraw my opposition, and to recall Robert to his proper place, + which is near me. I am sure that my feelings in this matter will be clear + to you, and that you will look with indulgence upon any acts of mine which + sprang from a natural solicitation for the welfare and happiness of my + only child. I shall be in Brampton in a day or two, and I shall at once + give myself the pleasure of calling on you. Sincerely yours, Isaac D. + Worthington.” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps a little formal and pompous for some people, but an admirable and + conciliatory letter for the first citizen of Brampton. Written under such + trying circumstances, with I know not how many erasures and false starts, + it is little short of a marvel in art: neither too much said, nor too + little, for a relenting parent of Mr. Worthington's character, and I doubt + whether Talleyrand or Napoleon or even Machiavelli himself could have + surpassed it. The second letter, now that Mr. Worthington had got into the + swing, was more easily written. “My dear Robert” (it said), “I have made + up my mind to give my consent to your marriage to Miss Wetherell, and I am + ready to welcome you home, where I trust I shall see you shortly. I have + not been unimpressed by the determined manner in which you have gone to + work for yourself, but I believe that your place is in Brampton, where I + trust you will show the same energy in learning to succeed me in the + business which I have founded there as you have exhibited in Mr. Broke's + works. Affectionately, your Father.” + </p> + <p> + A very creditable and handsome letter for a forgiving father. When Mr. + Worthington had finished it, and had addressed both the envelopes, his + shame and vexation had, curious to relate, very considerably abated. Not + to go too deeply into the somewhat contradictory mental and cardiac + processes of Mr. Worthington, he had somehow tricked himself by that magic + exercise of wielding his pen into thinking that he was doing a noble and + generous action: into believing that in the course of a very few days—or + weeks, at the most, he would have recalled his erring son and have given + Cynthia his blessing. He would, he told himself, have been forced + eventually to yield when that paragon of inflexibility, Bob, dictated + terms to him at the head of the locomotive works. Better let the + generosity be on his (Mr. Worthington's) side. At all events, victory had + never been bought more cheaply. Humiliation, in Mr. Worthington's eyes, + had an element of publicity in it, and this episode had had none of that + element; and Jethro Bass, moreover, was a highwayman who had held a pistol + to his head. In such logical manner he gradually bolstered up again his + habitual poise and dignity. Next week, at the latest, men would point to + him as the head of the largest railroad interests in the state. + </p> + <p> + He pushed back his chair, and rose, merely indicating the result of his + labors by a wave of his hand. And he stood in the window as Jethro Bass + got up and went to the table. I would that I had a pen able to describe + Jethro's sensations when he read them. Unfortunately, he is a man with few + facial expressions. But I believe that he was artist enough himself to + appreciate the perfections of the first citizen's efforts. After a much + longer interval than was necessary for their perusal, Mr. Worthington + turned. + </p> + <p> + “G-guess they'll do,” said Jethro, as he folded them up. He was too + generous not to indulge, for once, in a little well-deserved praise. + “Hain't underdone it, and hain't overdone it a mite hev you? M-man of + resource. Callate you couldn't hev beat that if you was to take a week to + it.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it only fair to tell you,” said Mr. Worthington, picking up his + silk hat, “that in those letters I have merely anticipated a very little + my intentions in the matter. My son having proved his earnestness, I was + about to consent to the marriage of my own accord.” + </p> + <p> + “G-goin' to do it anyway—was you?” + </p> + <p> + “I had so determined.” + </p> + <p> + “A-always thought you was high-minded,” said Jethro. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington was on the point of giving a tart reply to this, but + restrained himself. + </p> + <p> + “Then I may look upon the matter as settled?” he said. “The Consolidation + Bill is to become a law?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jethro, “you'll get your bill.” Mr. Worthington had got his + hand on the knob of the door when Jethro stopped him with a word. He had + no facial expressions, but he had an eye, as we have seen—an eye + that for the second time appeared terrible to his visitor. “Isaac + Worthington,” he said, “a-act up to it. No trickery—or look out—look + out.” + </p> + <p> + Then, the incident being closed so far as he was concerned, Jethro went + back to his chair by the window, but it is to be recorded that Isaac + Worthington did not answer him immediately. Then he said:— + </p> + <p> + “You seem to forget that you are talking to a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” answered Jethro, “so you be.” + </p> + <p> + He sat where he was long after the sky had whitened and the stars had + changed from gold to silver and gone out, and the sunlight had begun to + glance upon the green leaves of the park. Perhaps he was thinking of the + life he had lived, which was spent now: of the men he had ruled, of the + victories he had gained from that place which would know him no more. He + had won the last and the greatest of his victories there, compared to + which the others had indeed been as vanities. Perhaps he looked back over + the highway of his life and thought of the woman whom he had loved, and + wondered what it had been if she had trod it by his side. Who will judge + him? He had been what he had been; and as the Era was, so was he. Verily, + one generation passeth away, and another generation cometh. + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Isaac Worthington arrived at Mr. Duncan's house, where he was + staying, at three o'clock in the morning, he saw to his surprise light + from the library windows lying in bars across the lawn under the trees. He + found Mr. Duncan in that room with Somers, his son, who had just returned + from a seaside place, and they were discussing a very grave event. Miss + Janet Duncan had that day eloped with a gentleman who—to judge from + the photograph Somers held—was both handsome and romantic-looking. + He had long hair and burning eyes, and a title not to be then verified, + and he owned a castle near some place on the peninsula of Italy not on the + map. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + We are back in Brampton, owning, as we do, an annual pass over the Truro + Railroad. Cynthia has been there all the summer, and as it is now the + first of September, her school has begun again. I do not by any means + intend to imply that Brampton is not a pleasant place to spend the summer: + the number of its annual visitors is a refutation of that; but to Cynthia + the season had been one of great unhappiness. Several times Lem Hallowell + had stopped the stage in front of Ephraim's house to beg her to go to + Coniston, and Mr. Satterlee had come himself; but she could not have borne + to be there without Jethro. Nor would she go to Boston, though urged by + Miss Lucretia; and Mrs. Merrill and the girls had implored her to join + them at a seaside place on the Cape. