twenty feet away, what Mr. Worthington said
never reached them; but the Honorable Heth on public days carried his
voice of the Forum around with him.

"Come on," said Cynthia, in one of those startling little tempers she
was subject to; "don't stand there like an idiot."

Then the voice of Mr. Sutton boomed toward them.

"As I understand, Worthington," they heard him say, "you want me to
appoint young Wheelock for the Brampton post-office." He stuck his
thumb into his vest pocket and recrossed his legs "I guess it can be
arranged."

When the painter at last overtook Cynthia the jewel paints he had so
often longed to catch upon a canvas were in her eyes. He fell back,
wondering how he could so greatly have offended, when she put her hand
on his sleeve.

"Did you hear what he said about the Brampton postoffice?" she cried.

"The Brampton post-office?" he repeated; dazed.

"Yes," said Cynthia; "Uncle Jethro has promised it to Cousin Ephraim,
who will starve without it. Did you hear this man say he would give it
to Mr. Wheelock?"

Here was a new Cynthia, aflame with emotions on a question of politics
of which he knew nothing. He did, understand, however, her concern for
Ephraim Prescott, for he knew that she loved the soldier. She turned
from the painter now with a gesture which he took to mean that his
profession debarred him from such vital subjects, and she led the way
to the fair-grounds. There he meekly bought tickets, and they found
themselves hurried along in the eager crowd toward the stand.

The girl was still unaccountably angry over that mysterious affair of
the post-office, and sat with flushed cheeks staring out on the green
field, past the line of buggies and carryalls on the farther side to
the southern shoulder of Coniston towering, above them all. The painter,
already, beginning to love his New England folk, listened to the homely
chatter about him, until suddenly a cheer starting in one corner ran
like a flash of gunpowder around the field, and eighteen young men
trotted across the turf. Although he was not a devotee of sport, he
noticed that nine of these, as they took their places on the bench, wore
blue,--the Harwich Champions. Seven only of those scattering over the
field wore white; two young gentlemen, one at second base and the
other behind the batter, wore gray uniforms with crimson stockings, and
crimson piping on the caps, and a crimson H embroidered on the breast--a
sight that made th