hrough 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 Milly had done her
duty before she left. It was characteristic of Cynthia not to have
mentioned the subject which was agitating her mind until they were seated
on opposite sides of the basswood table.

"Uncle Jethro," she said, "I thought you told Mr. Sutton to give Cousin
Eph the Brampton post-office? Do you trust Mr. Sutton?" she demanded
abruptly.

"Er--why?" said Jethro. "Why?"

"Because I don't," she answered with conviction; "I think he's a big
fraud. He must have deceived you, Uncle Jethro. I can't see why you ever
sent him to Congress."

Although Jethro was in no mood for mirth, he laughed in spite of himself,
for he was an American. His lifelong habit would have made him defend
Heth to any one but Cynthia.

"'D you see Heth, Cynthy?" he asked.
"Yes," replied the girl, disgustedly, "I should say I did, but no