THE RESURRECTION 
 
 OF MISS CYNTHIA 
 
 Of FLORENCE- M-KINGSLEY
 
 THE 
 MAYFAIR 
 
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 HOLLYWOOD, CALIF. 
 
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 and shall be punished accordingly.
 
 THE RESURRECTION 
 OF MISS CYNTHIA
 
 A T o!' Avhispered Miss 
 Cynthia, with a frightened little 
 shiver ; 'wof w# summer !' ' ;
 
 THE RESURRECTION 
 OF MISS CYNTHIA 
 
 BY 
 FLORENCE MORSE KINGSLEY 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE TRANSFIGURATION OF MISS PHILURA 
 THE SINGULAR MISS SMITH. ETC. 
 
 WITH FRONTISPIECE 
 BY MARTIN JUSTICE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY 
 
 MOUSE KlNGSLCY 
 
 All Bights Reserved 
 Published, September, 1905
 
 To My Friend 
 EDWIN MARKHAM 
 
 To whose inspirational utterances 
 
 Concerning the life that now is, the author 
 
 owes certain cJieerful and enlivening 
 
 ideas which appear in humbler 
 
 guise in this book 
 
 2225082
 
 Miss CYNTHIA DAY had lain broadly awake on her 
 smooth, lavender-scented pillow since the first gray 
 twilight of dawn, her thoughts busying themselves 
 fretfully with the events of the previous day. 
 
 The events in question appeared conspicuously im- 
 portant to Miss Cynthia. For one thing, she had vis- 
 ited her dressmaker and found the fit and finish of her 
 new silk gown entirely unsatisfactory. This was a 
 regular annual occurrence, and therefore quite to be 
 expected, but Miss Cynthia had not found it the less 
 irritating on that account. She had entered upon the 
 customary discussion of remedial measures with Mal- 
 vina Bennett with a suppressed exasperation which 
 bordered upon vulgar ill humour. The stupidity and 
 incompetence of Miss Bennett appeared almost crim- 
 inal when considered in conjunction with the shining 
 breadths of silk entrusted to her hands. 
 
 " Malvina is not to be trusted," Miss Cynthia told 
 herself, with a firm tightening of her small mouth. 
 
 Dismissing for the moment the professional pecca-
 
 2 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 dilloes of the dressmaker, Miss Cynthia entered upon 
 an exhaustive mental inspection of her wardrobe, in 
 the course of which she decided to purchase " a really 
 good tailor-made dress " in one of the big department 
 stores of Boston. It was to be feared that this ex- 
 penditure (necessitated by Malvina Bennett's inex- 
 cusable carelessness) might carry her perilously near 
 the rigid bounds of her self-imposed allowance. Miss 
 Cynthia knew, of course, that the income from the 
 accumulated Breyfogle and Day properties was more 
 than amply sufficient for her needs. She was also 
 complacently aware that only quite common and vul- 
 gar persons (notably devoid of ancestors) expended 
 all they could conveniently lay hands upon ; conversely, 
 the less of an ample income one employed the more 
 dignified and well-bred the individual. 
 
 Such elective and therefore patrician economies had 
 invariably distinguished the members of the Breyfogle 
 family. Miss Cynthia had early acquired the con- 
 viction that she was not an exception to the rule. 
 She reflected that it was hardly necessary to impress 
 the advantage of frugality upon Abby Whiton. 
 Abby had lived in the family as maid of all work for
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 3 
 
 more than thirty years and was thoroughly conver- 
 sant with the Breyfogle methods of administering a 
 kitchen. Nevertheless, Miss Cynthia decided to look 
 a little more carefully after the soap and drippings. 
 There were certain other snug retrenchments which 
 she contemplated with a satisfaction which for the 
 moment cleared the anxious puckers from her small, 
 colourless face. 
 
