representative." We shall have cause to recall that word high-minded.

Many persons greeted Cynthia outside the meetinghouse, for the girl
seemed genuinely loved by all who knew her--too much loved, her companion
thought, by certain spick-and-span young men of Brampton. But they ate
the lunch Cynthia had brought, far from the crowd, under the trees by
Coniston Water. It was she who proposed going to the base-ball game, and
the painter stifled a sigh and acquiesced. Their way brought them down
Brampton Street, past a house with great iron dogs on the lawn, so
imposing and cityfied that he hung back and asked who lived there.

"Mr. Worthington," answered Cynthia, making to move on impatiently.

Her escort did not think much of the house, but it interested him as the
type which Mr. Worthington had built. On that same Gothic porch,
sublimely unconscious of the covert stares and subdued comments of the
passers-by, the first citizen himself and the Honorable Heth Sutton might
be seen. Mr. Worthington, whose hawklike look had become more pronounced,
sat upright, while the Honorable Heth, his legs crossed, filled every
nook and cranny of an arm-chair, and an occasional fragrant whiff from
his cigar floated out to those on the tar sidewalk. Although the
pedestrians were but twenty feet away, what Mr. Worthington said never
reached them; but the Honorable Heth on public days carried his voice of
the Forum around with him.

"Come on," said Cynthia, in one of those startling little tempers she was
subject to; "don't stand there like an idiot."

Then the voice of Mr. Sutton boomed toward them.