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia had made a little garden behind Ephraim's house, and she spent the + summer there with her flowers and her books, many of which Lem had fetched + from Coniston. Ephraim loved to sit there of an evening and smoke his pipe + and chat with Ezra Graves and the neighbors who dropped in. Among these + were Mr. Gamaliel Ives, who talked literature with Cynthia; and Lucy + Baird, his wife, who had taken Cynthia under her wing. I wish I had time + to write about Lucy Baird. And Mr. Jonathan Hill came—his mortgage + not having been foreclosed, after all. When Cynthia was alone with Ephraim + she often read to him,—generally from books of a martial flavor,—and + listened with an admirable hypocrisy to certain narratives which he was in + the habit of telling. + </p> + <p> + They never spoke of Jethro. Ephraim was not a casuist, and his sense of + right and wrong came largely through his affections. It is safe to say + that he never made an analysis of the sorrow which he knew was afflicting + the girl, but he had had a general and most sympathetic understanding of + it ever since the time when Jethro had gone back to the capital; and + Ephraim never brought home his Guardian or his Clarion now, but read them + at the office, that their contents might not disturb her. + </p> + <p> + No wonder that Cynthia was unhappy. The letters came, almost every day, + with the postmark of the town in New Jersey where Mr. Broke's locomotive + works were; and she answered them now (but oh, how scrupulously!), though + not every day. If the waters of love rose up through the grains of sand, + it was, at least, not Cynthia's fault. Hers were the letters of a friend. + She was reading such and such a book—had he read it? And he must not + work too hard. How could her letters be otherwise when Jethro Bass, her + benefactor, was at the capital working to defeat and perhaps to ruin Bob's + father? when Bob's father had insulted and persecuted her? She ought not + to have written at all; but the lapses of such a heroine are very rare, + and very dear. + </p> + <p> + Yes, Cynthia's life was very bitter that summer, with but little hope on + the horizon of it. Her thoughts were divided between Bob and Jethro. Many + a night she lay awake resolving to write to Jethro, even to go to him, but + when morning came she could not bring herself to do so. I do not think it + was because she feared that he might believe her appeal would be made in + behalf of Bob's father. Knowing Jethro as she did, she felt that it would + be useless, and she could not bear to make it in vain; if the memory of + that evening in the tannery shed would not serve, nothing would serve. And + again—he had gone to avenge her. + </p> + <p> + It was inevitable that she should hear tidings from the capital. Isaac + Worthington's own town was ringing with it. And as week after week of that + interminable session went by, the conviction slowly grew upon Brampton + that its first citizen had been beaten by Jethro Bass. Something of Mr. + Worthington's affairs was known: the mills, for instance, were not being + run to their full capacity. And then had come the definite news that Mr. + Worthington was beaten, a local representative having arrived straight + from the rotunda. Cynthia overheard Lem Hallowell telling it to Ephraim, + and she could not for the life of her help rejoicing, though she despised + herself for it. Isaac Worthington was humbled now, and Jethro had humbled + him to avenge her. Despite her grief over his return to that life, there + was something to compel her awe and admiration in the way he had risen and + done this thing after men had fallen from him. Her mother had had + something of these same feelings, without knowing why. + </p> + <p> + People who had nothing but praise for him before were saying hard things + about Isaac Worthington that night. When the baron is defeated, the serfs + come out of their holes in the castle rock and fling their curses across + the moat. Cynthia slept but little, and was glad when the day came to take + her to her scholars, to ease her mind of the thoughts which tortured it. + </p> + <p> + And then, when she stopped at the post-office to speak to Ephraim on her + way homeward in the afternoon, she heard men talking behind the partition, + and she stood, as one stricken, listening beside the window. Other tidings + had come in the shape of a telegram. The first rumor had been false. + Brampton had not yet received the details, but the Consolidation Bill had + gone into the House that morning, and would be a law before the week was + out. A part of it was incomprehensible to Cynthia, but so much she had + understood. She did not wait to speak to Ephraim, and she was going out + again when a man rushed past her and through the partition door. Cynthia + paused instinctively, for she recognized him as one of the frequenters of + the station and a bearer of news. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro's come home, boys,” he shouted; “come in on the four o'clock, and + went right off to Coniston. Guess he's done for, this time, for certain. + Looks it. By Godfrey, he looks eighty! Callate his day's over, from the + way the boys talked on the train.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia lingered to hear no more, and went out, dazed, into the September + sunshine: Jethro beaten, and broken, and gone to Coniston. Resolution came + to her as she walked. Arriving home, she wrote a little note and left it + on the table for Ephraim; and going out again, ran by the back lane to Mr. + Sherman's livery stable behind the Brampton House, and in half an hour was + driving along that familiar road to Coniston, alone; for she had often + driven Jethro's horses, and knew every turn of the way. And as she gazed + at the purple mountain through the haze and drank in the sweet scents of + the year's fulness, she was strangely happy. There was the village green + in the cool evening light, and the flagstaff with its tip silvered by the + departing sun. She waved to Rias and Lem and Moses at the store, but she + drove on to the tannery house, and hitched the horse at the rough granite + post, and went in, and through the house, softly, to the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + Jethro was standing in the doorway, and did not turn. He may have thought + she was Millicent Skinner. Cynthia could see his face. It was older, + indeed, and lined and worn, but that fearful look of desolation which she + had once surprised upon it, and which she in that instant feared to see, + was not there. Jethro's soul was at peace, though Cynthia could not + understand why it was so. She stole to him and flung her arms about his + neck, and with a cry he seized her and held her against him for I know not + how long. Had it been possible to have held her there always, he would + never have let her go. At last he looked down into her tear-wet face, into + her eyes that were shining with tears. + </p> + <p> + “D-done wrong, Cynthy.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia did not answer that, for she remembered how she, too, had exulted + when she had believed him to have accomplished Isaac Worthington's + downfall. Now that he had failed, and she was in his arms, it was not for + her to judge—only to rejoice. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't look for you to come back—didn't expect it.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro!” she faltered. Love for her had made him go, and she would + not say that, either. + </p> + <p> + “D-don't hate me, Cynthy—don't hate me?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Love me—a little?” + </p> + <p> + She reached up her hands and brushed back his hair, tenderly, from his + forehead. Such—a loving gesture was her answer. + </p> + <p> + “You are going to stay here always, now,” she said, in a low voice, “you + are never going away again.” + </p> + <p> + “G-goin' to stay always,” he answered. Perhaps he was thinking of the + hillside clearing in the forest—who knows! “You'll come-sometime, + Cynthy—sometime?