e
fragrance of the dew-washed meadows and the pines, and a great
blue heron stood knee-deep on the far side of Deacon Lysander's old
mill-pond, watching them philosophically as they passed.

It was eight o'clock when they got into the press of Brampton Street,
and there was a hush as they made their way slowly through the throng,
and many a stare at the curious figure in the old-fashioned blue
swallowtail and brass buttons and tall hat, driving the farm wagon.
Husbands pointed him out to their wives, young men to sisters and
sweethearts, some openly, some discreetly. "There goes Jethro Bass," and
some were bold enough to say, "Howdy, Jethro?" Jake Wheeler was to be
observed in the crowd ahead of them, hurried for once out of his
Jethro step, actually running toward the tavern, lest such a one arrive
unheralded. Commotion is perceived on the tavern porch,--Mr. Sherman,
the proprietor, bustling out, Jake Wheeler beside him; a chorus of "How
be you, Jethros?" from the more courageous there,--but the farm team
jogs on, leaving a discomfited gathering, into the side street, up an
alley, and into the cool, ammonia-reeking sheds of lank Jim Sanborn's
livery stable. No obsequiousness from lank Jim, who has the traces
slipped and the reins festooned from the bits almost before Jethro has
lifted Cynthia to the floor. Jethro, walking between Cynthia and her
father, led the way, Ephraim, Lem, and Sue Hallowell following, the
children, in unwonted shoes and stockings, bringing up the rear.
The people parted, and presently they found themselves opposite the
new-scrolled band stand among the trees, where the Harwich band in
glittering gold and red had just been installed. The leader; catching
sight of Jethro's party, and of Ephraim's corded army hat, made a bow,
waved his baton, and they struck up "Marching through Georgia." It was,
of course, not dignified to cheer, but I think that the blood of every
man and woman and child ran faster with the music, and so many of them
looked at Cousin Ephraim that he slipped away behind the line of wagons.
So the day began.

"Jest to think of bein' that rich, Will!" exclaimed Amanda Hatch to the
storekeeper, as they stood in the little group which had gathered in
front of the first citizen's new mansion. "I own it scares me. Think how
much that house must hev cost, and even them dogs," said Amanda, staring
at the mastiffs with awe. "They tell me he has a grand piano from
New York, and guests fro