His voice had such a nice wholesome ring that it inspired you with faith in him.

Cousin Eunice took a great fancy to him. They talked over the visit of years ago. It seemed to her as if it had just been the beginning of things.

One sister was grown up and "keeping company," the other a nice handy girl. The next brother would be a great help--he cared nothing for books. Both of the Brent cousins were married, one living on the farm with his mother, the other having struck out for himself. And Miss Eliza Leverett was weakly. Like many women of that period, when all hope of marrying and having a home of her own was past, she sank down into a gentle nonent.i.ty and dreamed of Cousin Chilian. Not that she had expected to captivate him, but life with some one like that would set one on the highest pinnacle.

He thought Cousin Cynthia--they were always cousins, to the fourth generation--was the sweetest, daintiest, and most winsome thing he had ever seen--and so she was, for his acquaintance with girls had been limited. They looked over the old treasures in the house and thought it wonderful any one should ever go to India and return without being wrecked. They walked about the lovely garden, and he was amazed at her familiarity with flowers and plants he had never seen.

Then she took him over to the Uphams, for an old friend came in to play checkers with Cousin Chilian. Polly was bright and merry, but somehow Ben seemed rather captious. Anthony listened with surprise at the bright sayings they flung at one another.

The next day he and Cousin Chilian went over topics for examination. His reading had not been extensive but thorough. In mathematics he was excellent. But he found some time to chat with Cynthia, and they both walked down to the warehouse with Cousin Chilian.

What a sight it was! He had read of such things, but to see the hundreds of busy men, the great fleet of vessels, the docks piled with all kinds of wares, the boxes and bales lying round in endless confusion. And the great ocean, lost over beyond in the far-off sky.

When the two had gone up to Boston, Cynthia felt very lonely. She had been sipping the sweets of unspoken admiration. She saw it in the eyes, in the deference, as if he was almost afraid of her, in the sudden flush when she turned her eyes to him. It was a new kind of worship.

She went over to the Uphams. Polly had been having her sampler framed.

The acorn border was very pretty in its greens and browns. Then a stiff little tree grew up both sides, about like those that came in the Noah's Ark later on. And between these two trees was worked in cross-st.i.tch:

"Mary Upham is my name, America is my nation; Salem is my dwelling place, And Christ is my salvation."

"Isn't the frame nice?" she asked. "I made father two shirts and he gave me the frame and the gla.s.s. Peter Daly made it. And the frame is oiled and polished until the grain shows--well, almost like watered silk.

Gitty Sprague has a beautiful pelisse of gray watered silk. And now I have one thing for my house. I'm beginning to lay by."

"Your house!" Cynthia e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed in surprise.

"Why, yes--when I'm married. You have such lots of things, you'll never have to save up."

Cynthia was wondering what she could give away. Not anything that was her father's or her mother's.

"I'll paint you a picture. You do so much better needlework than I that I should be ashamed to offer you any."

"And the girls will give me some, I know. I'd fifty times rather have the picture. What a nice young fellow that cousin is! I'm glad his name isn't Leverett. There's such a host of them. But I don't like Anthony so well."

"That was father's name. It's quite a family name. It always sounds good to me."

"And is he going to Harvard?"

"Yes; even if he can't get in right away."

"That's nice, too. It's quite the style for young men to go to college.

Some of them put on a sight of airs, though. He doesn't look like that kind."

"He isn't," she returned warmly. "He is going to work his way through."

"Oh! Hasn't he any father?"

"Yes; but his father will not do anything for him. I think it is real grand of him."

Polly nodded, but she lost interest in the young man.

Bentley walked home with Cynthia. It was afternoon, so he did not really need to.

"I suppose that cousin isn't going to live with you?" he asked presently.

"Oh, no; he will have to live in Boston."

"And come up here for Sundays?"

"Why, I don't know. That would be nice. I think I am growing fond of company."

"Well, I can come over;" half jocosely.

"Oh, I meant other people;" innocently.

"Then you don't care for my coming?"

"Yes, I do. Oh, do you remember that winter I was half sick and how you used to come over and read Latin? And I used to say it to myself after you."

That delighted him. He didn't feel so cross about the young fellow, but he half hoped he wouldn't pa.s.s, and have to go back to New Hampshire for another year.

They sat on the stoop and chatted until the old stage stopped and Chilian alighted.

"Oh!" the young girl cried, "where did you leave Anthony?"

"With Cousin Giles. The examinations will begin to-morrow."

It was near supper-time and Ben rose to go. Sometimes they asked him to stay to supper, but to-night they did not.

Then an event happened that took Cynthia's entire interest for a while.

This was the return of Captain Corwin. He came up the walk one day--quite a grizzled old fellow it seemed, with the sailor's rolling gait--and looked at her so sharply that she had a mind to run away.

"Oh, Captain Anthony's little girl," he cried. "You have forgotten me.

And it ain't been so long either."

She thought a moment and turned from red to white. Then she stretched out both hands and cried, her eyes and voice full of tears:

"Oh, you couldn't bring him back!"

"No, little Missy. He'd shipped for the last time before I'd reached there and gone to a better haven. He was the best friend I ever had. But he knew it long afore, and that was why he wanted you safe with friends."

"I know now." She brushed the tears from her eyes.

"And I hope you've been happy."

"I waited and waited at first. Sometimes I wished I was a bird. Oh, wouldn't we have a lovely time if we could fly? And one time in the winter I was quite ill--it was so cold and I did get so tired of waiting. Then Cousin Chilian told me he had gone to mother and I knew how glad she would be to see him. I had some nice times. Cousin Chilian loved me very much. So did Cousin Eunice. I think Cousin Elizabeth would if she had lived longer, but she went away, too. Oh, I've done so many things--studied books, and taken journeys, and made friends, and painted pictures, flowers, and such. And I've tried to paint the sea, but I can't make it move and seem like a real sea."

"Oh, Missy, how smart you must be!"