"Cynthy," he called out abruptly, "h-how'd you like to go to Washington?"
"Washington!" exclaimed Cynthia. "When?"
"N-now—to-morrow." Then he added uneasily, "C-can't you get ready?"
Cynthia laughed.
"Why, I'll go to-night, Uncle Jethro," she answered.
"Well," he said admiringly, "you hain't one of them clutterin' females. We can get some finery for you in New York, Cynthy. D-don't want any of them town ladies to put you to shame. Er—not that they would," he added hastily—"not that they would."
Cynthia climbed up beside him on the haystack.
"Uncle Jethro," she said solemnly, "when you make a senator or a judge, I don't interfere, do I?"
He looked at her uneasily, for there were moments when he could not for the life of him make out her drift.
"N-no," he assented, "of course not, Cynthy."