“Perhaps that is just as well,” assented the minister, understanding perfectly.  “I have thought that Miss Bruce might be glad to board you,” he continued, after a pause.  “Let us go to see her.”

“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 you, and it grows on you, too.  Wouldn’t be surprised,” he declared, speaking now to the minister, “wouldn’t be a mite surprised to see her in the White House, some day.”

“Now, Cousin Eph,” said Cynthia, coloring a little, “you mustn’t talk nonsense.  What have you done with your coat?  You have no business to go without it with your rheumatism.”

“It hain’t b’en so bad since Uncle Sam took me over again, Cynthy,” he answered, “with nothin’ to do but sort letters in a nice hot room.”  The room was hot, indeed.  “But where did you come from?”

“I grew tired of being taught, Cousin Eph.  I—­I’ve always wanted to teach.  Mr. Satterlee has been with me to see Mr. Graves, and they’ve given me Miss Goddard’s place.  I’m coming to Brampton to live, to-day.”

“Great Tecumseh!” exclaimed Ephraim again, overpowered by the yews.  “I want to know!  What does Jethro say to that?”

“He—­he is willing,” she replied in a low voice.

“Well,” said Ephraim, “I always thought you’d come to it.  It’s in the blood, I guess—­teachin’.  Your mother had it too.  I’m kind of sorry for Jethro, though, so I be.  But I’m glad for myself, Cynthy.  So you’re comin’ to Brampton to live with me!