swered Mr. Flint; "I will show you the account in a little while. The
expenses in Coniston were somewhat greater than the size of the town
justified, perhaps. But Sutton thought--"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Mr. Worthington, "if it had cost as much to
carry Coniston as Newcastle, it would have been worth it--for the moral
effect alone."

Moral effect! Mr. Flint thought of Mr. Bixby with his bulging pockets
going about the hills, and smiled at the manner in which moral effects
are sometimes obtained.

"Any news, Flint?"

No news yet, Mr. Flint might have answered. In a few minutes there might
be news, and plenty of it, for it lay ready to be hatched under Mr.
Worthington's eye. A letter in the bold and upright hand of his son
was on the top of the pile, placed there by Mr. Flint himself, who had
examined Mr. Worthington's face closely when he came in to see how much
he might know of its contents. He had decided that Mr. Worthington was
in too good a humor to know anything of them. Mr. Flint had not steamed
the letter open, and read the news; but he could guess at them pretty
shrewdly, and so could have the biggest fool in Brampton. That letter
contained the opening scene of the next act in the drama.

Mr. Worthington cut the envelope and began to read, and while he did so
Mr. Flint, who was not afraid of man or beast, looked at him. It was a
manly and straight forward letter, and Mr. Worthington, no matter what
his opinions on the subject were, should have been proud of it. Bob
announced, first of all, that he was going to marry Cynthia Wetherell;
then he proceeded with praiseworthy self-control (for a lover) to
describe Cynthia's character and attainments: after which he stated
that Cynthia had refused him--twice, because she believed that Mr.
Worthington would oppose the marriage, and had declared that she would
never be the cause of a breach between father and son. Bob asked for his
father's consent, and hoped to have it, but he thought it only right to
add that he had given his word and his love, and did not mean to retract
either. He spoke of his visit to Brampton, and explained that Cynthia
was teaching school there, and urged his father to see her before he
made a decision. Mr. Worthington read it through to the end, his lips
closing tighter and tighter until his mouth was but a line across his
face. There was pain in the face, too, the kind of pain which anger
sends, and which comes with the tottering of a pri