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Updated: May 19, 2025
Bourbon royalists never looked with greater abhorrence on the Corsican adventurer and usurper of the throne than did the orthodox in Coniston on this tanner, who had earned no right to aspire to any distinction, and who by his wiles had acquired the highest office in the town government. Fletcher Bartlett in, as a leader of the irresponsible opposition, would have been calamity enough.
During the winter evenings in Coniston, Cynthia had read little newspaper attacks on Jethro, and scorned them as the cowardly devices of enemies. They had been, indeed, but guarded and covert allusions grimaces from a safe distance. Cynthia's first sensation as she read was anger anger so intense as to send all the blood in her body rushing to her head. But what was this?
There are some thirty other individuals in Coniston whose mortgages Jethro holds, from a horse to a house and farm. It is not likely that they will tell Beacon Hatch, or us; that they are going to town meeting and vote for that fatherless ticket because Jethro Bass wishes them to do so. And Jethro has never said that he wishes them to. If so, where are your witnesses?
That isn't so is it?" Jethro did not speak. Presently Cynthia laid her hand over his. "Mrs. Cuthbert is a spiteful woman," she said. "I know the reason why people obey you it's because you're so great. And Daddy used to tell me so." A tremor shook Jethro's frame and the hand on which hers rested, and all the way down the mountain valleys to Coniston village he did not speak again.
Price has been chopping wood, pausing occasionally to stare off through the purple haze at the south shoulder of Coniston Mountain. "How be you, Jethro?" says Mr. Price, nasally. "D-Democrats are talkin' some of namin' you Moderator next meetin'," says the man in the coonskin cap. "Want to know!" ejaculates Mr. Price, dropping the axe and straightening up in amazement. For Mr.
"Because I thought that you would have read the articles, and I knew if you had, you would have taken the trouble to inform yourself of the world's opinion." Again Miss Lucretia stared at her. "I will go to Coniston with you," she said, "at least as far as Brampton." Cynthia's face softened a little at the words.
Fragrant hay was cut on hillsides won from rock and forest, and Coniston Water sang a gentler melody save when the clouds floated among the spruces on the mountain and the rain beat on the shingles.
The mountain cast its vast blue shadow over forest and pasture, and above the pines the white mist was rising from Coniston Water rising in strange shapes. Lem's voice seemed to William Wetherell to have given way to a world-wide silence, in the midst of which he sought vainly for Cynthia and the stage driver.
Or was her future to be cast among those who moved in the world and helped to sway it? Cynthia felt that she was to be of these, though she could not reason why, and she told herself that the feeling was foolish. Perhaps it was that she knew in the bottom of her heart that she had been given a spirit and intelligence to cope with a larger life than that of Coniston.
"Why, certainly I am," answered the Honorable Heth, swallowing hard, "certainly I am, Jethro. I meant to have got to Coniston this summer, but I was so busy " "Peoples' business, I understand. Er hear you've gone in for high-minded politics, Heth r-read a highminded speech of yours two high-minded speeches. Always thought you was a high-minded man, Heth."
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