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Updated: May 19, 2025
Pulling a great cowhide wallet from his pocket, still holding the locket in his hand, to the amazement of the clerk he counted out twenty dollars and laid them down. "G-guess I'll take that one, g-guess I'll take that one," he said. Then he looked at Mr. Wetherell for the first time. "Hold!" cried the clerk, more alarmed than he cared to show, "that's not the price.
The locket had a gold chain with a clasp, and Cynthia wore it hidden beneath her gown-too intimate a possession to be shown. There was still another and very mysterious present, this being a huge box of roses, addressed to Miss Cynthia Wetherell, which was delivered on Christmas morning. If there had been a card, Susan Merrill would certainly have found it. There was no card.
He threw himself on the couch, and the night winds, coming in through the open window, stirred the curtains of the canopy bed with the light touch of a ghostly hand. Then dreams came, and through them ran the thread of his hope of seeing Mazie Wetherell in the morning. But even with such preparation, her beauty seemed to come upon him unawares when he saw her at breakfast.
"One hundred and fifty dollars er one hundred and fifty?" Wetherell nodded. Still the countryman did not look up. "F-folks told me to be careful," he repeated without a smile. He was looking at the lockets, and finally pointed a large finger at one of them the most expensive, by the way. "W-what d'ye get for that?" he asked. "Twenty dollars," the clerk promptly replied.
"When she married me," Wetherell continued steadily, "she told me that there was one whom she had never been able to drive from her heart. And one summer evening, how well I recall it! we were walking under the trees on the Mall and we met my old employer, Mr. Judson, the jeweller. He put me in mind of the young countryman who had come in to buy a locket, and I asked her if she knew you.
"G-got through?" said Jethro, without moving, "g-got through?" "Through?" echoed Mr. Worthington, "through what?" "T-through Sunday-school," said Jethro. Worthington dropped his match and stamped on it, and Wetherell began to wonder how much the man would stand. It suddenly came over the storekeeper that the predicament in which Mr.
Love comes like a flame to few women, but so it came to Cynthia Wetherell, and burned out for a while all reason. Only for a while. Generations which had practised self-restraint were strong in her generations accustomed, too, to thinking out, so far as in them lay, the logical consequences of their acts; generations ashamed of these very instants when nature has chosen to take command.
She would have liked to have added that William Wetherell would have been a great man if he had had health, but she found it difficult to give out confidences, especially when they were in the nature of surmises. "Well," said Janet, stoutly, "I think that is more like a story than ever.
He did not know that she had gone out, while they were waiting, and written a note to Jethro, explaining that her father was ill, and that they were going back to Coniston. After breakfast, when they went to the desk, the clerk stared at them in astonishment. "Going, Mr. Wetherell?" he exclaimed. "I find that I have to get back," stammered the storekeeper. "Will you tell me the amount of my bill?"
G-guess some of 'em hain't as valuable." William Wetherell was beginning to think that Jethro knew something also of such refinements of cruelty as were practised by Caligula. He drew forth his cowhide wallet and produced from it a folded piece of newspaper which must, Wetherell felt sure, contain the mortgage in question.
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