ly haven't."

"B-better wait till you do."

There was very little satisfaction in this, and Mr. Worthington had at
length been compelled to depart, fuming, to the house of his friend the
enemy, Mr. Duncan, there to attempt for the twentieth time to persuade
Mr. Duncan to call off his dogs who were sitting with such praiseworthy
pertinacity in their seats. As the two friends walked on the lawn, Mr.
Worthington tried to explain, likewise for the twentieth time, that
the extension of the Truro Railroad could in no way lessen the Canadian
traffic of the Central, Mr. Duncan's road. But Mr. Duncan could not see
it that way, and stuck to his present ally, Mr. Lovejoy, and refused
point-blank to call off his dogs. Business was business.

It is an apparently inexplicable fact, however, that Mr. Worthington
and his son Bob were guests at the Duncan mansion at the capital. Two
countries may not be allies, but their sovereigns may be friends. In
the present instance, Mr. Duncan and Mr. Worthington's railroads were
opposed, diplomatically, but another year might see the Truro Railroad
and the Central acting as one. And Mr. Worthington had no intention
whatever of sacrificing Mr. Duncan's friendship. The first citizen
of Brampton possessed one quality so essential to greatness--that of
looking into the future, and he believed that the time would come when
an event of some importance might create a perpetual alliance between
himself and Mr. Duncan. In short, Mr. Duncan had a daughter, Janet, and
Mr. Worthington, as we know, had a son. And Mr. Duncan, in addition
to his own fortune, had married one of the richest heiresses in New
England. Prudens futuri, that was Mr. Worthington's motto.

The next morning Cynthia, who was walking about the town alone, found
herself gazing over a picket fence at a great square house with a very
wide cornice that stood by itself in the centre of a shade-flecked lawn.
There were masses of shrubbery here and there, and a greenhouse, and a
latticed summer-house: and Cynthia was wondering what it would be like
to live in a great place like that, when a barouche with two shining
horses in silver harness drove past her and stopped before the gate.
Four or five girls and boys came laughing out on the porch, and one of
them, who held a fishing-rod in his hand, Cynthia recognized. Startled
and ashamed, she began to walk on as fast as she could in the opposite
direction, when she heard the sound of footsteps on