"Oh," cried Bob (they were calling him), "I must see you to-night!" He
vaulted over the railing and turned. "I'll come back here right after
the game," he said; "there's only one more inning."

"We'll come back right after the game," repeated Mr. Duncan.

Bob shot one look at him,--of which Mr. Duncan seemed blissfully
unconscious,--and stalked off abruptly to second base.

The artist sat pensive for a few moments, wondering at the ways
of women, his sympathies unaccountably enlisted in behalf of Mr.
Worthington.

"Weren't you a little hard on him?" he said.

For answer Cynthia got to her feet.

"I think we ought to be going home," she said.

"Going home!" he ejaculated in amazement.

"I promised Uncle Jethro I'd be there for supper," and she led the way
out of the grand stand.

So they drove back to Coniston through the level evening light, and when
they came to Ephraim Prescott's harness shop the old soldier waved at
them cheerily from under the big flag which he had hung out in honor
of the day. The flag was silk, and incidentally Ephraim's most valued
possession. Then they drew up before the tannery house, and Cynthia
leaped out of the buggy and held out her hand to the painter with a
smile.

"It was very good of you to take me," she said.

Jethro Bass, rugged, uncouth, in rawhide boots and swallowtail and
coonskin cap, came down from the porch to welcome her, and she ran
toward him with an eagerness that started the painter to wondering
afresh over the contrasts of life. What, he asked himself, had Fate in
store for Cynthia Wetherell?

CHAPTER III

"H-have a good time, Cynthy?" said Jethro, looking down into her face.
Love had wrought changes in Jethro; mightier changes than he suspected,
and the girl did not know how zealous were the sentries of that love,
how watchful they were, and how they told him often and again whether
her heart, too, was smiling.

"It was very gay," said Cynthia.

"P-painter-man gay?" inquired Jethro.

Cynthia's eyes were on the orange line of the sunset over Coniston, but
she laughed a little, indulgently.

"Cynthy?"

"Yes."

"Er--that Painter-man hain't such a bad fellow--w-why didn't you ask him
in to supper?"

"I'll give you three guesses," said Cynthia, but she did not wait for
them. "It was because I wanted to be alone with you. Milly's gone out,
hasn't she?"

"G-gone a-courtin'," said Jethro.

She smiled, and went into the house to see whether M