did my duty, Miss Wetherell," he said. "I would not wilfully
submit to a wrong."

"You called me Cynthia yesterday."

"So I did," he answered, "so I did." Then he looked at Miss Lucretia.

"Ezra," said that lady, smiling a little, "I don't believe you have
changed, after all."

What she meant by that nobody knows.

"I had thought, Cynthia," said the judge, "that it might be more
comfortable for you to have me go to the school with you. That is the
reason for my early call."

"Judge Graves, I do appreciate your kindness," said Cynthia; "I hope you
won't think I'm rude if I say I'd rather go alone."

"On the contrary, my dear," replied the judge, "I think I can understand
and esteem your feeling in the matter, and it shall be as you wish."

"Then I think I had better be going," said Cynthia. The judge rose in
alarm at the words, but she put her hand on his shoulder. "Won't you sit
down and stay," she begged, "you haven't seen Miss Lucretia for how many
years,--thirty, isn't it?"

Again he glanced at Miss Lucretia, uncertainly. "Sit down, Ezra," she
commanded, "and for goodness' sake don't be afraid of the cane bottom.
You won't go through it. I should like to talk to you, and most of the
gossips of our day are dead. I shall stay in Brampton to-day, Cynthia,
and eat supper with you here this evening."

Cynthia, as she went out of the door, wondered what they would talk
about. Then she turned toward the school. It was not the March wind that
burned her cheeks; as she thought of the mass meeting the night before,
which was all about her, she wished she might go to school that morning
through the woods and pasture lots rather than down Brampton Street.
What--what would Bob say when he heard of the meeting? Would he come
again to Brampton? If he did, she would run away to Boston with Miss
Lucretia. Every day it had been a trial to pass the Worthington house,
but she could not cross the wide street to avoid it. She hurried a
little, unconsciously, when she came to it, for there was Mr. Worthington
on the steps talking to Mr. Flint. How he must hate her now, Cynthia
reflected! He did not so much as look up when she passed.

The other citizens whom she met made up for Mr. Worthington's coldness,
and gave her a hearty greeting, and some stopped to offer their
congratulations. Cynthia did not pause to philosophize: she was learning
to accept the world as it was, and hurried swiftly on to the little
schoolhouse. The chi