all the elate to discover it! His
blood leaped at the thought.

The hill-Rajah's defiance, boiled down, could only mean one thing,--that
somebody with sufficient power and money was about to lock horns with
Jethro Bass. Not for a moment did Jake believe that, for all his pomp and
circumstance, the Honorable Heth Sutton was a big enough man to do this.
Jake paid to the Honorable Heth all the outward respect that his high
position demanded, but he knew the man through and through. He thought of
the Honorable Heth's reform speech in Congress, and laughed loudly in the
echoing woods. No, Mr. Sutton was not the man to lead a fight. But to
whom had he promised his allegiance? This question puzzled Mr. Wheeler
all the way home, and may it be said finally for many days thereafter. He
slid into Coniston in the dusk, big with impending events, which he could
not fathom. As to giving Jethro the careless answer of the hill-Rajah,
that was another matter.

The Fourth of July came at last, nor was any contradiction made in the
Brampton papers that the speech of the Honorable Heth Sutton had been
cancelled. Instead, advertisements appeared in the 'Brampton Clarion'
announcing the fact in large letters. When Cynthia read this
advertisement to Jethro, he chuckled again. They were under the butternut
tree, for the evenings were long now.

"Will you take me to Brampton, Uncle Jethro?" said she, letting fall the
paper on her lap.

"W-who's to get in the hay?" said Jethro.

"Hay on the Fourth of July!" exclaimed Cynthia, "why, that's--sacrilege!
You'd much better come and hear Mr. Sutton's speech--it will do you
good."

Cynthia could see that Jethro was intensely amused, for his eyes had a
way of snapping on such occasions when he was alone with her. She was
puzzled and slightly offended, because, to tell the truth, Jethro had
spoiled her.

"Very well, then," she said, "I'll go with the Painter-man."

Jethro came and stood over her, his expression the least bit wistful.

"Er--Cynthy," he said presently, "hain't fond of that Painter-man, be
you?"

"Why, yes," said Cynthia, "aren't you?"

"He's fond of you," said Jethro, "sh-shouldn't be surprised if he was in
love with you."

Cynthia looked up at him, the corners of her mouth twitching, and then
she laughed. The Rev. Mr. Satterlee, writing his Sunday sermon in his
study, heard her and laid down his pen to listen.

"Uncle Jethro," said Cynthia, "sometimes I forget that you're