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Updated: May 9, 2025
For all the flags and bunting it had held in '61, Ephraim thought that city crueller than war itself. And Cynthia thought so too, as she clung to Jethro's arm between the carriages and the clanging street-cars, and looked upon the riches and poverty around her. There entered her soul that night a sense of that which is the worst cruelty of all the cruelty of selfishness.
All the day before Cynthia and Milly, and many another housewife, had been making wonderful things for the dinners they were to bring, and stowing them in the great basket ready for the early morning start. At six o'clock Jethro's three-seated farm wagon was in front of the store.
"S-something to have dreamed," repeated Jethro, rising slowly from the counter. He went toward the doorway that led into the garden, and there he halted and stood listening. "C-Cynthy!" he said, "C-Cynthy!" Wetherell dropped his pen at the sound of the name on Jethro's lips. But it was little Cynthia he was calling little Cynthia in the garden.
She realized it, and was not wholly revolted by it, even while her mind was fleeing to where the Master Gorgio lay wounded, it might be unto death; even while she knew that this man before her, by some means, had laid Ingolby low. She was all at once a human being torn by contending forces. Jethro's drop to the ground broke the sudden trance into which his words had thrown her.
But she trusts in the God of Abraham, and he will raise up a protector for her." Chebron, who had learned something of the traditions of the Israelites dwelling in Egypt, saw by the old man's words that Jethro's surmises were correct and that he belonged to that race. "You are an Israelite," he said gently. "How is it that you are not dwelling among your people instead of alone among strangers?"
It was almost criminal ignorance for a man who lived in that part of the country not to know Bijah Bixby of Clovelly, who was paying a little social visit to Coniston that day on his way home from the state capital, tending, as it were, Jethro's flock. Still, Wetherell must be excused because he was an impractical literary man with troubles of his own.
Jethro looked at her for a moment in disgust, and in his predicament cast around for another to wait on him. There was no lack of these, at a safe distance, but they all seemed to be affected by the same mania. Jethro's eye alighted upon the back of another customer.
Had they remained until Sunday, they might have read an amusing account of their visit, of Jethro's suppers of crackers and milk at the Astor House, of their progress along Broadway. The story was not lacking in pathos, either, and in real human feeling, for the young reporter who wrote it had come, not many years before, from the hills himself.
Jethro saw this thing coming about a year ago, and he took the precaution to have Chauncey Weed and the rest of the Committee in his pocket and of course Heth Sutton's always been there." William Wetherell thought of that imposing and manly personage, the Honorable Heth Sutton, being in Jethro's pocket, and marvelled. Mr.
Four hundred and eighty years did the descendants of Jethro dwell in Jericho, when, upon the erection of the Temple at Jerusalem, they relinquished it to the tribe of Judah, who claimed it as an indemnity for the site of the Temple. Jethro's descendants inherited his devotion to the Torah, like him dedicating their lives entirely to its study.
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