“Took you for a greenhorn, did he?” he remarked.

“F-folks told me to be careful—­to be careful,” said Mr. Bass.

Then Mr. Judson laughed.  It was all the more disconcerting to William Wetherell, because his employer laughed rarely.  He laid his hand on Jethro’s shoulder.

“He might have spared himself the trouble, my young friend,” he said.  “You didn’t expect to find a greenhorn behind a jewellery counter, did you?”

“S-surprised me some,” said Jethro.

Mr. Judson laughed again, all the while looking at him.

“I am going to let you keep the locket,” he said, “because it will teach my greenhorn a lesson.  William, do you hear that?”

“Yes, sir,” William said, and his face was very red.

Mr. Bass rose solemnly, apparently unmoved by his triumph in a somewhat remarkable transaction, and William long remembered how he towered over all of them.  He held the locket out to Mr. Judson, who stared at it, astonished.

“What’s this?” said that gentleman; “you don’t want it?”

“Guess I’ll have it marked,” said Jethro, “ef it don’t cost extry.”

“Marked!” gasped Mr. Judson, “marked!”

“Ef it don’t cost extry,” Jethro repeated.

“Well, I’ll—­” exclaimed Mr. Judson, and suddenly recalled the fact that he was a church member.  “What inscription do you wish put into it?” he asked, recovering himself with an effort.

Jethro thrust his hand into his pocket, and again the cowhide wallet came out.  He tendered Mr. Judson a somewhat soiled piece of paper, and Mr. Judson read:—­

        “Cynthy, from Jethro”

“Cynthy,” Mr. Judson repeated, in a tremulous voice, “Cynthy, not Cynthia.”

“H-how is it written,” said Jethro, leaning over it, “h-how is it written?”

“Cynthy,” answered Mr. Judson, involuntarily.

“Then make it Cynthy—­make it Cynthy.”

“Cynthy it shall be,” said Mr. Judson, with conviction.

“When’ll you have it done?”

“To-night,” replied Mr. Judson, with a twinkle in his eye, “to-night, as a special favor.”

“What time—­w-what time?”

“Seven o’clock, sir.  May I send it to your hotel?  The Tremont House, I suppose?”

“I-I’ll call,” said Jethro, so solemnly that Mr. Judson kept his laughter until he was gone.

From the door they watched him silently as he strode across the street and turned the corner.  Then Mr. Judson turned.  “That man will make his mark, William,” he said; and added thoughtfully, “but whether for good or evil, I know not.”

CHAPTER IV

What Cynthia may have thought or felt during Jethro’s absence in Boston, and for some months thereafter, she kept to herself.  Honest Moses Hatch pursued his courting untroubled, and never knew that he had a rival.  Moses would as soon have questioned the seasons or the weather as Cynthia’s changes of moods,—­which were indeed the weather for him, and when storms came he sat with his back to them, waiting for the sunshine.  He had long ceased proposing marriage, in the firm belief that Cynthia would set the day in her own good time.  Thereby he was saved much suffering.