r. Ware
was wont to speak with moderation even at his own table. He said
unattached--not ungodly.

Cynthia kept her eyes on her plate, but she felt as though her body were
afire. Little did the minister imagine, as he went off to write his
sermon, that his daughter might have given him the clew to the mystery.
Yes, Cynthia guessed; and she could not read that evening because of the
tumult of her thoughts. What was her duty in the matter? To tell her
father her suspicions? They were only suspicions, after all, and she
could make no accusations. And Jethro! Although she condemned him, there
was something in the situation that appealed to a most reprehensible
sense of humor. Cynthia caught herself smiling once or twice, and knew
that it was wicked. She excused Jethro, and told herself that, with his
lack of training, he could know no better. Then an idea came to her, and
the very boldness of it made her grow hot again. She would appeal to him
tell him that that power he had over other men could be put to better and
finer uses. She would appeal to him, and he would abandon the matter.
That the man loved her with the whole of his rude strength she was sure,
and that knowledge had been the only salve to her shame.

So far we have only suspicions ourselves; and, strange to relate, if we
go around Coniston with Jethro behind his little red Morgan, we shall
come back with nothing but--suspicions. They will amount to convictions,
yet we cannot prove them. The reader very naturally demands some specific
information--how did Jethro do it? I confess that I can only indicate in
a very general way: I can prove nothing. Nobody ever could prove anything
against Jethro Bass. Bring the following evidence before any grand jury
in the country, and see if they don't throw it out of court.

Jethro in the course of his weekly round of strictly business visits
throughout the town, drives into Samuel Todd's farmyard, and hitches on
the sunny side of the red barns. The town of Coniston, it must be
explained for the benefit of those who do not understand the word "town"
in the New England senses was a tract of country about ten miles by ten,
the most thickly settled portion of which was the village of Coniston,
consisting of twelve houses. Jethro drives into the barnyard, and Samuel
Todd comes out. He is a little man, and has a habit of rubbing the sharp
ridge of his nose.

"How be you, Jethro?" says Samuel. "Killed the brindle Thursday. Finest