many times, and
disappointed.

"Whar's Chester?" said Lem Hallowell.

Joe pulled a long face.

"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."

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.

"Guess you'll ketch it next, Will, for goin' over to Harwich with Lem,"
Joe remarked playfully to the storekeeper, as he departed.

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.

Shocks are not very beneficial to sensitive natures. William Wetherell
looked up, and there was Jethro Bass on the doorstep.

"G-great resource--readin'--great resource," he remarked.

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.

"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?"

Wetherell felt like saying that his reading had not been able to do that
lately. Then he made the plunge, and shuddered as he m