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll come every Saturday and Sunday, Uncle Jethro,” she said, smiling up + at him. “Saturday is only two days away, now. I can hardly wait.” + </p> + <p> + “Y-you'll come sometime?” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro, do you think I'll be away from you, except—except + when I have to?” + </p> + <p> + “C-come and read to me—won't you—come and read?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I will!” + </p> + <p> + “C-call to mind the first book you read to me, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “It was 'Robinson Crusoe,'” she said. + </p> + <p> + “'R-Robinson Crusoe.' Often thought of that book. Know some of it by + heart. R-read it again, sometime, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him a little anxiously. His eyes were on the great hill + opposite, across Coniston Water. + </p> + <p> + “I will, indeed, Uncle Jethro, if we can find it,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Guess I can find it,” said Jethro. “R-remember when you saw him makin' a + ship?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cynthia, “and I had my feet in the pool.” + </p> + <p> + The book had made a profound impression upon Jethro, partly because + Cynthia had first read it to him, and partly for another reason. The + isolation of Crusoe; depicted by Defoe's genius, had been comparable to + his own isolation, and he had pondered upon it much of late. Yes, and upon + a certain part of another book which he had read earlier in life: Napoleon + had ended his days on St. Helena. + </p> + <p> + They walked out under the trees to the brook-side and stood listening to + the tinkling of the cowbells in the wood lot beyond. The light faded early + on these September evenings, and the smoky mist had begun to rise from the + water when they turned back again. The kitchen windows were already + growing yellow, and through them the faithful Millicent could be seen + bustling about in her preparations for supper. But Cynthia, having + accomplished her errand, would not go in. She could not have borne to have + any one drive back with her to Brampton then, and she must not be late + upon the road. + </p> + <p> + “I will come Friday evening, Uncle Jethro,” she said, as she kissed him + and gave one last, lingering look at his face. Had it been possible, she + would not have left him, and on her way to Brampton through the gathering + darkness she mused anxiously upon that strange calmness he had shown after + defeat. + </p> + <p> + She drove her horse on to the floor of Mr. Sherman's stable, that + gentleman himself gallantly assisting her to alight, and walked homeward + through the lane. Ephraim had not yet returned from the postoffice, which + did not close until eight, and Cynthia smiled when she saw the utensils of + his cooking-kit strewn on the hearth. In her absence he invariably + unpacked and used it, and of course Cynthia at once set herself to + cleaning and packing it again. After that she got her own supper—a + very simple affair—and was putting the sitting room to rights when + Ephraim came thumping in. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I swan!” he exclaimed when he saw her. “I didn't look for you to + come back so soon, Cynthy. Put up the kit—hev you?” He stood in + front of the fireplace staring with apparent interest at the place where + the kit had been, and added in a voice which he strove to make quite + casual, “How be Jethro?” + </p> + <p> + “He looks older, Cousin Eph,” she answered, after a pause, “and I think he + is very tired. But he seems he seems more tranquil and contented than I + hoped to find him.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know,” said Ephraim. “I am glad to hear it. Glad you went up, + Cynthy—you done right to go. + </p> + <p> + “I'd have gone with you, if you'd only told me. I'll git a chance to go up + Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + There was an air of repressed excitement about the veteran which did not + escape Cynthia. He held two letters in his hand, and, being a postmaster, + he knew the handwriting on both. One had come from that place in New + Jersey, and drew no comment. But the other! That one had been postmarked + at the capital, and as he had sat at his counter at the post-office + waiting for closing time he had turned it over and over with many + ejaculations and futile guesses. Past master of dissimulation that he was, + he had made up his mind—if he should find Cynthia at home—to + lay the letters indifferently on the table and walk into his bedroom. This + campaign he now proceeded to carry out. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia smiled again when he was gone, and shook her head and picked up + the letters: Bob's was uppermost and she read that first, without a + thought of the other one. And she smiled as she read for Bob had had a + promotion. He was not yet at the head of the locomotive works, he hastened + to add, for fear that Cynthia might think that Mr. Broke had resigned the + presidency in his favor; and Cynthia never failed to laugh at these little + facetious asides. He was now earning the princely sum of ninety dollars a + month—not enough to marry on, alas! On Saturday nights he and Percy + Broke scrubbed as much as possible of the grime from their hands and faces + and went to spend Sunday at Elberon, the Broke place on the Hudson; from + whence Miss Sally Broke, if she happened to be at home, always sent + Cynthia her love. As Cynthia is still a heroine, I shall not describe how + she felt about Sally Broke's love. There was plenty of Bob's own in the + letter. Cynthia would got have blamed him if he bad fallen in love with + Miss Broke. It seemed to her little short of miraculous that, amidst such + surroundings, he could be true to her. + </p> + <p> + After a period which was no briefer than that usually occupied by Bob's + letters, Cynthia took the other one from her lap, and stared at it in much + perplexity before she tore it open. We have seen its contents over Mr. + Worthington's shoulder, and our hearts will not stop beating—as + Cynthia's did. She read it twice before the full meaning of it came to + her, and after that she could not well mistake it,—the language + being so admirable in every way. She sat very still for a long while, and + presently she heard Ephraim go out. But Cynthia did not move. Mr. + Worthington relented and Bob recalled! The vista of happiness suddenly + opened up, widened and widened until it was too bright for Cynthia's + vision, and she would compel her mind to dwell on another prospect,—that + of the father and son reconciled. Although her temples throbbed, she tried + to analyze the letter. It implied that Mr. Worthington had allowed Bob to + remain away on a sort of probation; it implied that it had been dictated + by a strong paternal love mingled with a strong paternal justice. And then + there was the appeal to her: “You will look with indulgence upon any acts + of mine which sprang from a natural solicitation for the welfare and + happiness of my only child.” A terrible insight is theirs to whom it is + given to love as Cynthia loved. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly there came a knock which frightened her, for her mind was running + on swiftly from point to point: had, indeed, flown as far as Coniston by + now, and she was thinking of that strange look of peace on Jethro's face + which had troubled her. One letter she thrust into her dress, but the + other she laid aside, and her knees trembled under her as she rose and + went into the entry and raised the latch and opened the door. There was a + moon, and the figure in the frock coat and the silk hat was the one which + she expected to see. The silk hat came off very promptly. + </p> + <p> + “I hope I am not disturbing you, Miss Wetherell,” said the owner of it. + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Cynthia, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “May I come in?