Jethro Bass had not been in Coniston since William’s arrival.  No need to ask where he was.  Jake Wheeler, Jethro’s lieutenant in Coniston, gave William a glowing account of that Throne Room in the Pelican Hotel at the capital, from whence Jethro ruled the state during the sessions of the General Court.  This legislature sat to him as a sort of advisory committee of three hundred and fifty:  an expensive advisory committee to the people, relic of an obsolete form of government.  Many stories of the now all-powerful Jethro William heard from the little coterie which made their headquarters in his store—­stories of how those methods of which we have read were gradually spread over other towns and other counties.  Not that Jethro held mortgages in these towns and counties, but the local lieutenants did, and bowed to him as an overlord.  There were funny stories, and grim stories of vengeance which William Wetherell heard and trembled at.  Might not Jethro wish to take vengeance upon him?

One story he did not hear, because no one in Coniston knew it.  No one knew that Cynthia Ware and Jethro Bass had ever loved each other.

At last, toward the end of June, it was noised about that the great man was coming home for a few days.  One beautiful afternoon William Wetherell stood on the platform of the store, looking off at Coniston, talking to Moses Hatch—­young Moses, who is father of six children now and has forgotten Cynthia Ware.  Old Moses sleeps on the hillside, let us hope in the peace of the orthodox and the righteous.  A cloud of dust arose above the road to the southward, and out of it came a country wagon drawn by a fat horse, and in the wagon the strangest couple Wetherell had ever seen.  The little woman who sat retiringly at one end of the seat was all in brilliant colors from bonnet to flounce, like a paroquet, red and green predominating.  The man, big in build, large-headed, wore an old-fashioned blue swallow-tailed coat with brass buttons, a stock, and coonskin hat, though it was summer, and the thumping of William Wetherell’s heart told him that this was Jethro Bass.  He nodded briefly at Moses Hatch, who greeted him with genial obsequiousness.

“Legislatur’ through?” shouted Moses.

The great man shook his head and drove on.

“Has Jethro Bass ever been a member of the Legislature?” asked the storekeeper, for the sake of something to say.

“Never would take any office but Chairman of the Selectmen,” answered Moses, who apparently bore no ill will for his father’s sake.  “Jethro kind of fathers the Legislatur’, I guess, though I don’t take much stock in politics.  Goes down sessions to see that they don’t get too gumptious and kick off the swaddlin’ clothes.”

“And—­was that his wife?” Wetherell asked, hesitatingly.