“Oh, no, I'm not, Cousin Eph,” she answered, trying to smile.
“Yes, you be,” he insisted, still scrutinizing her, vainly trying to account for the change. Tact, as we know, was not Ephraim's strong point. Now he shook his head. “You always was beyond me. Got a sort of air about you, and it grows on you, too. Wouldn't be surprised,” he declared, speaking now to the minister, “wouldn't be a mite surprised to see her in the White House, some day.”
“Now, Cousin Eph,” said Cynthia, coloring a little, “you mustn't talk nonsense. What have you done with your coat? You have no business to go without it with your rheumatism.”
“It hain't b'en so bad since Uncle Sam took me over again, Cynthy,” he answered, “with nothin' to do but sort letters in a nice hot room.” The room was hot, indeed. “But where did you come from?”
“I grew tired of being taught, Cousin Eph. I—I've always wanted to teach. Mr. Satterlee has been with me to see Mr. Graves, and they've given me Miss Goddard's place. I'm coming to Brampton to live, to-day.”
“Great Tecumseh!” exclaimed Ephraim again, overpowered by the yews. “I want to know! What does Jethro say to that?”
“He—he is willing,” she replied in a low voice.
“Well,” said Ephraim, “I always thought you'd come to it. It's in the blood, I guess—teachin'. Your mother had it too. I'm kind of sorry for Jethro, though, so I be. But I'm glad for myself, Cynthy. So you're comin' to Brampton to live with me!
“I was going to ask Miss Bruce to take me in,” said Cynthia.
“No you hain't, anything of the kind,” said Ephraim, indignantly. “I've got a little house up the street, and a room all ready for you.”