does this mean, Sutton?" he said.
Mr. Sutton pulled himself together, and glared at Cynthia.
"I think you are mistaken," said he, "the congressman of the district usually arranges these matters, and the appointment will be sent to Mr. Wheelock to-morrow."
"But Cousin Ephraim already has the appointment," said Cynthia; "it was sent to him this afternoon, and he is up in his room now writing to thank the President for it."
"What in the world's the matter?" cried Mrs. Duncan, in astonishment.
Cynthia's simple announcement had indeed caused something of a panic among the gentlemen present. Mr. Duncan had jumped up from his seat beside the door, and Mr. Worthington, his face anything but impassive, tightened his hold on the congressman's arm.
"Good God, Sutton!" he exclaimed, "can this be true?"
As for Cynthia, she was no less astonished than Mrs. Duncan by the fact that these rich and powerful gentlemen were so excited over a little thing like the postmastership of Brampton. But Mr. Sutton laughed; it was not hearty, but still it might have passed muster for a laugh.
"Nonsense," he exclaimed, making a fair attempt to regain his composure, "the girl's got it mixed up with something else--she doesn't know what she's talking about."
Mrs. Duncan thought the girl did look uncommonly as if she knew what she was talking about, and Mr. Duncan and Mr. Worthington had some such impression, too, as they stared at her. Cynthia's eyes flashed, but her voice was no louder than before.
"I am used to being believed, Mr. Sutton," she said, "but here's Uncle Jethro himself. You might ask him."
They all turned in amazement, and one, at least, in trepidation, to perceive Jethro Bass standing behind them with his hands in his pockets, as unconcerned as though he were under the butternut tree in Coniston.
"How be you, Heth?" he said. "Er--still got that appointment p-practically in your pocket?"
"Uncle Jethro," said Cynthia, "Mr. Sutton does not believe me when I tell him that Cousin Ephraim has been made postmaster of Brampton. He would like to have you tell him whether it is so or not."
But this, as it happened, was exactly what the Honorable Heth did not want to have Jethro tell him. How he got out of the parlor of the Willard House he has not to this day a very clear idea. As a matter of fact, he followed Mr. Worthington and Mr. Duncan, and they made their exit by the farther door. Jethro did not appear to take any notice of their departure.
"Janet," said Mrs. Duncan, "I think Senator and Mrs. Meade must have gone to our sitting room." Then, to Cynthia's surprise, the lady took her by the hand. "I can't imagine what you've done, my dear," she said pleasantly, "but I believe that you are capable of taking care of yourself, and I like you."
Thus it will be seen that Mrs. Duncan was an independent person. Sometimes heiresses are apt to be.
"And I like you, too," said Janet, taking both of Cynthia's hands, "and I hope to see you very, very often."
Jethro looked after them.
"Er--the women folks seem to have some sense," he said. Then he turned to Cynthia. "B-be'n havin' some fun with Heth, Cynthy?" he inquired.
"I haven't any respect for Mr. Sutton," said Cynthia, indignantly; "it serves him right for presuming to think that he could give a post-office to any one."
Jethro made no remark concerning this presumption on the part of the congressman of the district. Cynthia's indignation against Mr. Sutton was very real, and it was some time before she could compose herself sufficiently to tell Jethro what had happened. His enjoyment as he listened may be imagined but presently he forgot this, and became aware that something really troubled her.
"Uncle Jethro," she asked suddenly, "why do they treat me as they do?"
He did not answer at once. This was because of a pain around his heart--had she known it. He had felt that pain before.
"H-how do they treat you, Cynthy?"
She hesitated. She had not yet learned to use the word patronize in the social sense, and she was at a loss to describe the attitude of Mrs. Duncan and her daughter, though her instinct had registered it. She was at a loss to account for Mr. Worthington's attitude, too. Mr. Sutton's she bitterly resented.
"Are they your enemies?" she demanded.
Jethro was in real distress.
"If they are," she continued, "I won't speak to them again. If they can't treat me as--as your daughter ought to be treated, I'll turn my back on them. I am--I am just like your daughter--am I not, Uncle Jethro?"
He put out his hand and seized hers roughly, and his voice was thick with suffering.
"Yes, Cynthy," he said, "you--you're all I've got in the world."
She squeezed his hand in return.
"I know it, Uncle Jethro," she cried contritely, "I oughtn't to have troubled you by asking. You--you have done everything for me, much more than I deserve. And I shan't be hurt after this when people are too small to appreciate how good you are, and how great."
The pain tightened about Jethro's heart--tightened so sharply that he could not speak, and scarcely breathe because of it. Cynthia picked up her novel, and set the bookmark.
"Now that Cousin Eph is provided for, let's go back to Coniston, Uncle Jethro." A sudden longing was upon her for the peaceful life in the shelter of the great ridge, and she thought of the village maples all red and gold with the magic touch of the frosts. "Not that I haven't enjoyed my trip," she added; "but we are so happy there."
He did not look at her, because he was afraid to.
"C-Cynthy," he said, after a little pause, "th-thought we'd go to Boston."
"Boston, Uncle Jethro!"
"Er--to-morrow--at one--to-morrow--like to go to Boston?"
"Yes," she said thoughtfully, "I remember parts of it. The Common, where I used to walk with Daddy, and the funny old streets that went uphill. It will be nice to go back to Coniston that way--over Truro Pass in the train."
That night a piece of news flashed over the wires to New England, and the next morning a small item appeared in the Newcastle Guardian to the effect that one Ephraim Prescott had bean appointed postmaster at Brampton. Copied in the local papers of the state, it caused some surprise in Brampton, to be sure, and excitement in Coniston. Perhaps there were but a dozen men, however, who saw its real significance, who knew through this item that Jethro Bass was still supreme--that the railroads had failed to carry this first position in their war against him.
It was with a light heart the next morning that Cynthia, packed the little leather trunk which had been her father's. Ephraim was in the corridor regaling his friend, Mr. Beard, with that wonderful encounter with General Grant which sounded so much like a Fifth Reader anecdote of a chance meeting with royalty. Jethro's room was full of visiting politicians. So Cynthia, when she had finished her packing, went out to walk about the streets alone, scanning the people who passed her, looking at the big houses, and wondering who lived in them. Presently she found herself, in the middle of the morning, seated on a bench in a little park, surrounded by colored mammies and children playing in the paths. It seemed a long time since she had left the hills, and this glimpse of cities had given her many things to think and dream about. Would she always live in Coniston?