he 'east, knowed there wahn't
any one is Brampton or Harwich could have done it--g-guessed the
rest--guessed the rest."

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.

"Er--Wetherell?"

"Yes?"

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

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

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

"No--but--"

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

"No," answered the still bewildered Wetherell, "of course not." There 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.

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

Wetherell's heart sank.

"No," he answered.

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

"C-Cynthy well?" he inquired.

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

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.

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

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

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

Cynthia looked up at him inquiringly.

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

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

He undid the wrapping of the parcel, and there lay disclosed a book