r. Dodd perceived that the judge
was trying to get him to commit himself, and would then proceed to
annihilate him. He, Levi Dodd, had no intention of walking into such a
trap.

"Well," said he, with a final tug at the tuft, "if that's the way you
feel about it."

"Feel about what?" said the judge, fiercely.

"Callate you know best," said Mr. Dodd, and passed on up the street. But
he felt the judge's gimlet eyes boring holes in his back. The judge's
position was very fine, no doubt for the judge. All of which tends to
show that Levi Dodd had swept his mind, and that it was ready now for
the reception of an opinion.

Six weeks or more, as has been said, passed before the curtain rose
again, but the snarling trumpets of the orchestra played a fitting
prelude. Cynthia's feelings and Cynthia's life need not be gone into
during this interval knowing her character, they may well be imagined.
They were trying enough, but Brampton had no means of guessing them.
During the weeks she came and went between the little house and the
little school, putting all the strength that was in her into her duties.
The Prudential Committee, which sometimes sat on the platform, could
find no fault with the performance of these duties, or with the
capability of the teacher, and it is not going too far to state that the
children grew to love her better than Miss Goddard had been loved. It
may be declared that children are the fittest citizens of a republic,
because they are apt to make up their own minds on any subject without
regard to public opinion. It was so with the scholars of Brampton
village lower school: they grew to love the new teacher, careless of
what the attitude of their elders might be, and some of them could have
been seen almost any day walking home with her down the street.

As for the attitude of the elders--there was none. Before assuming one
they had thought it best, with characteristic caution, to await the next
act in the drama. There were ladies in Brampton whose hearts prompted
them, when they called on the new teacher, to speak a kindly word of
warning and advice; but somehow, when they were seated before her in
the little sitting room of the John Billings house, their courage
failed them. There was something about this daughter of the Coniston
storekeeper and ward of Jethro Bass that made them pause. So much for
the ladies of Brampton. What they said among themselves would fill a
chapter, and more.

There was,