 The tailor-made gown should of course be black. 
 Miss Cynthia had worn black continuously since the 
 days of her young girlhood, when the successive 
 funerals of a large and elderly family connection had 
 occurred with monotonous frequency. "I despise 
 black clothes!" she had once declared rebelliously, 
 thereby shocking the surviving elderly relatives into 
 an unending series of dreary homilies which she had 
 found even more depressing than the hated black 
 dresses. 
 
 Miss Cynthia scarcely ever thought of her shadowy 
 young self nowadays ; when she did it was with a feel- 
 ing of quiet satisfaction in the changes which the 
 passing years had wrought. The last funeral had 
 occurred more than five years since ; there was, there-
 
 & The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 fore, no mortuary reason (as Malvina Bennett had 
 frequently urged) to prevent Miss Cynthia from 
 wearing colours. But she still chose the handsome 
 black gowns which intimated not too obtrusively her 
 lone condition in the world, wearing them with a 
 certain pride in her loyalty to the unyielding cus- 
 toms and opinions of her dead mother. 
 
 Mrs. Day had been the last to join the silent com- 
 pany in the family burial-plot, and the gloom of her 
 austere, hard-featured personality seemed still to 
 linger like an actual presence about the stiffly fur- 
 nished rooms of the old Breyfogle house. Miss 
 Cynthia was acutely aware of it, and she had con- 
 tinued to yield to it an unquestioning obedience down 
 to the smallest details of her small round of daily 
 existence. She was anxiously careful of her clothes, 
 of her expenditures, of her weak health, of her re- 
 ligious beliefs, and she had become increasingly solic- 
 itous in her efforts to preserve the grim, immaculate 
 order of furniture and fittings in which the late Mrs. 
 Day had taken what might be termed her one pleas- 
 ure in life if words so warm and human may be used 
 to describe an emotion so frozen, so colourless.
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 3 
 
 The small, uneven trickle of Miss Cynthia's thoughts 
 mounted at length to the level of the attic, where at 
 the bottom of a certain hair trunk, sacred to the 
 memory of her Grandfather Breyfogle, reposed sev- 
 eral neatly labelled boxes of hereditary dress-trim- 
 mings. She wondered with feverish intensity whether 
 a set of jet medallions (carefully wrapped in tissue 
 paper and bestowed in the lower left-hand corner of 
 the green box) would be too "dressy" a garniture 
 for the front of her new silk waist. The jets would 
 partially conceal, she reflected, the ravages of Mal- 
 vina Bennett's unthinking needle. On the other 
 hand, the medallions had once belonged to her Grand- 
 mother Breyfogle; her mother, she remembered, had 
 always considered them too handsome and too ex- 
 pensive to use. Miss Cynthia finally rejected the 
 idea of the medallions in favour of some well-mended 
 black lace, at present doing duty on a best dress about 
 to be degraded to second wear. 
 
 The vision of the hair trunk had subtly suggested 
 the annual spring house-cleaning. It was already 
 April, and Miss Cynthia had not cleaned house. She 
 fidgeted uneasily upon her pillow as she called to
 
 6 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 mind her mother's spare, active figure in grim pur- 
 suit of imaginary dust and cobwebs amid the rigours 
 of March weather. To clean house at a season of the 
 year involving positive personal suffering had ap- 
 pealed to the martyr spirit which dominated Mrs. 
 Day's New England conscience. In view of the 
 strenuous past Miss Cynthia experienced a real and 
 poignant remorse at the thought of her own sinful 
 laxness. 
 
 A certain dull, teasing, persistent little pain which 
 had haunted her of late made itself felt more sharply 
 than usual, as if offering itself in guise of a more or 
 less valid excuse. Miss Cynthia turned on her pil- 
 low with a sigh, and the movement brought into the 
 range of her short-sighted blue eyes a flat, thin book 
 with marbled board covers which lay upon the table 
 in close proximity to her Bible. It was, in fact, the 
 official record of minutes of the Ladies' Aid and 
 Missionary Society of the Innisfield Presbyterian 
 church, of which Miss Cynthia was a member in good 
 and regular standing. 
 
