Coniston, Book III.

ll 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 ma

r 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 ea

ill 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

on't get in and close the door, we'll drive

? 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 ga

ed. "I went into her room a while ago, and it was a

l, "tomorrow morning you three girls will ha

was over, and made certain forcible representations which she felt bound to respect, and a treaty was drawn up and faithfully carried out,

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 ar

s 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 an

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

ers did neither; others gossiped about Mrs. Merrill behind her back at her own dinners and sewing circles and wondered what folly could have induced he

wn, 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

your father tells me he is building a gallery for his collection." Then

ould often imitate Miss Sadler behind her back,

om 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 laugh

hia, 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;

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 dut

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

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 m

ear, 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

r on such occasions when she felt that she could n

rill's parlor, suddenly looked up from her book to discover that two young men were in the room. The y

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 genera

he door and looked at her rather f

ven love affairs, have been ina

ss out. But Mr. Browne had no intention of

t intruding," h

nthia, wondering how

iting for Mi

said Cyn

ut Mr. Browne was of that mettle which is not easily baffled in such matters. He introduced himself, and desired to know w

inter," he exclaimed, as though it were a marvellous thing. "I have heard Miss Merr

" she

is Coniston?" in

ampton is?" asked Cyn

mpt

Mr. Browne, "I have a

thington-You mus

a knew Mr.

nt of money, they say.

hole show up in those

te," sai

alk, 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 d

it. "You must stay and help us entertain Mr. Browne." (Mr. King, apparently, was not to be entertain

lectation, 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 policem

thia, "I thought he would

b very well?" a

ed that sh

smate, although he had other rules of conduct which might eventually require a little straightening out. "Worthy's a first-rate fellow, a little quick-temper

hat "suspended" was. It

e was the rattle of a la

rill wa

"so you have got Cynthia to come down

we have got Cynthia

ent 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

ored 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 th

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,

urned and saw her he started to come forward in his old impetuous way, and stop

e country?" And he took her hand with the greatest formality, pressed it the leas

aughing in spite of herself at his b

in Washington," said h

nk patronage! How di

lothes, and not the woman. They are not very fine clothe

ust be Mis

e could," said Cynthia, a little bitterly. "

sterday," said Bob. "I fe

you?" she asked

ting the Merrills, among other th

ry 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

now you were in Boston?"

uld not resist adding, "Didn't you find i

ing fiery red, "the f

mpt

suppose that didn't make any difference. But-from the way you

York. And I couldn't get out of it. His sister, by the way, is in Miss Sadler's. I suppose you know her. Bu

ou to take the trouble

t many girls in Bost

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 conversat

Boston that I care

ear it," said Cynt

you r

ect me to be, w

ed uncom

een in the city," he remarked, "I suppose there ar

are," she sa

ree months. I always thought that, if you had a

id Cynthia. She had, indeed, changed. "In w

l marry one of t

that wouldn't be so

one of 'em now," he remarke

I don't think you would

ank with me, and now you're not at all so.

ell at the

urprising him utterly b

ere-I wish I were! B

t dar

ever come back-never. I

up there, and I'm so lo

faithfully I'd stay a

st

e as he leaned toward her, "do you-do

him?" sh

-for Uncl

ton-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 charact

passionate feeling in the girl which he had never suspected, and which thrilled him. It was unlike her, fo

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 t

h 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 thos

d 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-

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 sh

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 han

o see you aga

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 b

to him, "Bob, would your

cely see his face. He hesitated, but he

gnity: "I am of age, and can choose my own friends. I am my own master. If h

was not quite true. She

was about to protest, but she went on, bravely, "

it terribly hard for him, sparin

ll cause a quarrel between you and

uarrel with me for that, I cannot help it. If the people I choose for my friend

o near real admiration f

he said. "I will not have you q

ith him on my own acco

may expect me

nthia stood still on the spot of the carpet wher

y week,"

answered. But the street doo