"Why, I'll go to-night, Uncle Jethro," she answered.

"Well," he said admiringly, "you hain't one of them clutterin' females.
We can get some finery for you in New York, Cynthy. D-don't want any of
them town ladies to put you to shame. Er--not that they would," he added
hastily--"not that they would."

Cynthia climbed up beside him on the haystack.

"Uncle Jethro," she said solemnly, "when you make a senator or a judge, I
don't interfere, do I?"

He looked at her uneasily, for there were moments when he could not for
the life of him make out her drift.

"N-no," he assented, "of course not, Cynthy."

"Why is it that I don't interfere?"

"I callate," answered Jethro, still more uneasily, "I callate it's
because you're a woman."

"And don't you think," asked Cynthia, "that a woman ought to know what
becomes her best?"

Jethro reflected, and then his glance fell on her approvingly.

"G-guess you're right, Cynthy," he said. "I always had some success in
dressin' up Listy, and that kind of set me up."