re an almost benign expression under the influence of
Miss Cassandra's eyes. So intent, apparently, were both of them upon each
other that they did not notice the group on the bench at the other side
of the grove. William Wetherell ventured to ask Jethro who the man was.

"N-name's Lovejoy," said Jethro.

"Lovejoy!" ejaculated the storekeeper, thinking of what Mr. Merrill had
told him of the opponents of the Truro Franchise Bill. "President of the
'Northwestern' Railroad?"

Jethro gave his friend a shrewd look.

"G-gettin' posted--hain't you, Will?" he said.

"Is she going to marry that old man?" asked Cynthia.

Jethro smiled a little. "G-guess not," said he, "g-guess not, if the old
man can help it. Nobody's married him yet, and hain't likely to."

Jethro was unusually silent on the way back to the hotel, but he did not
seem to be worried or displeased. He only broke his silence once, in
fact, when Cynthia called his attention to a large poster of some
bloodhounds on a fence, announcing the fact in red letters that "Uncle
Tom's Cabin" would be given by a certain travelling company at the Opera
House the next evening.

"L-like to go, Cynthy?"

"Oh, Uncle Jethro, do you think we can go?"

"Never b'en to a show--hev you--never b'en to a show?"

"Never in my life," said Cynthia.

"We'll all go," said Jethro, and he repeated it once or twice as they
came to Main Street, seemingly greatly tickled at the prospect. And there
was the Truro Franchise Bill hanging over him, with only a week left of
the session, and Lovejoy's and Duncan's men sitting so tight in their
seats! William Wetherell could not understand it.

CHAPTER XIV

Half an hour later, when Mr. Wetherell knocked timidly at Number
7,--drawn thither by an irresistible curiosity,--the door was opened by a
portly person who wore a shining silk hat and ample gold watch chain. The
gentleman had, in fact, just arrived; but he seemed perfectly at home as
he laid down his hat on the marble-topped bureau, mopped his face, took a
glass of iced water at a gulp, chose a cigar, and sank down gradually on
the bed. Mr. Wetherell recognized him instantly as the father of the
celebrated Cassandra.

"Well, Jethro," said the gentleman, "I've got to come into the Throne
Room once a day anyhow, just to make sure you don't forget me--eh?"

"A-Alvy," said Jethro, "I want you to shake hands with a particular
friend of mine, Mr. Will Wetherell of Coniston. Er--Will,