hat I have only you, I am your daughter, am I not?"

"Yes, yes," he answered huskily, with his hand on her hair.

"And I know more than most women now," continued Cynthia, triumphantly.
"I'm going to be such a help to you soon--very soon. I've read a lot of
history, and I know some of the Constitution by heart. I know why old
Timothy Prescott fought in the Revolution--it was to get rid of kings,
wasn't it, and to let the people have a chance? The people can always be
trusted to do what is right, can't they, Uncle Jethro?"

Jethro was silent, but Cynthia did not seem to notice that. After a
space she spoke again:--"I've been thinking it all out about you, Uncle
Jethro."

"A-about me?"

"Yes, I know why you are able to send men to Congress and make judges
of them. It's because the people have chosen you to do all that for
them--you are so great and good."

Jethro did not answer.

Although the month was March, it was one of those wonderful still nights
that sometimes come in the mountain-country when the wind is silent
in the notches and the stars seem to burn nearer to the earth. Cynthia
awoke and lay staring for an instant at the red planet which hung over
the black and ragged ridge, and then she arose quickly and knocked at
the door across the passage.

"Are you ill, Uncle Jethro?"

"No," he answered, "no, Cynthy. Go to bed. Er--I was just
thinkin'--thinkin', that's all, Cynthy."

Though all his life he had eaten sparingly, Cynthia noticed that he
scarcely touched his breakfast the next morning, and two hours later
he went unexpectedly to the state capital. That day, too, Coniston was
clothed in clouds, and by afternoon a wild March snowstorm was sweeping
down the face of the mountain, piling against doorways and blocking the
roads. Through the storm Cynthia fought her way to the harness shop,
for Ephraim Prescott had taken to his bed, bound hand and foot by
rheumatism.

Much of that spring Ephraim was all but helpless, and Cynthia spent
many days nursing him and reading to him. Meanwhile the harness industry
languished. Cynthia and Ephraim knew, and Coniston guessed, that Jethro
was taking care of Ephraim, and strong as was his affection for Jethro
the old soldier found dependence hard to bear. He never spoke of it to
Cynthia, but he used to lie and dream through the spring days of what he
might have done if the war had not crippled him. For Ephraim Prescott,
like his grandfather, was a man of action--a k