Jethro looked after them.
“Er—the women folks seem to have some sense,” he said. Then he turned to Cynthia. “B-be'n havin' some fun with Heth, Cynthy?” he inquired.
“I haven't any respect for Mr. Sutton,” said Cynthia, indignantly; “it serves him right for presuming to think that he could give a post-office to any one.”
Jethro made no remark concerning this presumption on the part of the congressman of the district. Cynthia's indignation against Mr. Sutton was very real, and it was some time before she could compose herself sufficiently to tell Jethro what had happened. His enjoyment as he listened may be imagined but presently he forgot this, and became aware that something really troubled her.
“Uncle Jethro,” she asked suddenly, “why do they treat me as they do?”
He did not answer at once. This was because of a pain around his heart—had she known it. He had felt that pain before.
“H-how do they treat you, Cynthy?”
She hesitated. She had not yet learned to use the word patronize in the social sense, and she was at a loss to describe the attitude of Mrs. Duncan and her daughter, though her instinct had registered it. She was at a loss to account for Mr. Worthington's attitude, too. Mr. Sutton's she bitterly resented.
“Are they your enemies?” she demanded.
Jethro was in real distress.