his time. He had a very
delicate wife, whom he had been obliged to send South at the beginning
of the winter. There she had for a while improved, but had been taken
ill again, and two days before Cynthia's appointment he had been
summoned to her bedside by a telegram. Cynthia could go into the school,
and her examination would take place when Mr. Errol returned.

All this was explained by the judge when, half an hour after he had left
them, he returned to the best parlor. Miss Wetherell would, then, be
prepared to take the school the following morning. Whereupon the judge
shook hands with her, and did not deny that he had been instrumental in
the matter.

"And, Mr. Satterlee, I am so grateful to you," said Cynthia, when they
were in the street once more.

"My dear Cynthia, I did nothing," answered the minister, quite
bewildered by the quick turn affairs had taken; "it is your own good
reputation that got you the place."

Nevertheless Mr. Satterlee had done his share in the matter. He had
known Mr. Graves for a long time, and better than any other person in
Brampton. Mr. Graves remembered Cynthia Ware, and indeed had spoken to
Cynthia that day about her mother. Mr. Graves had also read poor William
Wetherell's contributions to the Newcastle Guardian, and he had not read
that paper since they had ceased. From time to time Mr. Satterlee had
mentioned his pupil to the judge, whose mind had immediately flown to
her when the vacancy occurred. So it all came about.

"And now," said Mr. Satterlee, "what will you do, Cynthia? We've got
the good part of a day to arrange where you will live, before the stage
returns."

"I won't go back to-night, I think," said Cynthia, turning her head
away; "if you would be good enough to tell Uncle Jethro to send my trunk
and some other things."

"Perhaps that is just as well," assented the minister, understanding
perfectly. "I have thought that Miss Bruce might be glad to board you,"
he continued, after a pause. "Let us go to see her."

"Mr. Satterlee," said Cynthia, "would you mind if we went first to see
Cousin Ephraim?"

"Why, of course, we must see Ephraim," said Mr. Satterlee, briskly. So
they walked on past the mansion of the first citizen, and the new block
of stores which the first citizen had built, to the old brick building
which held the Brampton post-office, and right through the door of the
partition into the sanctum of the postmaster himself, which some one had
nicknam