Cynthia went down to see afterward, and the poor woman's grat.i.tude brought tears to her eyes.

"They will be a perfect G.o.d-send this winter," she said. "I've been frettin' as to what we should do. I've never begged yet. Well, the Lord is good."

Then there came another source of interest. Polly Upham was "keeping company." A nice, steady young man in the ship-chandlery business, with a little money saved up, whose folks lived at Portsmouth. He came regularly on Wednesday night and Sundays to tea. They went to church in the evening, and that certified it to the young people. Betty had left school and was trying her hand at housekeeping. Louis, the little fellow, was a big boy.

Alice Turner was engaged also, and certainly very much in love if she considered the young man a paragon. Cynthia compared them all with Cousin Chilian, and it wasn't a bit fair.

She met Mr. Saltonstall at a small party, where they played games and had forfeits.

It was odd, she thought, how the girls chose him in everything. She didn't choose him once. He spoke of it afterward.

"Why, I thought some of the others ought to have a chance," she explained with winning sweetness. "But if it had been dancing!" and she laughed, and that reconciled him.

Then Mrs. Lynde Saltonstall gave her house-warming. It was a simple dwelling and not very large, but it was pretty as a picture. And young people didn't expect to rival their fathers and mothers in the start.

They had dancing, and that was enough. They were all young people, and two of the fiddlers were there. They had a gay time and a nice supper.

"I think Ed is smitten with Cynthia Leverett," Laura remarked to her husband. "He seemed to feel annoyed that they had sent Miss Winn in the carriage for her. She's a lovely dancer."

"It wouldn't be a bad thing for Ed. She has lots of money that just turns itself over on interest. And her trustee has been buying up some choice Boston property for her. She's pretty and has charming manners and comes of a good family."

Then Mrs. Stevens asked her to come in to Boston for a few days. She was going to have a little dancing party.

"My dear, you'll dance yourself to death," said Cousin Eunice.

"Oh, no. It isn't as hard as cleaning house or washing, as some of the poor women do. And it is tiresome to practise on the spinet, hour after hour--counting time and all that. If I was a girl of twenty years ago I'm afraid I should be chasing up and down some old garret, spinning on the big wheel."

Cousin Eunice laughed, too. Cynthia always made commonplaces seem amusing, she accented them so with her bright face.

They were very glad to have her in Boston. Chilian took her in on Sat.u.r.day and staid with her until Monday morning. On Sunday Anthony Drayton was invited in to dinner. He had improved very much. The country air had been effaced. And he was a gentleman by instinct, and acquired cultivation readily.

"And a fine fellow!" said Cousin Giles, rubbing his hands. "He's decided to go in for law presently, and it will be a most excellent thing. I don't know but I'll have to adopt him, as you did Cynthia."

Anthony hovered about the young girl. She had been cultivating her voice the last year. It was a sweet parlor voice, adapted to the old-time songs. Mrs. Stevens had a book of them and she sang most cheerfully.

"Oh, I wish you were going to stay over another Sunday," he exclaimed wistfully. "But I shall come in on Tuesday evening. I don't dance, but Mrs. Stevens is so kind to me, I've met several of the first men in the city here."

"Oh, I am glad you are coming."

It was a very sincere joy and she could not keep it out of her face, did not try to. And it was such a sweet face that she raised to his. He had a sudden unreasonable wish that he was five years older and settled in business, but then--she was very young.

Mrs. Stevens said to her on Monday, after she had read a note over and glanced up at her rather furtively, "There's a friend of yours coming Tuesday night--a friend from Salem that I hope you will be glad to see."

"From Salem----"

"Mr. Saltonstall. He was in here a fortnight or so ago. His mother and I used to be great friends. I happened to ask him if he knew the Leveretts, and he told me about his brother's marriage, that you were one of the bridesmaids."

"Oh, yes. Laura Manning was one of the older girls at Madam Torrey's.

They had just gone in their new house and the wedding was splendid. And I liked Mr. Edward Saltonstall so much. He is a most beautiful dancer.

I'm so glad he is coming. You see I don't know many of the new dances, and I shouldn't so much mind making a break with him."

She looked up in her sweet, brave innocence as she uttered it.

"You are not in love with him, little lady, and he is very much smitten with you," Mrs. Stevens ruminated. "But you shall have the chance."

"I've always liked Ed," she continued. "He's a nice, frank, honest fellow, pretty gay at times, but not at all in the dissipated line, just full of fun and frolic. So I asked him down, and here he says he will come," waving her note. "I look out for men who dance. I do like to see young folks have a good time. The older people can play cards."

It seemed rather odd that at eight o'clock not a soul had come. At home they would be beginning the fun by this time. Then a sudden influx of girls, some she had met before--two or three young men--and then young Saltonstall, who had been counting the moments the last half hour.

"I am so glad to see you. It was such a surprise."

He could see it in her face, hear it in her voice. He really was afraid of saying something foolish--something that would be no harm if they were alone.

"I've known Mrs. Stevens a long while. And Mr. Giles Leverett. It's queer--well, not quite that either--that I've known you such a little while. I always thought of you as a child, though I've seen you drive your pony carriage."

"Mrs. Stevens is delightful."

Then there was another relay, quite a number of young gentlemen. The black fiddlers in the hall began to tune up.

There were two very handsome girls and beautifully gowned. All of them looked pretty in dancing attire. Then a quadrille was called. There were just eight couples.

Of course, Mr. Saltonstall took her. The rug was up and the floor had been polished. The dancing was elegant, harmonious.

"The next is the Spanish dance. You will like that. The windings about are like the song words to the music."

"But--I don't know it;" and she shrank back.

"Oh, you'll get into it. You are the kind that could pick up any step.

You make me think of a swallow as it darts round. If it made a mistake no one would know it."

"Oh, I'd rather not;" entreatingly.

"Don't spoil the set."

She rose up and let him lead her out. She had a way of yielding so quickly, when it was right and best, very flattering to a man in love and easily misread.

If dancing had been art instead of nature, something by rote instead of a segment of inner harmony, she could not have succeeded so well. He warded off the few blunders, and at the third change she had another well-bred partner. But she was glad to get back to him. The joy shone in her dangerous eyes.

There were some new dances coming in. One of the girls from New York and her escort waltzed up and down the room in a slow-gliding manner that was the poetry of motion. She was fascinated, enchanted, and she knew she could do it herself.

"We'll try it sometime," Saltonstall said.

Mr. Leverett came in, bringing Anthony Drayton with him. He knew he was late, but he didn't dance, and he had earned five dollars copying that evening. But he must see Cynthia.

"Oh, I thought you would not come!"

Then she had been giving a thought to him out of her happy time!

"I was detained. Are they all well, or didn't Cousin Chilian come down?"