ldly and
cordially.

"C-come to leave this book for Cynthy," said Jethro.

Mr. Ware took it, mechanically.

"Have you finished it?" he asked kindly.

"All I want," replied Jethro, "all I want."

He turned, and went down the slope. Twice the words rose to the
minister's lips to call him back, and were suppressed. Yet what to say
to him if he came? Mr. Ware sat down again, sadly wondering why Jethro
Bass should be so difficult to talk to.

The parsonage was of only one story, with a steep, sloping roof. On the
left of the doorway was Cynthia's room, and the minister imagined he
heard a faint, rustling noise at her window. Presently he arose, barred
the door; could be heard moving around in his room for a while,
and after that all was silence save for the mournful crying of a
whippoorwill in the woods. Then a door opened softly, a white vision
stole into the little entry lighted by the fan-window, above, seized
the book and stole back. Had the minister been a prying man about his
household, he would have noticed next day that Cynthia's candle was
burned down to the socket. He saw nothing of the kind: he saw, in fact,
that his daughter flitted about the house singing, and he went out into
the sun to drop potatoes.

No sooner had he reached the barn than this singing ceased. But how was
Mr. Ware to know that?

Twice Cynthia, during the week that followed, got halfway down the
slope of the parsonage hill, the book under her arm, on her way to the
tannery; twice went back, tears of humiliation and self-pity in her eyes
at the thought that she should make advances to a man, and that man
the tanner's son. Her household work done, a longing for further motion
seized her, and she walked out under the maples of the village street.
Let it be understood that Coniston was a village, by courtesy, and its
shaded road a street. Suddenly, there was the tannery, Jethro standing
in front of it, contemplative. Did he see her? Would he come to her?
Cynthia, seized by a panic of shame, flew into Aunt Lucy Prescott's, sat
through half an hour of torture while Aunt Lucy talked of redemption of
sinners, during ten minutes of which Jethro stood, still contemplative.
What tumult was in his breast, or whether there was any tumult, Cynthia
knew not. He went into the tannery again, and though she saw him twice
later in the week, he gave no sign of seeing her.

On Saturday Cynthia bought a new bonnet in Brampton; Sunday morning put
it on, s