It may readily be surmised that Mr. Wetherell did not particularly wish to make this excursion, the avowed object of which was to get Mr. Bass into trouble.  But he went, and presently he found himself jogging along on the mountain road to Harwich.  From the crest of Town’s End ridge they looked upon the western peaks tossing beneath a golden sky.  The spell of the evening’s beauty seemed to have fallen on them both, and for a long time Lem spoke not a word, and nodded smilingly but absently to the greetings that came from the farm doorways.

“Will,” he said at last, “you acted sensible.  There’s no mite of use of your gettin’ mixed up in politics.  You’re too good for ’em.”

“Too good!” exclaimed the storekeeper.

“You’re eddicated,” Lem replied, with a tactful attempt to cover up a deficiency; “you’re a gentleman, ef you do keep store.”

Lemuel apparently thought that gentlemen and politics were contradictions.  He began to whistle, while Wetherell sat and wondered that any one could be so care-free on such a mission.  The day faded, and went out, and the lights of Harwich twinkled in the valley.  Wetherell was almost tempted to mention his trouble to this man, as he had been to Ephraim:  the fear that each might think he wished to borrow money held him back.

“Jethro’s all right,” Lem remarked, “but if he neglects the road, he’s got to stand for it, same’s any other.  I writ him twice to the capital, and give him fair warning afore he went.  He knows I hain’t doin’ of it for politics.  I’ve often thought,” Lem continued, “that ef some smart, good woman could have got hold of him when he was young, it would have made a big difference.  What’s the matter?”

“Have you room enough?”

“I guess I’ve got the hull seat,” said Lem.  “As I was sayin’, if some able woman had married Jethro and made him look at things a little mite different, he would have b’en a big man.  He has all the earmarks.  Why, when he comes back to Coniston, them fellers’ll hunt their holes like rabbits, mark my words.”

“You don’t think—­”

“Don’t think what?”

“I understand he holds the mortgages of some of them,” said Wetherell.

“Shouldn’t blame him a great deal ef he did git tired and sell Chester out soon.  This thing happens regular as leap year.”

“Jethro Bass doesn’t seem to frighten you,” said the storekeeper.

“Well,” said Lem, “I hain’t afeard of him, that’s so.  For the life of me, I can’t help likin’ him, though he does things that I wouldn’t do for all the power in Christendom.  Here’s Jedge Parkinson’s house.”