"What!" cried the storekeeper, so loudly that he frightened himself.

"D-don't," repeated Jethro, imperturbably.

There was a short silence, the storekeeper being unable to speak.
Coniston Water, at the foot of the garden, sang the same song, but it
seemed to Wetherell to have changed its note from sorrow to joy.

"H-hear things, don't you--hear things in the store?"

"Yes."

"Don't hear 'em. Keep out of politics, Will, s-stick to store-keepin'
and--and literature."

Jethro got to his feet and turned his back on the storekeeper and picked
up the parcel he had brought.

"C-Cynthy well?" he inquired.

"I--I'll call her," said Wetherell, huskily. "She--she was down by the
brook when you came."

But Jethro Bass did not wait. He took his parcel and strode down to
Coniston Water, and there he found Cynthia seated on a rock with her toes
in a pool.

"How be you, Cynthy?" said he, looking down at her.