In an instant the strange lady had risen and had taken Cynthia in her embrace, new dress and all.
“My dear,” she said, “I thought your face had a familiar look. It was your mother I knew and loved. I'm Miss Lucretia Penniman.”
Miss Lucretia Penniman! Could this be, indeed, the authoress of the “Hymn to Coniston,” of whom Brampton was so proud? The Miss Lucretia Penniman who sounded the first clarion note for the independence of American women, the friend of Bryant and Hawthorne and Longfellow? Cynthia had indeed heard of her. Did not all Brampton point to the house which had held the Social Library as to a shrine?
“Cynthia,” said Miss Lucretia, “I have a meeting now of a girls' charity to which I must go, but you will come to me at the offices of the Woman's Hour to-morrow morning at ten. I wish to talk to you about your mother and yourself.”
Cynthia promised, provided they did not leave for Coniston earlier, and in that event agreed to write. Whereupon Miss Lucretia kissed her again and hurried off to her meeting. On the way back to the Tremont House Cynthia related excitedly the whole circumstance to Jethro and Ephraim. Ephraim had heard of Miss Lucretia, of course. Who had not? But he did not read the Woman's Hour. Jethro was silent. Perhaps he was thinking of that fresh summer morning, so long ago, when a girl in a gig had overtaken him in the canon made by the Brampton road through the woods. The girl had worn a poke bonnet, and was returning a book to this same Miss Lucretia Penniman's Social Library. And the book was the “Life of Napoleon Bonaparte.”
“Uncle Jethro, shall we still be in Boston to-morrow morning?” Cynthia asked.
He roused himself. “Yes,” he said, “yes.” “When are you going home?”
He did not answer this simple question, but countered. “Hain't you enjoyin' yourself, Cynthy?”
“Of course I am,” she declared. But she thought it strange that he would not tell her when they would be in Coniston.
Ephraim did buy a new shirt, and also (in view of the postmastership in his packet) a new necktie, his old one being slightly frayed.