seen at the baseball game.  Mr. Dodd was not a person who had opinions unless they were presented to him from certain sources, and then he had been known to cling to them tenaciously.  It is sufficient to add that, when Cynthia Wetherell’s name was mentioned to him, he remembered the girl to whom Bob Worthington had paid such marked attentions on the grand stand.  He knew literally nothing else about Cynthia.  Judge Graves, apparently, knew all about her; this was sufficient, at that time, for Mr. Dodd; he was sick and tired of the whole affair, and if, by the grace of heaven, an applicant had been sent who conformed with Judge Graves’s multitude of requirements, he was devoutly thankful.  The other member, Mr. Hill, was a feed and lumber dealer, and not a very good one, for he was always in difficulties; certain scholarly attainments were attributed to him, and therefore he had been put on the committee.  They met in Mr. Dodd’s little office back of the store, and in five minutes Cynthia was a schoolmistress, subject to examination by Mr. Errol.

Just a word about Mr. Errol.  He was a retired lawyer, with some means, who took an interest in town affairs to occupy his time.  He had a very delicate wife, whom he had been obliged to send South at the beginning of the winter.  There she had for a while improved, but had been taken ill again, and two days before Cynthia’s appointment he had been summoned to her bedside by a telegram.  Cynthia could go into the school, and her examination would take place when Mr. Errol returned.

All this was explained by the judge when, half an hour after he had left them, he returned to the best parlor.  Miss Wetherell would, then, be prepared to take the school the following morning.  Whereupon the judge shook hands with her, and did not deny that he had been instrumental in the matter.

“And, Mr. Satterlee, I am so grateful to you,” said Cynthia, when they were in the street once more.

“My dear Cynthia, I did nothing,” answered the minister, quite bewildered by the quick turn affairs had taken; “it is your own good reputation that got you the place.”

Nevertheless Mr. Satterlee had done his share in the matter.  He had known Mr. Graves for a long time, and better than any other person in Brampton.  Mr. Graves remembered Cynthia Ware, and indeed had spoken to Cynthia that day about her mother.  Mr. Graves had also read poor William Wetherell’s contributions to the Newcastle Guardian, and he had not read that paper since they had ceased.  From time to time Mr. Satterlee had mentioned his pupil to the judge, whose mind had immediately flown to her when the vacancy occurred.  So it all came about.

“And now,” said Mr. Satterlee, “what will you do, Cynthia?  We’ve got the good part of a day to arrange where you will live, before the stage returns.”

“I won’t go back to-night, I think,” said Cynthia, turning her head away; “if you would be good enough to tell Uncle Jethro to send my trunk and some other things.”