nthia," said he.

She glanced down at him, startled. He was sitting, with his legs
crossed, looking up at her intently.

"I like that name," he observed. "I like it better than any girl's name
I know. Do be good-natured and sit down." And he patted the ground close
beside him.

Shy laughed again. The laugh had in it an exquisite note of shyness,
which he liked.

"Why do you want me to sit down?" she asked suddenly.

"Because I want to talk to you."

"Can't you talk to me standing up?"

"I suppose I could," said Bob, "but--I shouldn't be able to say such
nice things to you."

The corners of her mouth trembled a little.

"And whose loss would that be?" she asked.

Bob Worthington was surprised at this retort, and correspondingly
delighted. He had not expected it in a country storekeeper's daughter,
and he stared at Cynthia so frankly that she blushed again, and
turned away. He was a young man who, it may be surmised, had had some
experience with the other sex at Andover and elsewhere. He had not spent
all of his life in Brampton.

"I've often thought of you since that day when you wouldn't take the
whistle," he declared. "What are you laughing at?"

"I'm laughing at you," said Cynthia, leaning against the tree, with her
hands behind her.

"You've been laughing at me ever since you've stood there," he said,
aggrieved that his declarations should not betaken more seriously.

"What have you thought about me?" she demanded. She was really beginning
to enjoy this episode.

"Well--" he began, and hesitated--and broke down and laughed--Cynthia
laughed with him.

"I can tell you what I didn't think," said Bob.

"What?" asked Cynthia, falling into the trap.

"I didn't think you'd be so--so good-looking," said he, quite boldly.

"And I didn't think you'd be so rude," responded Cynthia. But though she
blushed again, she was not exactly displeased.

"What are you going to do this afternoon?" he asked. "Let's go for a
walk."

"I'm going back to Coniston."

"Let's go for a walk now," said he, springing to his feet. "Come on."

Cynthia looked at him and shook her head smilingly.

"Here's Uncle Jethro--"

"Uncle Jethro!" exclaimed Bob, "is he your uncle?"

"Oh, no, not really. But he's just the same. He's very good to me."

"I wonder whether he'd mind if I called him Uncle Jethro, too," said
Bob, and Cynthia laughed at the notion. This young man was certainly
very comical, and very frank. "Good-by," he