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia held open the door a little wider, and Mr. Worthington walked in. + He seemed very majestic and out of place in the little house which Gabriel + Post had built, and he carried into it some of the atmosphere of the + walnut and high ceilings of his own mansion. His manner of laying his hat, + bottom up, on the table, and of unbuttoning his coat, subtly indicated the + honor which he was conferring upon the place. And he eyed Cynthia, + standing before him in the lamplight, with a modification of the hawk-like + look which was meant to be at once condescending and conciliatory. He did + not imprint a kiss upon her brow, as some prospective fathers-in-law would + have done. But his eyes, perhaps involuntarily, paid a tribute to her + personal appearance which heightened her color. She might not, after all, + be such a discredit to the Worthington family. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you sit down?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Cynthia,” he said; “I hope I may now be allowed to call you + Cynthia?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer him, but sat down herself, and he followed her example; + with his eyes still upon her. + </p> + <p> + “You have doubtless received my letter,” began Mr. Worthington. “I only + arrived in Brampton an hour ago, but I thought it best to come to you at + once, under the circumstances.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” replied Cynthia, “I received the letter.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad,” said Mr. Worthington. He was beginning to be a little taken + aback by her calmness and her apparent absence of joy. It was scarcely the + way in which a school-teacher should receive the advances of the first + citizen, come to give a gracious consent to her marriage with his son. Had + he known it, Cynthia was anything but calm. “I am glad,” he said, “because + I took pains to explain the exact situation in that letter, and to set + forth my own sentiments. I hope you understood them.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I understood them,” said Cynthia, in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + This was enigmatical, to say the least. But Mr. Worthington had come with + such praiseworthy intentions that he was disposed to believe that the girl + was overwhelmed by the good fortune which had suddenly overtaken her. He + was therefore disposed to be a little conciliatory. + </p> + <p> + “My conduct may have appeared harsh to you,” he continued. “I will not + deny that I opposed the matter at first. Robert was still in college, and + he has a generous, impressionable nature which he inherits from his poor + mother—the kind of nature likely to commit a rash act which would + ruin his career. I have since become convinced that he has—ahem—inherited + likewise a determination of purpose and an ability to get on in the world + which I confess I had underestimated. My friend, Mr. Broke, has written me + a letter about him, and tells me that he has already promoted him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “You hear from him?” inquired Mr. Worthington, giving her a quick glance. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Cynthia, her color rising a little. + </p> + <p> + “And yet,” said Mr. Worthington, slowly, “I have been under the impression + that you have persistently refused to marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot refrain from complimenting you, Cynthia, upon such rare + conduct,” said he. “You will be glad to know that it has contributed more + than anything else toward my estimation of your character, and has + strengthened me in my resolution that I am now doing right. It may be + difficult for you to understand a father's feelings. The complete + separation from my only son was telling on me severely, and I could not + forget that you were the cause of that separation. I knew nothing about + you, except—” He hesitated, for she had turned to him. + </p> + <p> + “Except what?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington coughed. Mr. Flint had told him, that very morning, of her + separation from Jethro, and of the reasons which people believed had + caused it. Unfortunately, we have not time to go into that conversation + with Mr. Flint, who had given a very good account of Cynthia indeed. After + all (Mr. Worthington reflected), he had consented to the marriage, and + there was no use in bringing Jethro's name into the conversation. Jethro + would be forgotten soon. + </p> + <p> + “I will not deny to You that I had other plans for my son,” he said. “I + had hoped that he would marry a daughter of a friend of mine. You must be + a little indulgent with parents, Cynthia,” he added with a little smile, + “we have our castles in the air, too. Sometimes, as in this case, by a + wise provision of providence they go astray. I suppose you have heard of + Miss Duncan's marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “She ran off with a worthless Italian nobleman. I believe, on the whole,” + he said, with what was an extreme complaisance for the first citizen, + “that I have reason to congratulate myself upon Robert's choice. I have + made inquiries about you, and I find that I have had the pleasure of + knowing your mother, whom I respected very much. And your father, I + understand, came of very good people, and was forced by circumstances to + adopt the means of livelihood he did. My attention has been called to the + letters he wrote to the Guardian, which I hear have been highly praised by + competent critics, and I have ordered a set of them for the files of the + library. You yourself, I find, are highly thought of in Brampton” (a, not + unimportant factor, by the way); “you have been splendidly educated, and + are a lady. In short, Cynthia, I have come to give my formal consent to + your engagement to my son Robert.” + </p> + <p> + “But I am not engaged to him,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “He will be here shortly, I imagine,” said Mr. Worthington. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia was trembling more than ever by this time. She was very angry, and + she had found it very difficult to repress the things which she had been + impelled to speak. She did not hate Isaac Worthington now—she + despised him. He had not dared to mention Jethro, who had been her + benefactor, though he had done his best to have her removed from the + school because of her connection with Jethro. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Worthington,” she said, “I have not yet made up my mind whether I + shall marry your son.” + </p> + <p> + To say that Mr. Worthington's breath was taken away when he heard these + words would be to use a mild expression. He doubted his senses. + </p> + <p> + “What?” he exclaimed, starting forward, “what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia hesitated a moment. She was not frightened, but she was trying to + choose her words without passion. + </p> + <p> + “I refused to marry him,” she said, “because you withheld your consent, + and I did not wish to be the cause of a quarrel between you. It was not + difficult to guess your feelings toward me, even before certain things + occurred of which I will not speak. I did my best, from the very first, to + make Bob give up the thought of marrying me, although I loved and honored + him. Loving him as I do, I do not want to be the cause of separating him + from his father, and of depriving him of that which is rightfully his. But + something was due to myself. If I should ever make up my mind to marry + him,” continued Cynthia, looking at Mr. Worthington steadfastly, “it will + not be because your consent is given or withheld.