Cynthia almost forgot her present troubles in her wrath at her brother's suggestion.
"Well, after all it may not be true. Because Mrs. Parker says so, doesn't prove it. Where did she hear it?"
"From some of her Albany relations, I suppose. The—the lady lives there. But, oh, Jack! Do you think there is any chance of its not being true?" cried Cynthia, catching at the least straw of hope.
"Why, of course! Father hasn't told us, and you can't believe all the gossip you hear," said Jack, loftily.
"Perhaps it isn't true, after all," exclaimed Cynthia, drying her eyes and smiling once more, "and I've been boo-hooing all for nothing! I sha'n't say a word about it to Edith, and don't you either, Jack. It isn't worth while to worry her, and Mrs. Parker is a terrible gossip."
They went home, and Cynthia gave her sister a gay account of her visit, carefully omitting all exciting items, and then she helped Edith put away some of the things, and finally was free to go on the river in the afternoon. Jack, boylike, had forgotten all about Mrs. Parker's news. He did not believe it, and therefore it was not worth thinking of. But Cynthia's mind was not so easily diverted. She did not believe it, either, but then it might be true, and if it were, what was to be done? It seemed as if a worse calamity could not happen.
Jack, her usual companion on the river, was busy with some carpentry. He was making a "brooder" like one he had bought, to serve as a home for the little chicks when they should be hatched. He used the "barn chamber" for a workshop, and the sound of his saw and his hammer could be heard through the open window.
Cynthia was deeply interested in poultry-raising, but she wished it did not consume so much of her brother's time and attention.
Edith was going to the village to an afternoon tea at the Morgans'. Gertrude Morgan was her most intimate friend, and all the nicest girls and boys would be there to talk over a tennis tournament. Cynthia was rather sorry that she had not been asked. She said to herself that she would be of more value in the discussion than Edith, for she really played tennis, while Edith merely stood about looking graceful and pretty. However, she had not been invited, and, after all, the river was more fun than any afternoon tea.
One of the men put the canoe in the water for her, and, with a huge stone to act as ballast, she paddled up stream, browsing along the banks looking for wild flowers, or steering her way through the rocks, of which the river was very full just at this point.