illy 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.

"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.

"Er--why?" said Jethro. "Why?"

"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."

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.

"'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."

Jethro did not answer.

"You'll make him give the post-office to Cousin Eph, won't you, Uncle
Jethro?"

"Yes;" said Jethro, very simply, "I will." He meditated awhile, and then
said suddenly, "W-won't speak about it--will you, Cynthy?"

"You know I won't," she answered.

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.

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 chu