Coniston, Book III.

sused 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: the

-toed boots to the bleaching yellow hair around his temples, offered to become her teacher.

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

ks 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 imaginin

er 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

ening 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. T

Cynthia, presently,

uncommon action with him, and the buggy wa

n' about mortgages,

to take orders whether they liked them or not. She said that Amos had t

Presently Cynthia la

I know the reason why people obey you-it's becau

all the way down the mountain valleys to Coniston village he did not

hro was not only a great man but a hero. For Cynthia was vaguely troubled at having found one discontent. She was wont to entert

the biggest man I know, and the best. I don't like to think w

troubled. "What great man hain't?" exclaimed the sol

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 histor

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 state

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 r

gh 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 realiz

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 bes

s home?" he

nthia flushed. Mr. Hopkins gave a somewhat peremptory knock at the door and was admitted by Millicent Skin

here all th

se," sai

as though that were be

aid. "No balls, or theatres. Doesn't

s dead," sa

now Bob Worthington, don't you? He's gone to Harvar

of this narrative. But her dislike for the girl in the sleigh decidedly increased. How was she, in her inexp

ra's next remark. "He's rich enough to take you

hing I want,"

here having everything

temptuous glance at

u wouldn't,"

day, besides she shared some of her father's politic

prudently. "Why, my father gave twenty thousand dollars

ver forgotten. One hand was on the dashboard of the cutter, the other had seized the seat. H

se 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 ga

and thus they stood for a long time gazing at the sn

esses 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 i

ught 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

be you? Paint C

e painted, Uncle Jethr

icture? Er-only want the

at, to the effect-well, never mind the effect. Hi

picture, and then we'll talk ab

up the stairs. Cynthia sat with her back to the artis

, as long as I live," she cri

me, Cynthy?" It w

e book and went up to him on the po

so much as all that,

e held a bundle covered with newspaper

revery. Then he began slowly to unwrap the newspaper from the bundle: there

s to mind

answered wi

Painter-man?" said Jethro, with

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

oluntary: "W-wouldn't a-thought you had it in you. How

d, and then, her face suddenly flushing, "You must promise me on your

d him "Mr. Painter-man,"-wh

th 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 pas

nthy," said he, "er-next time I go to the state cap

Uncle Jethro," said

hing 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 wh

r 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 imme

Chester Perkins's house, knocked at the door, and inquired for the "Painter-man." It was Jethro. The "Pai

worth," said Jethro, producing a cowhide wallet. "Er-

ce, since Jethro had long ago be

he frame, Mr. Bass," he said, "

y paintin', don't y

smiled a lit

Mr. Bass, have you ever done anything the pleasu

very like admiration came into the f

tle awkwardly, and held ou

through the drizzle toward Coniston. The painter walked slowly to the

tgage on you, too

length in the little parlor of the tannery house it became