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you tell me this to my face?” exclaimed Mr. Worthington, now in a rage + himself at such unheard-of presumption. + </p> + <p> + “To your face,” said Cynthia, who got more self-controlled as he grew + angry. “I believe that that consent, which you say you have given freely, + was wrung from you.” + </p> + <p> + It was unfortunate that the first citizen might not always have Mr. Flint + by him to restrain and caution him. But Mr. Flint could have no command + over his master's sensations, and anger and apprehension goaded Mr. + Worthington to indiscretion. + </p> + <p> + “Jethro Bass told you this!” he cried out. + </p> + <p> + “No,” Cynthia answered, not in the least surprised by the admission, “he + did not tell me—but he will if I ask him. I guessed it from your + letter. I heard that he had come back to-day, and I went to Coniston to + see him, and he told me—he had been defeated.” + </p> + <p> + Tears came into her eyes at the remembrance of the scene in the tannery + house that afternoon, and she knew now why Jethro's face had worn that + look of peace. He had made his supreme sacrifice—for her. No, he had + told her nothing, and she might never have known. She sat thinking of the + magnitude of this thing Jethro had done, and she ceased to speak, and the + tears coursed down her cheeks unheeded. + </p> + <p> + Isaac Worthington had a habit of clutching things when he was in a rage, + and now he clutched the arms of the chair. He had grown white. He was + furious with her, furious with himself for having spoken that which might + be construed into a confession. He had not finished writing the letters + before he had stood self-justified, and he had been self-justified ever + since. Where now were these arguments so wonderfully plausible? Where were + the refutations which he had made ready in case of a barely possible need? + He had gone into the Pelican House intending to tell Jethro of his + determination to agree to the marriage. That was one. He had done so—that + was another—and he had written the letters that Jethro might be + convinced of his good will. There were still more, involving Jethro's + character for veracity and other things. Summoning these, he waited for + Cynthia to have done speaking, but when she had finished—he said + nothing. He looked a her, and saw the tears on her face, and he saw that + she had completely forgotten his presence. + </p> + <p> + For the life of him, Isaac Worthington could not utter a word. He was a + man, as we know, who did not talk idly, and he knew that Cynthia would not + hear what he said; and arguments and denunciations lose their effect when + repeated. Again, he knew that she would not believe him. Never in his life + had Isaac Worthington been so ignored, so put to shame, as by this + school-teacher of Brampton. Before, self-esteem and sophistry had always + carried him off between them; sometimes, in truth, with a wound—the + wound had always healed. But he had a feeling, to-night, that this woman + had glanced into his soul, and had turned away from it. As he looked at + her the texture of his anger changed; he forgot for the first time that + which he had been pleased to think of as her position in life, and he + feared her. He had matched his spirit against hers. + </p> + <p> + Before long the situation became intolerable to him, for Cynthia still sat + silent. She was thinking of how she had blamed Jethro for going back to + that life, even though his love for her had made him do it. But Isaac + Worthington did not know of what she was thinking—he thought only of + himself and his predicament. He could not remain, and yet he could not go—with + dignity. He who had come to bestow could not depart like a whipped dog. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a fear transfixed him: suppose that this woman, from whom he + could not hide the truth, should tell his son what he had done. Bob would + believe her. Could he, Isaac Worthington, humble his pride and ask her to + keep her suspicions to herself? He would then be acknowledging that they + were more than suspicions. If he did so, he would have to appear to + forgive her in spite of what she had said to him. And Bob was coming home. + Could he tell Bob that he had changed his mind and withdrawn his consent + to the marriage? There world be the reason, and again Bob would believe + her. And again, if he withdrew his consent, there was Jethro to reckon + with. Jethro must have a weapon still, Mr. Worthington thought, although + he could not imagine what it might be. As Isaac Worthington sat there, + thinking, it grew clear, to him at last that there was but one exit out of + a very desperate situation. + </p> + <p> + He glanced at Cynthia again, this time appraisingly. She had dried her + eyes, but she made no effort to speak. After all, she would make such a + wife for his son as few men possessed. He thought of Sarah Hollingsworth. + She had been a good woman, but there had been many times when he had + deplored—especially in his travels the lack of other qualities in + his wife. Cynthia, he thought, had these qualities,—so necessary for + the wife of one who would succeed to power—though whence she had got + them Isaac Worthington could not imagine. She would become a personage; + she was a woman of whom they had no need to be ashamed at home or abroad. + Having completed these reflections, he broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry that you should have been misled into thinking such a thing as + you have expressed, Cynthia,” he said, “but I believe that I can + understand something of the feelings which prompted you. It is natural + that you should have a resentment against me after everything that has + happened. It is perhaps natural, too, that I should lose my temper under + the circumstances. Let us forget it. And I trust that in the future we + shall grow into the mutual respect and affection which our nearer + relationship will demand.” + </p> + <p> + He rose, and took up his hat, and Cynthia rose too. There was something + very fine, he thought, about her carriage and expression as she stood in + front of him. + </p> + <p> + “There is my hand,” he said,—“will you take it?” + </p> + <p> + “I will take it,” Cynthia answered, “because you are Bob's father.” + </p> + <p> + And then Mr. Worthington went away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <p> + I am able to cite one notable instance, at least, to disprove the saying a + part of which is written above, and I have yet to hear of a case in which + a gentleman ever hesitated a single instant on account of the first letter + of a lady's last name. I know, indeed, of an occasion when locomotives + could not go fast enough, when thirty miles an hour seemed a snail's pace + to a young main who sat by the open window of a train that crept northward + on a certain hazy September morning up the beautiful valley of a broad + river which we know. + </p> + <p> + It was after three o'clock before he caught sight of the familiar crest of + Farewell Mountain, and the train ran into Harwich. How glad he was to see + everybody there, whether he knew them or not! He came near hugging the + conductor of the Truro accommodation; who, needless to say, did not ask + him for a ticket, or even a pass. And then the young man went forward and + almost shook the arms off of the engineer and the fireman, and climbed + into the cab, and actually drove the engine himself as far as Brampton, + where it arrived somewhat ahead of schedule, having taken some of the + curves and bridges at a speed a little beyond the law. The engineer was + richer by five dollars, and the son of a railroad president is a + privileged character, anyway. + </p> + <p> + Yes, here was Brampton, and in spite of the haze the sun had never shone + so brightly on the terraced steeple of the meeting-house. He leaped out of + the cab almost before the engine had stopped, and beamed upon everybody on + the platform,—even upon Mr. Dodd, who chanced to be there. In a + twinkling the young man is in Mr. Sherman's hack, and Mr. Sherman + galloping his horse down Brampton Street, the young man with his head out + of the window, smiling; grinning would be a better word. Here are the iron + mastiffs, and they seem to be grinning, too. The young man flings open the + carriage door and leaps out, and the door is almost broken from its hinges + by the maple tree. He rushes up the steps and through the hall, and into + the library, where the first citizen and his seneschal are sitting. