is Mr. Worthington? How do you do. I'm Miss
Susan Merrill, and this is Miss Jane Merrill." Susan only intended to
stay a minute, but how was Bob to know that? She was tempted into staying
longer. Bob lighted the gas, and she inspected him and approved. Her
approval increased when he began to talk to her in his bantering way, as
if he had known her always. Then, when she was fully intending to go, he
rose to take his leave.

"I'm awfully glad to have met you at last," he said to Susan, "I've heard
so much about you." His leave-taking of Jane was less effusive, and then
he turned to Cynthia and took her hand. "I'm going to Brampton on
Friday," he said, "for the holidays. I wish you were going."

"We couldn't think of letting her go, Mr. Worthington," cried Susan, for
the thought of the hills had made Cynthia incapable of answering. "We're
only to have her for one short winter, you know."

"Yes, I know," said Mr. Worthington, gravely. "I'll see old Ephraim, and
tell him you're well, and what a marvel of learning, you've become.
And--and I'll go to Coniston if that will please you."

"Oh, no, Bob, you mustn't do anything of the kind," answered Cynthia,
trying to keep back the tears. "I--I write to Uncle Jethro very often.
Good-by. I hope you will enjoy your holidays."

"I'm coming to see you the minute I get back and tell you all about
everybody," said he.

How was she to forbid him to come before Susan and Jane! She could only
be silent.

"Do come, Mr. Worthington," said Susan, warmly, wondering at Cynthia's
coldness and, indeed, misinterpreting it. "I am sure she will be glad to
see you. And we shall always make you welcome, at any rate."

As soon as he was out of the door, Susan became very repentant, and
slipped her hand about Cynthia's waist.

"We shouldn't have come in at all if we had known he would go so soon,
indeed we shouldn't, Cynthia." And seeing that Cynthia was still silent,
she added: "I wouldn't do such a mean thing, Cynthia, I really wouldn't.
Won't you believe me and forgive me?"

Cynthia scarcely heard her at first. She was thinking of Coniston
mountain, and how the sun had just set behind it. The mountain would be
ultramarine against the white fields, and the snow on the hill pastures
to the east stained red as with wine. What would she not have given to be
going back to-morrow--yes, with Bob. She confessed--though startled by
the very boldness of the thought--that she would like to be going