from Jethro"

"Cynthy," Mr. Judson repeated, in a tremulous voice, "Cynthy, not
Cynthia."

"H-how is it written," said Jethro, leaning over it, "h-how is it
written?"

"Cynthy," answered Mr. Judson, involuntarily.

"Then make it Cynthy--make it Cynthy."

"Cynthy it shall be," said Mr. Judson, with conviction.

"When'll you have it done?"

"To-night," replied Mr. Judson, with a twinkle in his eye, "to-night, as
a special favor."

"What time--w-what time?"

"Seven o'clock, sir. May I send it to your hotel? The Tremont House, I
suppose?"

"I-I'll call," said Jethro, so solemnly that Mr. Judson kept his
laughter until he was gone.

From the door they watched him silently as he strode across the street
and turned the corner. Then Mr. Judson turned. "That man will make his
mark, William," he said; and added thoughtfully, "but whether for good
or evil, I know not."

CHAPTER IV

What Cynthia may have thought or felt during Jethro's absence in Boston,
and for some months thereafter, she kept to herself. Honest Moses Hatch
pursued his courting untroubled, and never knew that he had a rival.
Moses would as soon have questioned the seasons or the weather as
Cynthia's changes of moods,--which were indeed the weather for him, and
when storms came he sat with his back to them, waiting for the sunshine.
He had long ceased proposing marriage, in the firm belief that Cynthia
would set the day in her own good time. Thereby he was saved much
suffering.

The summer flew on apace, for Coniston. Fragrant hay was cut on
hillsides won from rock and forest, and Coniston Water sang a gentler
melody--save when the clouds floated among the spruces on the mountain
and the rain beat on the shingles. During the still days before the turn
of the year,--days of bending fruit boughs, crab-apples glistening red
in the soft sunlight,--rumor came from Brampton to wrinkle the forehead
of Moses Hatch as he worked among his father's orchards.

The rumor was of a Mr. Isaac Dudley Worthington, a name destined to
make much rumor before it was to be carved on the marble. Isaac D.
Worthington, indeed, might by a stretch of the imagination be called the
pioneer of all the genus to be known in the future as City Folks, who
were, two generations later, to invade the country like a devouring army
of locusts.

At that time a stranger in Brampton was enough to set the town agog.
But a young man of three and twenty, with an independent income