nt indeed! The horse munching his hay, Cynthia lingered
as the light fainted above the ridge, with the thought that this might be
woman's province, and Miss Lucretia Penniman might go on leading her
women regiments to no avail. Nevertheless she was angry with Jethro, not
because of what he had said, but because of what he was.

The next day is Sunday, and there is mild excitement in Coniston. For
Jethro Bass, still with the coonskin cap, but in a brass-buttoned coat
secretly purchased in Brampton, appeared at meeting! It made no
difference that he entered quietly, and sat in the rear slip, orthodox
Coniston knew that he was behind them: good Mr. Ware knew it, and changed
a little his prayers and sermon: Cynthia knew it, grew hot and cold by
turns under her poke bonnet. Was he not her brand, and would she not get
the credit of snatching him? How willingly, then, would she have given up
that credit to the many who coveted it--if it were a credit. Was Jethro
at meeting for any religious purpose?

Jethro's importance to Coniston lay in his soul, and that soul was
numbered at present ninety and ninth. When the meeting was over, Aunt
Lucy Prescott hobbled out at an amazing pace to advise him to read
chapter seven of Matthew, but he had vanished: via the horse sheds; if
she had known it, and along Coniston Water to the house by the tannery,
where he drew breath in a state of mind not to be depicted. He had gazed
at the back of Cynthia's poke bonnet for two hours, but he had an uneasy
feeling that he would have to pay a price.

The price was paid, in part, during the next six days. To do Jethro's
importance absolute justice, he did inspire fear among his
contemporaries, and young men and women did not say much to his face;
what they did say gave them little satisfaction. Grim Deacon Ira stopped
him as he was going to buy hides, and would have prayed over him if
Jethro had waited; dear Aunt Lucy did pray, but in private. In six days
orthodox Coniston came to the conclusion that this ninety and ninth soul
were better left to her who had snatched it, Cynthia Ware.

As for Cynthia, nothing was farther from her mind. Unchristian as was the
thought, if this thing she had awakened could only have been put back to
sleep again, she would have thought herself happy. But would she have
been happy? When Moses Hatch congratulated her, with more humor than
sincerity, he received the greatest scare of his life. Yet in those days
she welcom