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Updated: May 19, 2025
Bass," he said, and though he tried to speak firmly his voice shook, "it seems to be useless. Good night." He picked up his hat and walked slowly toward the door, but Jethro did not move or speak. Mr. Worthington reached the door opened it, and the night breeze started the lamp to smoking. Wetherell got up and turned it down, and the first citizen was still standing in the doorway.
The window was open, and the cool airs from the mountain spruces mingled with the odors of corn meal and kerosene and calico print. Jethro Bass, who had supped with the storekeeper, sat in the wooden armchair silent, with his head bent. Sometimes he would sit there by the hour while Wetherell wrote or read, and take his departure when he was so moved without saying good night.
Having delivered this little lecture, the lady continued to stare at her with keen eyes. "You look very much like someone I used to love when I was younger. What is your name." "Cynthia Wetherell." "Cynthia Wetherell? Was your mother Cynthia Ware, from Coniston?" "Yes," said Cynthia, amazed. In an instant the strange lady had risen and had taken Cynthia in her embrace, new dress and all.
After that they went into the state library, where Wetherell was introduced to the librarian, Mr. Storrow. They did not go into the State House because, as everybody knows, Jethro Bass never went there. Mr.
He eulogized the system of rotten boroughs, since it favored the return to Parliament of young men of great abilities, who without the patronage of nobles would fail in popular elections; and he cited the cases of Pitt, Fox, Burke, Canning, Perceval, and others who represented Appleby, Old Sarum, Wendover, and other places almost without inhabitants. Sir Charles Wetherell, Mr.
They were not smiling at the storekeeper's return they looked very grave. Then somebody lifted him tenderly from the stage and said: "Don't you worry a mite, Cynthy. Jest tuckered, that's all." William Wetherell was "just tuckered." The great Dr. Coles, authority on pulmonary troubles, who came all the way from Boston, could give no better verdict than that. It was Jethro Bass who had induced Dr.
"I've knowed him ever sense we was boys," said Mr. Bixby; "you saw how intimate we was. When he wants a thing done, he says, 'Bije, you go out and get 'em. Never counts the cost. He was nice to you wahn't he, Will?" And then Mr. Bixby leaned over and whispered in Mr. Wetherell's ear; "He knows you understand he knows." "Knows what?" demanded Mr. Wetherell. Mr.
He has all the earmarks. Why, when he comes back to Coniston, them fellers'll hunt their holes like rabbits, mark my words." "You don't think " "Don't think what?" "I understand he holds the mortgages of some of them," said Wetherell. "Shouldn't blame him a great deal ef he did git tired and sell Chester out soon. This thing happens regular as leap year."
And then, gaining, indignation, "Take this to the man who sent you, and give it back to him." But Bijah merely whispered caressingly in his ear, "Nobody sent me, you understand, nobody sent me," and was gone. Wetherell stood for a moment, dazed by the man's audacity, and then, hurrying to the front stoop, the money still in his hand, he perceived Mr.
This was to some extent explained, a few days later, when Wetherell found himself gazing across the counter at the motherly figure of Mrs. Moses Hatch, who held the well-deserved honor of being the best cook in Coniston. "Hain't had so much stomach trouble lately, Will?" she remarked. "No," he answered, surprised; "Cynthia is learning to cook." "Guess she is," said Mrs. Moses.
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