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Father, you see I didn't waste any time,” he cried; grasping his + father's hand in a grip that made Mr. Worthington wince. “Well, you are a + trump, after all. We're both a little hot-headed, I guess, and do things + we're sorry for,—but that's all over now, isn't it? I'm sorry. I + might have known you'd come round when you found out for yourself what + kind of a girl Cynthia was. Did you ever see anybody like her?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Flint turned his back, and started to walk out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Don't go, Flint, old boy,” Bob called out, seizing Mr. Flint's hand, too. + “I can't stay but a minute, now. How are you?” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Bob,” answered Mr. Flint, with a curious, kindly look in his + eyes that was not often there. “I'm glad to see you home. I have to go to + the bank.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Father,” said Bob, “school must be out, and I imagine you know + where I'm going. I just thought I'd stop in to—to thank you, and get + a benediction.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very happy to have you back, Robert,” replied Mr. Worthington, and + it was true. It would have been strange indeed if some tremor of sentiment + had not been in his voice and some gleam of pride in his eye as he looked + upon his son. + </p> + <p> + “So you saw her, and couldn't resist her,” said Bob. “Wasn't that how it + happened?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Worthington sat down again at the desk, and his hand began to stray + among the papers. He was thinking of Mr. Flint's exit. + </p> + <p> + “I do not arrive at my decisions quite in that way, Robert,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “But you have seen her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have seen her.” + </p> + <p> + There was a hesitation, an uneasiness in his father's tone for which Bob + could not account, and which he attributed to emotion. He did not guess + that this hour of supreme joy could hold for Isaac Worthington another + sensation. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't she the finest girl in the world?” he demanded. “How does she seem? + How does she look?” + </p> + <p> + “She looks extremely well,” said Mr. Worthington, who had now schooled his + voice. “In fact, I am quite ready to admit that Cynthia Wetherell + possesses the qualifications necessary for your wife. If she had not, I + should never have written you.” + </p> + <p> + Bob walked to the window. + </p> + <p> + “Father;” he said, speaking with a little difficulty, “I can't tell you + how much I appreciate your—your coming round. I wanted to do the + right thing, but I just couldn't give up such a girl as that.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall let bygones be bygones, Robert,” answered Mr. Worthington, + clearing his throat. + </p> + <p> + “She never would have me without your consent. By the way,” he cried, + turning suddenly, “did she say she'd have me now?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” said Mr. Worthington, clearing his throat again, “I believe + she reserved her decision.” + </p> + <p> + “I must be off,” said Bob, “she goes to Coniston on Fridays. I'll drive + her out. Good-by, Father.” + </p> + <p> + He flew out of the room, ran into Mrs. Holden, whom he astonished by + saluting on the cheek, and astonished even more by asking her to tell + Silas to drive his black horses to Gabriel Post's house—as the + cottage was still known in Brampton. And having hastily removed some of + the cinders, he flew out of the door and reached the park-like space in + the middle of Brampton Street. Then he tried to walk decorously, but it + was hard work. What if she should not be in? + </p> + <p> + The door and windows of the little house were open that balmy afternoon, + and the bees were buzzing among the flowers which Cynthia had planted on + either side of the step. Bob went up the path, and caught a glimpse of her + through the entry standing in the sitting room. She was, indeed, waiting + for the Coniston stage, and she did not see him. Shall I destroy the + mental image of the reader who has known her so long by trying to tell + what she looked like? Some heroines grow thin and worn by the troubles + which they are forced to go through. Cynthia was not this kind of a + heroine. She was neither tall nor short, and the dark blue gown which she + wore set off (so Bob thought) the curves of her figure to perfection. Her + face had become a little more grave—yes, and more noble; and the + eyes and mouth had an indescribable, womanly sweetness. + </p> + <p> + He stood for a moment outside the doorway gazing at her; hesitating to + desecrate that revery, which seemed to him to have a touch of sadness in + it. And then she turned her head, slowly, and saw him, and her lips + parted, and a startled look came into her eyes, but she did not move. He + came quickly into the room and stopped again, quivering from head to foot + with the passion which the sight of her never failed to unloose within + him. Still she did not speak, but her lip trembled, and the love leaping + in his eyes kindled a yearning in hers,—a yearning she was powerless + to resist. He may by that strange power have drawn her toward him—he + never knew. Neither of them could have given evidence on that marvellous + instant when the current bridged the space between them. He could not say + whether this woman whom he had seized by force before had shown alike + vitality in her surrender. He only knew that her arms were woven about his + neck, and that the kiss of which he had dreamed was again on his lips, and + that he felt once more her wonderful, supple body pressed against his, and + her heart beating, and her breast heaving. And he knew that the strength + of the love in her which he had gained was beyond estimation. + </p> + <p> + Thus for a time they swung together in ethereal space, breathless with the + motion of their flight. The duration of such moments is—in words—limitless. + Now he held her against him, and again he held her away that his eyes + might feast upon hers until she dropped her lashes and the crimson tide + flooded into her face and she hid it again in the refuge she had longed + for,—murmuring his name. But at last, startled by some sound without + and so brought back to earth, she led him gently to the window at the side + and looked up at him searchingly. He was tanned no longer. + </p> + <p> + “I was afraid you had been working too hard,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “So you do love me?” was Bob's answer to this remark. + </p> + <p> + Cynthia smiled at him with her eyes: gravely, if such a thing may be said + of a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Bob, how can you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cynthia,” he cried, “if you knew what I have been through, you + wouldn't have held out, I know it. I began to think I should never have + you.