“Cousin Ephraim,” she said, taking off his corded hat, “what in the world’s the matter with you?”

“You’re a schoolmarm again, Cynthy.”

“Do you mean to say?”

“Miss Lucretia Penniman done it.”

“Miss Lucretia Penniman!” Cynthia began to think his rheumatism was driving him out of his mind.

“You bet.  ‘Long toward the openin’ of the engagement there wahn’t scarcely anybody thar but me, and they was a-goin’.  But they come fast enough when they l’arned she was in town, and she blew ’em up higher’n the Petersburg crater.  Great Tecumseh, there’s a woman!  Next to General Grant, I’d sooner shake her hand than anybody’s livin’.”

“Do you mean to say that Miss Lucretia is in Brampton and spoke at the mass meeting?”

“Spoke!” exclaimed Ephraim, “callate she did—­some.  Tore ’em all up.  They’d a hung Isaac D. Worthington or Levi Dodd if they’d a had ’em thar.”

Cynthia, striving to be calm herself, got him into a chair and took his stick and straightened out his leg, and then Ephraim told her the story, and it lost no dramatic effect in his telling.  He would have talked all night.  But at length the sound of wheels was heard in the street, Cynthia flew to the door, and a familiar voice came out of the darkness.

“You need not wait, Gamaliel.  No, thank you, I think I will stay at the hotel.”

Gamaliel was still protesting when Miss Lucretia came in and seized Cynthia in her arms, and the door was closed behind her.

“Oh, Miss Lucretia, why did you come?” said Cynthia, “if I had known you would do such a thing, I should never have written that letter.  I have been sorry to-day that I did write it, and now I’m sorrier than ever.”

“Aren’t you glad to see me?” demanded Miss Lucretia.

“Miss Lucretia!”

“What are friends for?” asked Miss Lucretia, patting her hand.  “If you had known how I wished to see you, Cynthia, and I thought a little trip would be good for such a provincial Bostonian as I am.  Dear, dear, I remember this house.  It used to belong to Gabriel Post in my time, and right across from it was the Social Library, where I have spent so many pleasant hours with your mother.  And this is Ephraim Prescott.  I thought it was, when I saw him sitting in the front row, and I think he must have been very lonesome there at one time.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Ephraim, giving her his gnarled fingers; “I was just sayin’ to Cynthy that I’d ruther shake your hand than anybody’s livin’ exceptin’ General Grant.”

“And I’d rather shake yours than the General’s,” said Miss Lucretia, for the Woman’s Hour had taken the opposition side in a certain recent public question concerning women.

“If you’d a fit with him, you wouldn’t say that, Miss Lucrety.”

“I haven’t a word to say against his fighting qualities,” she replied.

“Guess the General might say the same of you,” said Ephraim.  “If you’d a b’en a man, I callate you’d a come out of the war with two stars on your shoulder.  Godfrey, Miss Lucrety, you’d ought to’ve b’en a man.”