"W-who's to get in the hay?" said Jethro.
"Hay on the Fourth of July!" exclaimed Cynthia, "why, that's—sacrilege! You'd much better come and hear Mr. Sutton's speech—it will do you good."
Cynthia could see that Jethro was intensely amused, for his eyes had a way of snapping on such occasions when he was alone with her. She was puzzled and slightly offended, because, to tell the truth, Jethro had spoiled her.
"Very well, then," she said, "I'll go with the Painter-man."
Jethro came and stood over her, his expression the least bit wistful.
"Er—Cynthy," he said presently, "hain't fond of that Painter-man, be you?"
"Why, yes," said Cynthia, "aren't you?"
"He's fond of you," said Jethro, "sh-shouldn't be surprised if he was in love with you."
Cynthia looked up at him, the corners of her mouth twitching, and then she laughed. The Rev. Mr. Satterlee, writing his Sunday sermon in his study, heard her and laid down his pen to listen.
"Uncle Jethro," said Cynthia, "sometimes I forget that you're a great, wise man, and I think that you are just a silly old goose."