were all absurdly silent, thinking of nothing to say and admiring the boy
because he was at ease.

"I hope you have a good seat at the exercises," he said, pressing
Wetherell's hand again, and before he could thank him, Bob was off in the
direction of the band stand.

"One thing," remarked Amanda, "he ain't much like his dad. You'd never
catch Isaac Worthington bein' that common."

Just then there came another interruption for William Wetherell, who was
startled by the sound of a voice in his ear--a nasal voice that awoke
unpleasant recollections. He turned to confront, within the distance of
eight inches, the face of Mr. Bijah Bixby of Clovelly screwed up into a
greeting. The storekeeper had met Mr. Bixby several times since that
first memorable meeting, and on each occasion, as now, his hand had made
an involuntary movement to his watch pocket.

"Hain't seed you for some time, Will," remarked Mr. Bixby; "goin' over to
the exercises? We'll move along that way," and he thrust his hand under
Mr. Wetherell's elbow. "Whar's Jethro?"

"He's here somewhere," answered the storekeeper, helplessly, moving along
in spite of himself.

"Keepin' out of sight, you understand," said Bijah, with a knowing wink,
as much as to say that Mr. Wetherell was by this time a past master in
Jethro tactics. Mr. Bixby could never disabuse his mind of a certain
interpretation which he put on the storekeeper's intimacy with Jethro.
"You done well to git in with him, Will. Didn't think you had it in you