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have me now,” she said, and was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you look like that?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She smiled up at him again. + </p> + <p> + “I, too, have suffered, Bob,” she said. “And I have thought of you night + and day.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, sweetheart,” he cried, and kissed her again,—many + times. “It's all right now, isn't it? I knew my father would give his + consent when he found out what you were.” + </p> + <p> + The expression of pain which had troubled him crossed her face again, and + she put her hand on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, dearest,” she said, “I love you. I am doing this for you. You + must understand that.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, Cynthia, I understand it—of course I do,” he answered, + perplexed. “I understand it, but I don't deserve it.” + </p> + <p> + “I want you to know,” she continued in a low voice, “that I should have + married you anyway. I—I could not have helped it.” + </p> + <p> + “Cynthia!” + </p> + <p> + “If you were to go back to the locomotive works' tomorrow, I would marry + you.” + </p> + <p> + “On ninety dollars a month?” exclaimed Bob. + </p> + <p> + “If you wanted me,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Wanted you! I could live in a log cabin with you the rest of my life.” + </p> + <p> + She drew down his face to hers, and kissed him. + </p> + <p> + “But I wished you to be reconciled with your father,” she said; “I could + not bear to come between you. You—you are reconciled, aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, we are,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad, Bob,” she answered simply. “I should not have been happy if I + had driven you away from the place where you should be, which is your + home.” + </p> + <p> + “Wherever you are will be my home; sweetheart,” he said, and pressed her + to him once more. + </p> + <p> + At length, looking past his shoulder into the street, she saw Lem + Hallowell pulling up the Brampton stage before the door. + </p> + <p> + “Bob,” she said, “I must go to Coniston and see Uncle Jethro. I promised + him.” + </p> + <p> + Bob's answer was to walk into the entry, where he stood waving the most + joyous of greetings at the surprised stage driver. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you won't get anybody here, Lem,” he called out. + </p> + <p> + “But, Bob,” protested Cynthia, from within, afraid to show her face just + then, “I have to go, I promised. And—and I want to go,” she added + when he turned. + </p> + <p> + “I'm running a stage to Coniston to-day myself, Lem,” said he “and I'm + going to steal your best passenger.” + </p> + <p> + Lemuel immediately flung down his reins and jumped out of the stage and + came up the path and into the entry, where he stood confronting Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + “Hev you took him, Cynthy?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Lem,” she answered, “won't you congratulate me?” + </p> + <p> + The warm-hearted stage driver did congratulate her in a most unmistakable + manner. + </p> + <p> + “I think a sight of her, Bob,” he said after he had shaken both of Bob's + hands and brushed his own eyes with his coat sleeve. “I've knowed her so + long—” Whereupon utterance failed him, and he ran down the path and + jumped into his stage again and drove off. + </p> + <p> + And then Cynthia sent Bob on an errand—not a very long one, and + while he was gone, she sat down at the table and tried to realize her + happiness, and failed. In less than ten minutes Bob had come back with + Cousin Ephraim, as fast as he could hobble. He flung his arms around her, + stick and all, and he was crying. It is a fact that old soldiers sometimes + cry. But his tears did not choke his utterance. + </p> + <p> + “Great Tecumseh!” said Cousin Ephraim, “so you've went and done it, + Cynthy. Siege got a little mite too hot. I callated she'd capitulate in + the end, but she held out uncommon long.” + </p> + <p> + “That she did,” exclaimed Bob, feelingly. + </p> + <p> + “I—I was tellin' Bob I hain't got nothin' against him,” continued + Ephraim. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cousin Eph,” said Cynthia, laughing in spite of herself, and glancing + at Bob, “is that all you can say?” + </p> + <p> + “Cousin Eph's all right,” said Bob, laughing too. “We understand each + other.” + </p> + <p> + “Callate we do,” answered Ephraim. “I'll go so far as to say there hain't + nobody I'd ruther see you marry. Guess I'll hev to go back to the kit, + now. What's to become of the old pensioner, Cynthy?” + </p> + <p> + “The old pensioner needn't worry,” said Cynthia. + </p> + <p> + Then drove up Silas the Silent, with Bob's buggy and his black trotters. + All of Brampton might see them now; and all of Brampton did see them. + Silas got out,—his presence not being required,—and Cynthia + was helped in, and Bob got in beside her, and away they went, leaving + Ephraim waving his stick after them from the doorstep. + </p> + <p> + It is recorded against the black trotters that they made very poor time to + Coniston that day, though I cannot discover that either of them was lame. + Lem Hallowell, who was there nearly an hour ahead of them, declares that + the off horse had a bunch of branches in his mouth. Perhaps Bob held them + in on account of the scenery that September afternoon. Incomparable + scenery! I doubt if two lovers of the renaissance ever wandered through a + more wondrous realm of pleasance—to quote the words of the poet. + Spots in it are like a park, laid out by that peerless landscape gardener, + nature: dark, symmetrical pine trees on the sward, and maples in the + fulness of their leaf, and great oaks on the hillsides, and, coppices; and + beyond, the mountain, the evergreens massed like cloud-shadows on its + slopes; and all-trees and coppice and mountain—flattened by the haze + until they seemed woven in the softest of blues and blue greens into one + exquisite picture of an ancient tapestry. I, myself, have seen these + pictures in that country, and marvelled. + </p> + <p> + So they drove on through that realm, which was to be their realm, and came + all too soon to Coniston green. Lem Hallowell had spread the well-nigh + incredible news, that Cynthia Wetherell was to marry the son of the + mill-owner and railroad president of Brampton, and it seemed to Cynthia + that every man and woman and child of the village was gathered at the + store. Although she loved them, every one, she whispered something to Bob + when she caught sight of that group on the platform, and he spoke to the + trotters. Thus it happened that they flew by, and were at the tannery + house before they knew it; and Cynthia, all unaided, sprang out of the + buggy and ran in, alone. She found Jethro sitting outside of the kitchen + door with a volume on his knee, and she saw that the print of it was + large, and she knew that the book was “Robinson Crusoe.” + </p> + <p> + Cynthia knelt down on the grass beside him and caught his hands in hers. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro,” she said, “I am going to marry Bob Worthington.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Cynthy,” he answered. And taking the initiative for the first time + in his life, he stooped down and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “I knew—you would be happy—in my happiness,” she said, the + tears brimming in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “N-never have been so happy, Cynthy,—never have.