 At a meeting of the society held the previous after- 
 noon Miss Day had been unanimously elected secre-
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 7 
 
 tary, in place of Mrs. John Puffer, resigned. The 
 newly-elected officer had become almost instantly 
 aware that Mrs. Puffer's book of records was in a 
 disgracefully untidy condition. It was indeed act- 
 ually moist and sticky. Miss Cynthia had grave 
 reason to suspect that the Puffer twins had recently 
 consumed bread and jam in its immediate proximity. 
 To be sure, the biennial new baby had but lately 
 arrived in the Puffer household, a fact which had 
 been duly advanced by a sympathetic matron to 
 account for the resignation before noted, and other 
 phenomena, including bread and jam in unlooked- 
 for localities. 
 
 Miss Cynthia's maiden imagination hovered in 
 wordless indignation about the Puffer menage for a 
 brief space, then reverted to her own more engrossing 
 affairs. She consulted her Grandmother Brey- 
 fogle's watch which ticked feebly in its thin, pale 
 case beneath her pillow. "I think," she said aloud, 
 "that I shall go to town to-day." 
 
 She continued to plan the details of a somewhat 
 tedious shopping expedition as she completed her 
 toilet, selecting each garment with careful reference
 
 8 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 to the capricious April morning which gloomed and 
 sparkled outside the closed sash of her window. A 
 robin in full tide of jubilant mating song swung in 
 the budding branches of the old apple-tree in the 
 garden below. Violets were unfolding their young 
 leaves from the cold, wet earth. An adventurous 
 daffodil flaunted its yellow skirts in the brisk wind. 
 Miss Cynthia's faded blue eyes were riveted upon the 
 open page of her Bible. "A broadcloth is far 
 handsomer than a serge," she was thinking ; " but it 
 doesn't wear nearly as well." 
 
 "Let everything that hath breath praise the 
 Lord!" she read, and wondered if fringes were still 
 worn, and if they were less expensive than applique. 
 She sank to her knees and repeated certain familiar 
 prayers in a busy whisper. When she arose she had 
 decided to purchase a serge with stitched taffeta 
 trimmings. 
 
 This and other matters were presently noted in due 
 order upon a neat tablet of memoranda. As Miss 
 Cynthia's pencil primly dotted the last period the 
 teasing, familiar pain again clamoured sharply for 
 recognition beneath the stiff trimmings of her rigid
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 9 
 
 little bodice. She hesitated for a fraction of a min- 
 ute then added a line to her list. " If in neighbour- 
 hood of Plymouth Street, consult the doctor." 
 
 "I suppose it will be a foolish waste of money," 
 she thought, as she stepped noiselessly down the 
 thickly-carpeted stair. This prudent reflection con- 
 cerned itself directly with the projected call at the 
 doctor's office. Miss Cynthia was thoroughly ac- 
 customed to slight, dull pains in various parts of her 
 body, and these with the sense of lassitude which 
 frequently overtook her of late she was in the habit 
 of referring to the " delicate health " which all lady- 
 like persons, particularly of the Breyfogle con- 
 nection, cherished as an integral element of their 
 genteel breeding. Miss Cynthia had already experi- 
 enced a large number of interesting maladies, and 
 these, with the differing complaints of various friends 
 and relatives, had furnished her with much food for 
 thought, as well as for conversation of a gentle and 
 desultory character. 
 
