"Uncle Jethro, I believe you
are the best man, in the world."

"D-don't say that, Cynthy--d-don't say that," he exclaimed, and a sharp
agony was in his voice. He got to his feet and went to the folding doors
and opened them. "Steve!" he called, "Steve!"

"S-says she'll stay, Steve."

Mr. Merrill had come in, followed by his wife. Cynthia saw them but
dimly through her tears. And while she tried to wipe the tears away she
felt Mrs. Merrill's arm about her, and heard that lady say:--"We'll
try to make you very happy, my dear, and send you back safely in the
spring."

CHAPTER VIII

An attempt will be made in these pages to set down such incidents which
alone may be vital to this chronicle, now so swiftly running on. The
reasons why Mr. Merrill 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 many favors; in the second place,
Mr. Merrill had a real affection for Jethro, which, strange as it may
seem to some, was quite possible; and in the third place, Mr.
Merrill had taken a fancy to Cynthia, and he had never forgotten the
unintentional wrong he had done William Wetherell. Mr. Merrill was a man
of impulses, and generally of good impulses. Had he not himself urged
upon Jethro the arrangement, it would never 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 each other that Mrs. Merrill had only to raise her eyes
to her husband's, and this she did shortly after the supper party began;
while she was pouring the coffee, to be exact. Thus the compact that
Cynthia was to spend the winter in their house was ratified.

There was, first of all, the parting with Jethro and the messages
with which he and Ephraim were laden for the whole village and town of
Coniston. It was very hard, that parting, and need not be dwelt upon.
Ephraim waved his blue handkerchief as the train pulled out, but Jethro
stood on the platform, silent and motionless: more eloquent in his
sorrow--so Mr. Merrill 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 ri