“She mightn’t ask any such question,” said Jeff, gloomily.  Cynthia gave a little impatient “Oh!” and he hastened to add:  “But you’re right; I’ve got to tell her.  I’ll tell her to-night—­”

“Don’t wait till to-night; do it now.”

“Now?”

“Yes; and I’ll go with you as soon as I’ve seen the youngest Miller girl.”  They had reached the helps’ house now, and Cynthia said:  “You wait outside here, and I’ll go right back with you.  Oh, I hope it isn’t doing wrong to put it off till I’ve seen that girl!” She disappeared through the door, and Jeff waited by the steps outside, plucking up one long grass stem after another and biting it in two.  When Cynthia came out she said:  “I guess she’ll be all right.  Now come, and don’t-lose another second.”

“You’re afraid I sha’n’t do it if I wait any longer!”

“I’m afraid I sha’n’t.”  There was a silence after this.

“Do you know what I think of you, Cynthy?” asked Jeff, hurrying to keep up with her quick steps.  “You’ve got more courage—­”

“Oh, don’t praise me, or I shall break down!”

“I’ll see that you don’t break down,” said Jeff, tenderly.  “It’s the greatest thing to have you go with me!”

“Why, don’t you see?” she lamented.  “If you went alone, and told your mother that I approved of it, you would look as if you were afraid, and wanted to get behind me; and I’m not going to have that.”

They found.  Mrs. Durgin in the dark entry of the old farmhouse, and Cynthia said, with involuntary imperiousness:  “Come in here, Mrs. Durgin; I want to tell you something.”

She led the way to the old parlor, and she checked Mrs. Durgin’s question, “Has that Miller girl—­”

“It isn’t about her,” said Cynthy, pushing the door to.  “It’s about me and Jeff.”

Mrs. Durgin became aware of Jeff’s presence with an effect of surprise.  “There a’n’t anything more, is there?”

“Yes, there is!” Cynthia shrilled.  “Now, Jeff!”

“It’s just this, mother:  Cynthy thinks I ought to tell you—­and she thinks I ought to have told you last night—­she expected me to—­that I’m not going to study law.”

“And I approve of his not doing it,” Cynthia promptly followed, and she put herself beside Jeff where he stood in front of his mother’s rocking-chair.

She looked from one to the other of the faces before her.  “I’m sorry a son of mine,” she said, with dignity, “had to be told how to act with his mother.  But, if he had, I don’t know as anybody had a better right to do it than the girl that’s going to marry him.  And I’ll say this, Cynthia Whitwell, before I say anything else:  you’ve begun right.  I wish I could say Jeff had.”

There was an uncomfortable moment before Cynthia said:  “He expected to tell you.”

“Oh Yes!  I know,” said his mother, sadly.  She added, sharply:  “And did be expect to tell me what he intended to do for a livin’?”