“Ephraim Prescott!” ejaculated the President, sharply, taking his cigar from his mouth, “Ephraim Prescott!”

“Prescott—­that’s right—­Prescott, General,” repeated Ephraim, sorely puzzled by these manifestations of amazement.

“What did you come to Washington for?” asked the President.

“Well, General, I kind of hate to tell you—­I didn’t intend to mention that.  I guess I won’t say nothin’ about it,” he added, “we’ve had such a sociable time.  I’ve always b’en a little mite ashamed of it, General, ever since ’twas first mentioned.”

“Good Lord!” said the President again, and then he looked at Cynthia.  “What is it, Miss Cynthia?” he asked.

It was now Cynthia’s turn to be a little confused.

“Uncle Jethro—­that is, Mr. Bass” (the President nodded), “went to Cousin Eph when he couldn’t make harness any more and said he’d give him the Brampton post-office.”

The President’s eyes met the senator’s, and both gentlemen laughed.  Cynthia bit her lip, not seeing any cause for mirth in her remark, while Ephraim looked uncomfortable and mopped the perspiration from his brow.

“He said he’d give it to him, did he?” said the President.  “Is Mr. Bass your uncle?”

“Oh, no, General,” replied Cynthia, “he’s really no relation.  He’s done everything for me, and I live with him since my father died.  He was going to meet us here,” she continued, looking around hurriedly, “I’m sure I can’t think what’s kept him.”

“Mr. President, we are half an hour late already,” said the senator, hurriedly.

“Well, well,” said the President, “I suppose I must go.  Good-by, Miss Cynthia,” said he, taking the girl’s hand warmly.  “Good-by, Comrade.  If ever you want to see General Grant, just send in your name.  Good-by.”

The President lifted his hat politely to Cynthia and passed.  He said something to the senator which they did not hear, and the senator laughed heartily.  Ephraim and Cynthia watched them until they were out of sight.

“Godfrey!” exclaimed Ephraim, “they told me he was hard to talk to.  Why, Cynthy, he’s as simple as a child.”

“I’ve always thought that all great men must be simple,” said Cynthia; “Uncle Jethro is.”

“To think that the President of the United States stood talkin’ to us on the sidewalk for half an hour,” said Ephraim, clutching Cynthia’s arm.  “Cynthy, I’m glad we didn’t press that post-office matter it was worth more to me than all the post-offices in the Union to have that talk with General Grant.”

They waited some time longer under the tree, happy in the afterglow of this wonderful experience.  Presently a clock struck twelve.

“Why, it’s dinner-time, Cynthy,” said Ephraim.  “I guess Jethro haint’ a-comin’—­must hev b’en delayed by some of them politicians.”

“It’s the first time I ever knew him to miss an appointment,” said Cynthia, as they walked back to the hotel.