od
before Cynthia,--a tanned and smiling young man in gray and crimson. His
honest eyes were alight with an admiration that was unmistakable to the
painter--perhaps to Cynthia also, for a glow that might have been of
annoyance or anger, and yet was like the color of the mountain sunrise,
answered in her cheek. Mr. Worthington reached out a large brown hand and
seized the girl's as it lay on her lap.

"Hello, Cynthia," he cried, "I've been looking for you all day. I thought
you might be here. Where were you?"

"Where did you look?" answered Cynthia, composedly, withdrawing her hand.

"Everywhere," said Bob, "up and down the street, all through the hotel. I
asked Lem Hallowell, and he didn't know where you were. I only got here
last night myself."

"I was in the meeting-house," said Cynthia.

"The meeting-house!" he echoed. "You don't mean to tell me that you
listened to that silly speech of Sutton's?"

This remark, delivered in all earnestness, was the signal for uproarious
laughter from Mr. Dodd and others sitting near by, attending earnestly to
the conversation.

Cynthia bit her lip.

"Yes, I did," she said; "but I'm sorry now."

"I should think you would be," said Bob; "Sutton's a silly, pompous old
fool. I had to sit through dinner with him. I believe I could represent
the district better myself."

"By gosh!" exploded Mr. Dodd, "I believe you could!"

But Bob paid no attention to him. He was looking at Cynthia.

"Cynthia, you've grown up since I saw you," he said. "How's Uncle Jethro.

"He's well--thanks," said Cynthia, and now she was striving to put down a
smile.

"Still running the state?" said Bob. "You tell him I think he ought to
muzzle Sutton. What did he send him down to Washington for?"

"I don't know," said Cynthia.

"What are you going to do after the game?" Bob demanded.

"I'm going home of course," said Cynthia.

His face fell.

"Can't you come to the house for supper and stay for the fireworks?" he
begged pleadingly. "We'd be mighty glad to have your friend, too."

Cynthia introduced her escort.

"It's very good of you, Bob," she said, with that New England demureness
which at times became her so well, "but we couldn't possibly do it. And
then I don't like Mr. Sutton."

"Oh, hang him!" exclaimed Bob. He took a step nearer to her. "Won't you
stay this once? I have to go West in the morning."

"I think you are very lucky," said Cynthia.

Bob scanned her face searchingly, and