thia
asked.

He roused himself. "Yes," he said, "yes." "When are you going home?"

He did not answer this simple question, but countered. "Hain't you
enjoyin' yourself, Cynthy?"

"Of course I am," she declared. But she thought it strange that he would
not tell her when they would be in Coniston.

Ephraim did buy a new shirt, and also (in view of the postmastership in
his packet) a new necktie, his old one being slightly frayed.

The grandeur of the approaching supper party and the fear of Mrs. Merrill
hung very heavy over him; nor was Jethro's mind completely at rest.
Ephraim even went so far as to discuss the question as to whether Mr.
Merrill had not surpassed his authority in inviting him, and full
expected to be met at the door by that gentleman uttering profuse
apologies, which Ephraim was quite prepared and willing to take in good
faith.

Nothing of the kind happened, however. Mr. Merrill's railroad being a
modest one, his house was modest likewise. But Ephraim thought it grand
enough, and yet acknowledged a homelike quality in its grandeur. He began
by sitting on the edge of the sofa and staring at the cut-glass
chandelier, but in five minutes he discovered with a shock of surprise
that he was actually leaning back, describing in detail how his regiment
had been cheered as they marched through Boston. And incredible as it may
seem, the person whom he was entertaining in this manner was Mrs. Stephen
Merrill herself. Mrs. Merrill was as tall as Mr. Merrill was short. She
wore a black satin dress with a big cameo brooch pinned at her throat,
her hair was gray, and her face almost masculine until it lighted up with
a wonderfully sweet smile. That smile made Ephraim and Jethro feel at
home; and Cynthia, too, who liked Mrs. Merrill the moment she laid eyes
on her.

Then there were the daughters, Jane and Susan, who welcomed her with a
hospitality truly amazing for city people. Jane was big-boned like her
mother, but Susan was short and plump and merry like her father. Susan
talked and laughed, and Jane sat and listened and smiled, and Cynthia
could not decide which she liked the best. And presently they all went
into the dining room to supper, where there was another chandelier over
the table. There was also real silver, which shone brilliantly on the
white cloth--but there was nothing to eat.

"Do tell us another story, Mr. Prescott," said Susan, who had listened to
his last one.

The sight of the table, h