effort, unknown to Cynthia, to
find out other things. It will be said that she had designs on the girl.
If so, they were generous designs; and perhaps it was inevitable that
Miss Lucretia should recognize in every young woman of spirit and brains
a possible recruit for the cause.

It has now been shown in some manner and as briefly as possible how
Cynthia's life had changed, and what it had become. We have got her
partly through the winter, and find her still dreaming of the sparkling
snow on Coniston and of the wind whirling it on clear, cold days like
smoke among the spruces; of Uncle Jethro sitting by his stove through the
long evenings all alone; of Rias in his store and Moses Hatch and Lem
Hallowell, and Cousin Ephraim in his new post-office. Uncle Jethro wrote
for the first time in his life--letters: short letters, but in his own
handwriting, and deserving of being read for curiosity's sake if there
were time. The wording was queer enough and guarded enough, but they were
charged with a great affection which clung to them like lavender.

And Cynthia kept them every one, and read them over on such occasions
when she felt that she could not live another minute out of sight of her
mountain.

Such was the state of affairs one gray afternoon in December when
Cynthia, who was sitting in Mrs. Merrill's parlor, suddenly looked up
from her book to discover that two young men were in the room. The young
men were apparently quite as much surprised as she, and the parlor maid
stood grinning behind them.

"Tell Miss Susan and Miss Jane, Ellen," said Cynthia, preparing to
depart. One of the young men she recognized from a photograph on Susan's
bureau. He was, for the time being, Susan's. His name, although it does
not matter much, was Morton Browne, and he would have been considerably
astonished if he had guessed how much of his history Cynthia knew. It was
Mr. Browne's habit to take Susan for a walk as often as propriety
permitted, and on such occasions he generally brought along a
good-natured classmate to take care of Jane. This, apparently, was one of
the occasions. Mr. Browne was tall and dark and generally good-looking,
while his friends were usually distinguished for their good nature.

Mr. Browne stood between her and the door and looked at her rather
fixedly. Then he said:--"Excuse me."

A great many friendships, and even love affairs, have been inaugurated by
just such an opening.

"Certainly," said Cynthia,