Coniston
Water below the town. He fairly bubbled over with civic pride, and he
was an authority on all matters pertaining to Brampton's history. He
knew the "Hymn to Coniston" by heart. But we are digressing a
little. Mr. Ives, like that other Gamaliel of old, had exhorted his
fellow-townsmen to wash their hands of the controversy. But he was
an intimate of Judge Graves, and after talking with that gentleman he
became a partisan overnight; and when he had stopped to get his mail he
had been lured behind the window by the debate in progress. He was in
the midst of some impromptu remarks when he recognized a certain brisk
step behind him, and Isaac D. Worthington himself entered the sanctum!

It must be explained that Mr. Worthington sometimes had an important
letter to be registered which he carried to the postoffice with his own
hands. On such occasions--though not a member of the Brampton Club--he
walked, as an overlord will, into any private place he chose, and
recognized no partitions or barriers. Now he handed the letter
(addressed to a certain person in Cambridge, Massachusetts) to the
postmaster.

"You will kindly register that and give me a receipt, Mr. Prescott," he
said.

Ephraim turned from his contemplation of the features of the martyred
President, and on his face was something of the look it might have worn
when he confronted his enemies over the log-works at Five Forks. No, for
there was a vast contempt in his gaze now, and he had had no contempt
for the Southerners, and would have shaken hands with any of them
the moment the battle was over. Mr. Worthington, in spite of himself,
recoiled a little before that look, fearing, perhaps, physical violence.

"I hain't a-goin' to hurt you, Mr. Worthington," Ephraim said, "but I am
a-goin' to ask you to git out in front, and mighty quick. If you hev any
business with the postmaster, there's the window," and Ephraim pointed
to it with his twisted finger. "I don't allow nobody but my friends
here, Mr. Worthington, and people I respect."

Mr. Worthington looked--well, eye-witnesses give various versions as
to how he looked. All agree that his lip trembled; some say his eyes
watered: at any rate, he quailed, stood a moment undecided, and then
swung on his heel and walked to the partition door. At this safe
distance he turned.

"Mr. Prescott," he said, his voice quivering with passion and
perhaps another emotion, "I will make it my duty to report to the
postmas