Heedless of his rheumatism, Ephraim sprang to his feet and dropped the
cigar, which the stout one picked up with much difficulty.

"Well," said Ephraim, in a voice that shook with unwonted emotion, "you
kin skin me if it ain't Amasy Beard!" His eye travelled around Amasa's
figure. "Wouldn't a-knowed you, I swan, I wouldn't. Why, when I seen you
last, Amasy, your stomach was havin' all it could do to git hold of your
backbone."

Cynthia laughed outright, and even Jethro sat up and smiled.

"When was it?" said Amasa, still clinging on to Ephraim's hand and
incidentally to the cigar, which Ephraim had forgotten; "Beaver Creek,
wahn't it?"

"July 10, 1863," said Ephraim, instantly.

Gradually they reached a sitting position, the cigar was restored to its
rightful owner, and Mr. Beard was introduced, with some ceremony, to
Cynthia and Jethro. From Beaver Creek they began to fight the war over
again, backward and forward, much to Cynthia's edification, when her
attention was distracted by the entrance of a street band of wind
instruments. As the musicians made their way to another corner and began
tuning up, she glanced mischievously at Jethro, for she knew his
peculiarities by heart. One of these was a most violent detestation of
any but the best music. He had often given her this excuse, laughingly,
for not going to meeting in Coniston. How he had come by his love for
good music, Cynthia never knew--he certainly had not heard much of it.

Suddenly a great volume of sound filled the corridor, and the band burst