"Mr. Satterlee," said Cynthia, "would you mind if we went first to see
Cousin Ephraim?"

"Why, of course, we must see Ephraim," said Mr. Satterlee, briskly. So
they walked on past the mansion of the first citizen, and the new block
of stores which the first citizen had built, to the old brick building
which held the Brampton post-office, and right through the door of the
partition into the sanctum of the postmaster himself, which some one had
nicknamed the Brampton Club. On this occasion the postmaster was seated
in his shirt sleeves by the stove, alone, his listeners being
conspicuously absent. Cynthia, who had caught a glimpse of him through
the little mail-window, thought he looked very happy and comfortable.

"Great Tecumseh!" he cried,--an exclamation he reserved for extraordinary
occasions, "if it hain't Cynthy!"

He started to hobble toward her, but Cynthia ran to him.

"Why," said he, looking at her closely after the greeting was over, "you
be changed, Cynthy. Mercy, I don't know as I'd have dared done that if
I'd seed you first. What have you b'en doin' to yourself? You must have
seed a whole lot down there in Boston. And you're a full-blown lady,
too."

"Oh, no, I'm not, Cousin Eph," she answered, trying to smile.

"Yes, you be," he insisted, still scrutinizing her, vainly trying to
account for the change. Tact, as we know, was not Ephraim's strong point.
Now he shook his head. "You always was beyond me. Got a sort of air about