begun Moses Hatch had arrived, with Amandy and Eben; and Rias Richardson
came in, and other neighbors, to say a word of welcome to hear (if the
truth be not too disparaging to their characters) the reasons for her
sudden appearance, and such news of her Boston experiences as she might
choose to give them. They had learned from Lem Hallowell that Cynthia had
returned a lady: a real lady, not a sham one who relied on airs and
graces, such as had come to Coniston the summer before to look for a
summer place on the painter's recommendation. Lem was not a gossip, in
the disagreeable sense of the term, and he had not said a word to his
neighbors of his feelings on that terrible drive from Brampton. Knowing
that some blow had fallen upon Cynthia, he would have spared her these
visits if he could. But Lem was wise and kind, so he merely said that she
had returned a lady.

And they had found a lady. As they stood or sat around the kitchen (Eben
and Rias stood), Cynthia talked to them--about Coniston: rather, be it
said, that they talked about Coniston in answer to her questions. The
sledding had been good; Moses had hauled so many thousand feet of lumber
to Brampton; Sam Price's woman (she of Harwich) had had a spell of
sciatica; Chester Perkins's bull had tossed his brother-in-law, come from
Iowy on a visit, and broke his leg; yes, Amandy guessed her dyspepsy was
somewhat improved since she had tried Graham's Golden Remedy--it made her
feel real lighthearted; Eben (blushing furiously) was to have the Brook
Farm in the spring; there was a case of spotted fever in Tarleton.

Yes, Lem Hallowell had been right, Cynthia was a lady, but not a mite
stuck up. What was the difference in her? Not her clothes, which she wore
as if she had been used to them all her life. Poor Cynthia, the clothes
were simple enough. Not her manner, which was as kind and sweet as ever.
What was it that compelled their talk about themselves, that made them