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Jethro, I never will desert you. I shall always take care of you.” + </p> + <p> + “R-read to me sometimes, Cynthy—r-read to me?” + </p> + <p> + But she could not answer him. She was sobbing on the pages of that book he + had given her—long ago. + </p> + <p> + I like to dwell on happiness, and I am reluctant to leave these people + whom I have grown to love. Jethro Bass lived to take Cynthia's children + down by the brook and to show them the pictures, at least, in that + wonderful edition of “Robinson Crusoe.” He would never depart from the + tannery house, but Cynthia went to him there, many times a week. There is + a spot not far from the Coniston road, and five miles distant alike from + Brampton and Coniston, where Bob Worthington built his house, and where he + and Cynthia dwelt many years; and they go there to this day, in the + summer-time. It stands in the midst of broad lands, and the ground in + front of it slopes down to Coniston Water, artificially widened here by a + stone dam into a little lake. From the balcony of the summer-house which + overhangs the lake there is a wonderful view of Coniston Mountain, and + Cynthia Worthington often sits there with her sewing or her book, + listening to the laughter of her children, and thinking, sometimes, of + bygone days. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AFTERWORD + </h2> + <p> + The reality of the foregoing pages has to the author, at least, become so + vivid that he regrets the necessity of having to add an afterword. Every + novel is, to some extent, a compound of truth and fiction, and he has done + his best to picture conditions as they were, and to make the spirit of his + book true. Certain people who were living in St. Louis during the Civil + War have been mentioned as the originals of characters in “The Crisis,” + and there are houses in that city which have been pointed out as fitting + descriptions in that novel. An author has, frequently, people, houses, and + localities in mind when he writes; but he changes them, sometimes very + materially, in the process of literary construction. + </p> + <p> + It is inevitable, perhaps, that many people of a certain New England state + will recognize Jethro Bass. There are different opinions extant concerning + the remarkable original of this character; ardent defenders and detractors + of his are still living, but all agree that he was a strange man of great + power. The author disclaims any intention of writing a biography of him. + Some of the things set down in this book he did, and others he did not do. + Some of the anecdotes here related concerning him are, in the main, true, + and for this material the author acknowledges his indebtedness + particularly to Colonel Thomas B. Cheney of Ashland, New Hampshire, and to + other friends who have helped him. Jethro Bass was typical of his Era, and + it is of the Era that this book attempts to treat. + </p> + <p> + Concerning the locality where Jethro Bass was born and lived, it will and + will not be recognized. It would have been the extreme of bad taste to + have put into these pages any portraits which might have offended families + or individuals, and in order that it may be known that the author has not + done so he has written this Afterword. Nor has he particularly chosen for + the field of this novel a state of which he is a citizen, and for which he + has a sincere affection. The conditions here depicted, while retaining the + characteristics of the locality, he believes to be typical of the Era over + a large part of the United States. + </p> + <p> + Many of the Puritans who came to New England were impelled to emigrate + from the old country, no doubt, by an aversion to pulling the forelock as + well as by religious principles, and the spirit of these men prevailed for + a certain time after the Revolution was fought. Such men lived and ruled + in Coniston before the rise of Jethro Bass. + </p> + <p> + Self-examination is necessary for the moral health of nations as well as + men, and it is the most hopeful of signs that in the United States we are + to-day going through a period of self-examination. + </p> + <p> + We shall do well to ascertain the causes which have led us gradually to + stray from the political principles laid down by our forefathers for all + the world to see. Some of us do not even know what those principles were. + I have met many intelligent men, in different states of the Union, who + could not even repeat the names of the senators who sat for them in + Congress. Macaulay said, in 1852, “We now know, by the clearest of all + proof, that universal suffrage, even united with secret voting, is no + security, against the establishment of arbitrary power.” To quote James + Russell Lowell, writing a little later: “We have begun obscurely to + recognize that... popular government is not in itself a panacea, is no + better than any other form except as the virtue and wisdom of the people + make it so.” + </p> + <p> + As Americans, we cannot but believe that our political creed goes down in + its foundations to the solid rock of truth. One of the best reasons for + our belief lies in the fact that, since 1776, government after government + has imitated our example. We have, by our very existence and rise to + power, made any decided retrogression from these doctrines impossible. So + many people have tried to rule themselves, and are still trying, that one + begins to believe that the time is not far distant when the United States, + once the most radical, will become the most conservative of nations. + </p> + <p> + Thus the duty rests to-day, more heavily than ever, upon each American + citizen to make good to the world those principles upon which his + government was built. To use a figure suggested by the calamity which has + lately befallen one of the most beloved of our cities, there is a theory + that earthquakes are caused by a necessary movement on the part of the + globe to regain its axis. Whether or not the theory be true, it has its + political application. In America to-day we are trying—whatever the + cost—to regain the true axis established for us by the founders of + our Republic. + </p> + <p> + HARLAKENDEN HOUSE, May 7, 1906. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PG EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS: + + Books she had known from her earliest infancy + But I wanted to be happy as long as I could + Curiosity as a factor has never been given its proper weight + Even old people may have an ideal + Every novel is, to some extent, a compound of truth and fiction + Fond of her, although she was no more than an episode in his life + Giant pines that gave many a mast to King George's navy + Had exhausted the resources of the little school + He hain't be'n eddicated a great deal + Life had made a woman of her long ago + Not that I've anything against her personally— + Pious belief in democracy, with a firmer determination to get on top + Riddle he could not solve—one that was best left alone + Stray from the political principles laid down by our forefathers + That which is the worst cruelty of all—the cruelty of selfishness + The home is the very foundation-rock of the nation + The old soldier found dependence hard to bear + The one precious gift of life + They don't take notice of him, because he don't say much + Though his heart was breaking, his voice was steady + We know nothing of their problems or temptations +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Coniston, Complete, by Winston Churchill + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CONISTON, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 3766-h.htm or 3766-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/6/3766/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +https://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at https://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit https://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including including checks, online payments and credit card +donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + </body> +</html> |