ever, who saw its real significance,
who knew through this item that Jethro Bass was still supreme--that the
railroads had failed to carry this first position in their war against
him.

It was with a light heart the next morning that Cynthia, packed the
little leather trunk which had been her father's. Ephraim was in the
corridor regaling his friend, Mr. Beard, with that wonderful encounter
with General Grant which sounded so much like a Fifth Reader anecdote
of a chance meeting with royalty. Jethro's room was full of visiting
politicians. So Cynthia, when she had finished her packing, went out
to walk about the streets alone, scanning the people who passed her,
looking at the big houses, and wondering who lived in them. Presently
she found herself, in the middle of the morning, seated on a bench in a
little park, surrounded by colored mammies and children playing in the
paths. It seemed a long time since she had left the hills, and this
glimpse of cities had given her many things to think and dream about.
Would she always live in Coniston? Or was her future to be cast among
those who moved in the world and helped to sway it? Cynthia felt that
she was to be of these, though she could not reason why, and she told
herself that the feeling was foolish. Perhaps it was that she knew
in the bottom of her heart that she had been given a spirit and
intelligence to cope with a larger life than that of Coniston. With a
sense that such imaginings were vain, she tried to think what the would
do if she were to become a great lady like Mrs. Duncan.

She was aroused from these reflections by a distant glimpse, through
the trees, of Mr. Robert Worthington. He was standing quite alone on the
edge of the park, his hands in his pockets, staring at the White House.
Cynthia half rose, and then sat down and looked at him again. He wore
a light gray, loose-fitting suit and a straw hat, and she could not but
acknowledge that there was something stalwart and clean and altogether
appealing in him. She wondered, indeed, why he now failed to appeal to
Miss Duncan, and she began to doubt the sincerity of that young lady's
statements. Bob certainly was not romantic, but he was a man--or would
be very soon.

Cynthia sat still, although her impulse was to go away. She scarcely
analyzed her feeling of wishing to avoid him. It may not be well,
indeed, to analyze them on paper too closely. She had an instinct that
only pain could come from frequent me