sincerity, he received the greatest scare of his life. Yet in those days
she welcomed Moses's society as she never had before; and Coniston,
including Moses himself, began thinking of a wedding.

Another Saturday came, and no Cynthia went to Brampton. Jethro may or may
not have been on the road. Sunday, and there was Jethro on the back seat
in the meetinghouse: Sunday noon, over his frugal dinner, the minister
mildly remonstrates with Cynthia for neglecting one who has shown signs
of grace, citing certain failures of others of his congregation: Cynthia
turns scarlet, leaving the minister puzzled and a little uneasy: Monday,
Miss Lucretia Penniman, alarmed, comes to Coniston to inquire after
Cynthia's health: Cynthia drives back with her as far as Four Corners,
talking literature and the advancement of woman; returns on foot,
thinking of something else, when she discerns a figure seated on a log by
the roadside, bent as in meditation. There was no going back the thing to
do was to come on, as unconcernedly as possible, not noticing
anything,--which Cynthia did, not without a little inward palpitating and
curiosity, for which she hated herself and looked the sterner. The figure
unfolded itself, like a Jack from a box.

"You say the woman wahn't any to blame--wahn't any to blame?"

The poke bonnet turned away. The shoulders under it began to shake, and
presently the astonished Jethro heard what seemed to be faint peals of
laughter. Suddenly she turned around to him, all trace of laughter gone.

"Why don't you read the book?"

"So I am," said Jethro, "so I am. Hain't come to this casting-off yet."