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Updated: June 16, 2025
"Uncle Jethro," said Cynthia, "sometimes I forget that you're a great, wise man, and I think that you are just a silly old goose." Jethro wiped his face with his blue cotton handkerchief. "Then you hain't a-goin' to marry the Painter-man?" he said. "I'm not going to marry anybody," cried Cynthia, contritely; "I'm going to live with you and take care of you all my life."
"Why won't the painter-man tell any body who she is?" "How should I know? It's a whim of his. And, I'll tell you what, here's a piece of serious advice for you: If you want to go there again, and make her acquaintance, don't you ask Blyth who she is, or let him fancy you want to know. He's touchy on that point I can't say why; but he is.
Then he began slowly to unwrap the newspaper from the bundle: there were five layers of it, but at length he disclosed a bolt of cardinal cloth. "Call this to mind, Cynthy?" "Yes," she answered with a smile. "H-how's this for the dress, Mr. Painter-man?" said Jethro, with a pride that was ill-concealed. The painter started up from his seat and took the material in his hands and looked at Cynthia.
"Er Cynthy," he said presently, "hain't fond of that Painter-man, be you?" "Why, yes," said Cynthia, "aren't you?" "He's fond of you," said Jethro, "sh-shouldn't be surprised if he was in love with you." Cynthia looked up at him, the corners of her mouth twitching, and then she laughed. The Rev. Mr. Satterlee, writing his Sunday sermon in his study, heard her and laid down his pen to listen.
A curious smile hovered about his lips, and the cunning look brightened in his eyes. "The Painter-Man won't tell anything about her, won't he? Perhaps that thing in his drawer will." He muttered the words to himself, putting his hands in his pockets, and mechanically kicking away a stone which happened to lie at his feet on the pavement. "What are you grumbling about now?" asked Zack.
Cynthia could see that Jethro was intensely amused, for his eyes had a way of snapping on such occasions when he was alone with her. She was puzzled and slightly offended, because, to tell the truth, Jethro had spoiled her. "Very well, then," she said, "I'll go with the Painter-man." Jethro came and stood over her, his expression the least bit wistful.
It was lonely for the beautiful girl there in the country: she welcomed the handsome young painter-man as though he were a long-lost brother, and proudly introduced him to her parents. Instead of a mere call he was urged to put up his horse and remain overnight; and a servant was sent out to find the man who drove the cart with the painter's belongings, and make him comfortable.
"If you are pleased, it's all I care about, Uncle Jethro," she answered, and then, her face suddenly flushing, "You must promise me on your honor that nobody in Coniston shall know about it, 'Mr. Painter-man'." After this she always called him "Mr. Painter-man," when she was pleased with him. So the cardinal cloth was come to its usefulness at last.
She might have posed as she stood against the marble railing and especially in that gesture of lifting her arms for a bearer of the gift at some foredestined luckless ceremony of votive offerings. So it seemed, at least, to the eyes of a moon-dazed old painter-man.
"Uncle Jethro," said Cynthia, "sometimes I forget that you're a great, wise man, and I think that you are just a silly old goose." Jethro wiped his face with his blue cotton handkerchief. "Then you hain't a-goin' to marry the Painter-man?" he said. "I'm not going to marry anybody," cried Cynthia, contritely; "I'm going to live with you and take care of you all my life."
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