It was inevitable that Cynthia should be brought into contact with many friends and relations of the family.  Some of these noticed and admired her; others did neither; others gossiped about Mrs. Merrill behind her back at her own dinners and sewing circles and wondered what folly could have induced her to bring the girl into her house.  But Mrs. Merrill, like many generous people who do not stop to calculate a kindness, was always severely criticised.

And then there were Jane’s and Susan’s friends, in and out of Miss Sadler’s school.  For Mrs. Merrill’s influence had been sufficient to induce Miss Sadler to take Cynthia as a day scholar with her own daughters.  This, be it known, was a great concession on the part of Miss Sadler, who regarded Cynthia’s credentials as dubious enough; and her young ladies were inclined to regard them so, likewise.  Some of these young ladies came from other cities,—­New York and Philadelphia and elsewhere,—­and their fathers and mothers were usually people to be mentioned as a matter of course—­were, indeed, frequently so mentioned by Miss Sadler, especially when a visitor called at the school.

“Isabel, I saw that your mother sailed for Europe yesterday,” or, “Sally, your father tells me he is building a gallery for his collection.”  Then to the visitor, “You know the Broke house in Washington Square, of course.”

Of course the visitor did.  But Sally or Isabel would often imitate Miss Sadler behind her back, showing how well they understood her snobbishness.

Miss Sadler was by no means the type which we have come to recognize in the cartoons as the Boston school ma’am.  She was a little, round person with thin lips and a sharp nose all out of character with her roundness, and bright eyes like a bird’s.  To do her justice, so far as instruction went, her scholars were equally well cared for, whether they hailed from Washington Square or Washington Court House.  There were, indeed, none from such rural sorts of places—­except Cynthia.  But Miss Sadler did not take her hand on the opening day—­or afterward—­and ask her about Uncle Jethro.  Oh, no.  Miss Sadler had no interest for great men who did not sail for Europe or add picture galleries on to their houses.  Cynthia laughed, a little bitterly, perhaps, at the thought of a picture gallery being added to the tannery house.  And she told herself stoutly that Uncle Jethro was a greater man than any of the others, even if Miss Sadler did not see fit to mention him.  So she had her first taste of a kind of wormwood that is very common in the world though it did not grow in Coniston.