“He’s very happy,” said Cynthia.

“Happy!” exclaimed Mr. Sutton.  “Oh, yes, of course, Ephraim’s always happy, in spite of his troubles and his rheumatism.  I always liked Ephraim Prescott.”

Cynthia did not answer this remark at all, and Mr. Sutton suspected strongly that she did not believe it, therefore he repeated it.

“I always liked Ephraim.  I want you to tell Jethro that I’m downright sorry I couldn’t get him that Brampton postmastership.”

“I’ll tell him that you are sorry, Mr. Sutton,” replied Cynthia, gravely, “but I don’t think it’ll do any good.”

Not do any good!—­What did the girl mean?  Mr. Sutton came to the conclusion that he had been condescending enough, that somehow he was gaining no merit in Mrs. Duncan’s eyes by this kindness to a constituent.  He buttoned up his coat rather grandly.

“I hope you won’t misunderstand me, Cynthia,” he said.  “I regret extremely that my sense of justice demanded that I should make David Wheelock postmaster at Brampton, and I have made him so.”

It was now Cynthia’s turn to be amazed.

“But,” she exclaimed, “but Cousin Ephraim is postmaster of Brampton.”

Mr. Sutton started violently, and that part of his face not hidden by his whiskers seemed to pale, and Mr:  Worthington, usually self-possessed, took a step forward and seized him by the arm.

“What does this mean, Sutton?” he said.

Mr. Sutton pulled himself together, and glared at Cynthia.

“I think you are mistaken,” said he, “the congressman of the district usually arranges these matters, and the appointment will be sent to Mr. Wheelock to-morrow.”

“But Cousin Ephraim already has the appointment,” said Cynthia; “it was sent to him this afternoon, and he is up in his room now writing to thank the President for it.”

“What in the world’s the matter?” cried Mrs. Duncan, in astonishment.

Cynthia’s simple announcement had indeed caused something of a panic among the gentlemen present.  Mr. Duncan had jumped up from his seat beside the door, and Mr. Worthington, his face anything but impassive, tightened his hold on the congressman’s arm.

“Good God, Sutton!” he exclaimed, “can this be true?”

As for Cynthia, she was no less astonished than Mrs. Duncan. by the fact that these rich and powerful gentlemen were so excited over a little thing like the postmastership of Brampton.  But Mr. Sutton laughed; it was not hearty, but still it might have passed muster for a laugh.

“Nonsense,” he exclaimed, making a fair attempt to regain his composure, “the girl’s got it mixed up with something else—­she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Mrs. Duncan thought the girl did look uncommonly as if she knew what she was talking about, and Mr. Duncan and Mr. Worthington had some such impression, too, as they stared at her.  Cynthia’s eyes flashed, but her voice was no louder than before.