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Updated: May 7, 2025
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.
The locket fell open in William Wetherell's hand, for the clasp had become worn with time, and there was a picture of little Cynthia within: of little Cynthia, not so little now, a photograph taken in Brampton the year before. Wetherell laid it beside the daguerreotype. "She looks like her," he said aloud; "but the child is more vigorous, more human less like a spirit.
Bijah Bixby of Clovelly screwed up into a greeting. The storekeeper had met Mr. Bixby several times since that first memorable meeting, and on each occasion, as now, his hand had made an involuntary movement to his watch pocket. "Hain't seed you for some time, Will," remarked Mr. Bixby; "goin' over to the exercises? We'll move along that way," and he thrust his hand under Mr. Wetherell's elbow.
William Wetherell, who had perplexities of his own, had done his best to keep out of the discussions that had raged on his cracker boxes and barrels, for his head was a jumble of figures which would not come right. And now as he stood there in the freshness of the early summer morning, waiting for Lem Hallowell's stage, poor Wetherell's heart was very heavy.
He undid the wrapping of the parcel, and there lay disclosed a book with a very gorgeous cover. He thrust it into the child's lap. "It's 'Robinson Crusoe'!" she exclaimed, and gave a little shiver of delight that made ripples in the pool. Then she opened it not without awe, for William Wetherell's hooks were not clothed in this magnificent manner. "It's full of pictures," cried Cynthia.
If so, he gave no sign, and took Wetherell's hand limply. "Will's kinder hipped on book-l'arnin'," Lemuel continued kindly. "Come here to keep store for his health. Guess you may have heerd, Jethro, that Will married Cynthy Ware. You call Cynthy to mind, don't ye?" Jethro Bass dropped Wetherell's hand, but answered nothing.
He seized Wetherell's carpet-bag with one hand and Cynthia's arm with the other, and shouldered his way through the people, who parted when they saw who it was. "Uncle Jethro," cried Cynthia, breathlessly, "I didn't know you were a judge. What are you judge of?" "J-judge of clothes, Cynthy. D-don't you wish you had the red cloth to wear here?" "No, I don't," said Cynthia.
The man, big in build, large-headed, wore an old-fashioned blue swallow-tailed coat with brass buttons, a stock, and coonskin hat, though it was summer, and the thumping of William Wetherell's heart told him that this was Jethro Bass. He nodded briefly at Moses Hatch, who greeted him with genial obsequiousness. "Legislatur' through?" shouted Moses. The great man shook his head and drove on.
He undid the wrapping of the parcel, and there lay disclosed a book with a very gorgeous cover. He thrust it into the child's lap. "It's 'Robinson Crusoe'!" she exclaimed, and gave a little shiver of delight that made ripples in the pool. Then she opened it not without awe, for William Wetherell's hooks were not clothed in this magnificent manner. "It's full of pictures," cried Cynthia.
"W-wouldn't if I was you." "What do you mean?" "What I say. T-told Levi Dodd to dismiss her, didn't you?" "Yes, I did." Isaac Worthington had lost in self-esteem by not saying so before. "Why? Wahn't she honest? Wahn't she capable? Wahn't she a lady?" "I can't say that I know anything against Miss Wetherell's character, if that's what you mean." "F-fit to teach wahn't she fit to teach?"
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