know that that is wrong?"

"H-hadn't thought much about it," answered Jethro.

"Well, you should think about it. People don't go to meeting to--to look
at other people."

"Thought they did," said Jethro. "W-why do they wear their best
clothes--why do they wear their best clothes?"

"To honor God," said Cynthia, with a shade lacking in the conviction, for
she added hurriedly: "It isn't right for you to go to church to
see--anybody. You go there to hear the Scriptures expounded, and to have
your sins forgiven. Because I lent you that book, and you come to
meeting, people think I'm converting you."

"So you be," replied Jethro, and this time it was he who smiled, "so you
be."

Cynthia turned away, her lips pressed together: How to deal with such a
man! Wondrous notes broke on the stillness, the thrush was singing his
hymn again, only now it seemed a paean. High in the azure a hawk wheeled,
and floated.

"Couldn't you see I was very angry with you?"

"S-saw you was goin' with Moses Hatch more than common."

Cynthia drew breath sharply. This was audacity--and yet she liked it.

"I am very fond of Moses," she said quickly.

"You always was charitable, Cynthy," said he.

"Haven't I been charitable to you?" she retorted.

"G-guess it has be'n charity," said Jethro. He looked down at her
solemnly, thoughtfully, no trace of anger in his face, turned, and
without another word strode off in the direction of Coniston Flat.

He left a tumultuous Cynthia, amazement and repentance struggling with
anger, which forbade her calling him back: pride in her answering to
pride in him, and she rejoicing fiercely that he had pride. Had he but
known it, every step he took away from her that evening was a step in
advance, and she gloried in the fact that he did not once look back. As
she walked toward Coniston, the thought came to her that she was rid of
the thing she had stirred up, perhaps forever, and the thrush burst into
his song once more.

That night, after Cynthia's candle had gone out, when the minister sat on
his doorsteps looking at the glory of the moon on the mountain forest, he
was startled by the sight of a figure slowly climbing toward him up the
slope. A second glance told him that it was Jethro's. Vaguely troubled,
he watched his approach; for good Priest Ware, while able to obey
one-half the scriptural injunction, had not the wisdom of the serpent,
and women, as typified by Cynthia, were a continual puzzle to