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.

The summer flew on apace, for Coniston.  Fragrant hay was cut on hillsides won from rock and forest, and Coniston Water sang a gentler melody—­save when the clouds floated among the spruces on the mountain and the rain beat on the shingles.  During the still days before the turn of the year,—­days of bending fruit boughs, crab-apples glistening red in the soft sunlight,—­rumor came from Brampton to wrinkle the forehead of Moses Hatch as he worked among his father’s orchards.

The rumor was of a Mr. Isaac Dudley Worthington, a name destined to make much rumor before it was to be carved on the marble.  Isaac D. Worthington, indeed, might by a stretch of the imagination be called the pioneer of all the genus to be known in the future as City Folks, who were, two generations later, to invade the country like a devouring army of locusts.

At that time a stranger in Brampton was enough to set the town agog.  But a young man of three and twenty, with an independent income of four hundred dollars a year!—­or any income at all not derived from his own labor—­was unheard of.  It is said that when the stage from over Truro Gap arrived in Brampton Street a hundred eyes gazed at him unseen, from various ambushes, and followed him up the walk to Silas Wheelock’s, where he was to board.  In half an hour Brampton knew the essentials of Isaac Worthington’s story, and Sam Price was on his way with it to Coniston for distribution at Jonah Winch’s store.