 Miss Cynthia invariably referred to the "Brey- 
 fogle constitution" with a sort of reverence, as to 
 something rare and precious which had been be-
 
 10 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 queathed to her by a singularly fortunate and dis- 
 tinguished ancestry. There was also the intricate 
 " Day constitution " to be taken into account. 
 Miss Cynthia vaguely recollected that her great- 
 aunt Serena Day had frequently complained of a 
 sensation similar to the one with which she herself 
 was growing unhappily familiar. Involuntarily her 
 fragile little hand sought the unyielding perpen- 
 dicular of her corset-steel with the gesture of the 
 long-departed Aunt Serena. " It is just here," 
 whispered Miss Cynthia to herself; "and it goes 
 through me like a red-hot knitting needle." This had 
 been Aunt Serena Day's picturesquely dreadful de- 
 scriptive phrase. Miss Cynthia adopted it with pecu- 
 liar satisfaction. " Just like a red-hot knitting 
 needle ! " she repeated, as she stepped from the last 
 stair. 
 
 There was a lonesome, penetrating smell of well- 
 rubbed, heavily-upholstered old furniture and car- 
 pets, religiously preserved from the direct rays of 
 the sun, in the lower regions of the house, which might 
 have suggested hastily opened doors and windows to 
 a less conservative person. Miss Cynthia was hardly
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 11 
 
 aware of it; her delicate little pointed nose (the 
 Breyfogle nose) recognised merely the familiar 
 hereditary atmosphere, as thoroughly characteristic, 
 and quite as much a matter of course as the orthodox 
 family opinions on everlasting punishment and the 
 state of the saved after death. 
 
 She paused on the threshold of the parlour, wonder- 
 ing weakly whether it would do to leave the carpets 
 down for another season. "No one ever comes in 
 here to sit down, except when the minister calls," she 
 told herself. The stern, wooden countenance of 
 Grandfather Breyfogle, in gown and bands, and the 
 prim, simpering glance of Grandmother Breyfogle 
 (wearing the jet medallions) seemed to focus a 
 strong family disapproval upon her shrinking little 
 figure, as she raised her eyes timidly to their tar- 
 nished gilt frames, swathed funereally in yellowing 
 tarlatan. 
 
 "Of course," she murmured apologetically, "I 
 shall try to do my duty." 
 
 This stern, but depressing, resolution remained with 
 Miss Cynthia during the entire day. One's duty, as 
 she conceived it, being invariably at odds with one's
 
 12 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 inclination, she purchased a frankly ugly gown and 
 an unfashionable hat, lunched dyspeptically on 
 lemon pie and weak tea, and finally found herself 
 waiting her turn for an interview with the silent, 
 melancholy assemblage of persons usually to be 
 found in a doctor's reception room. 
 
 The doctor was a big, bluff, red-faced man, with a 
 certain defiant cheerfulness of manner. He prided 
 himself on the fact that he never prevaricated facts 
 pertaining to life and death for the benefit of his 
 patients' supposed sensibilities. He regarded the 
 human body as a vastly complicated and interesting 
 machine, meriting, but seldom receiving, the most 
 careful and systematic attention of its owner. He 
 was frequently incensed with the silly women who 
 came to him to be rid of their self-induced com- 
 plaints, and he made little effort to conceal his 
 feelings. 
 
 He stared keenly at Miss Cynthia when she had 
 seated herself in his presence with a timidly ingra- 
 tiating air. "Yes," he said shortly after she had 
 spoken with becoming dignity of the exceeding deli- 
 cacy of the Breyfogle constitution and of the intri-
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 13 
 
 cate and uncommon maladies incident to the Day 
 constitution. " I remember both you and your 
 folks very well indeed. Heard your Grandfather 
 Breyfogle preach on hell when I was a boy." He 
 made a wry face at this, as if unexpectedly com- 
 pelled to swallow a dose of his own medicine. 
 " Haven't been to church since." After a thoughtful 
 pause he added abruptly, " Hope you haven't in- 
 herited his insides, madame." 
 
 Miss Cynthia compressed her small mouth. " I am 
 said to be very like my Grandfather Breyfogle," she 
 said primly. 
 
 The doctor busied himself with listening intently at 
 the back and front of Miss Day's attenuated little 
 figure. "Humph!" he ejaculated. "How old are 
 you?" 
 
 Miss Cynthia hesitated for the fraction of a sec- 
 ond. " I am thirty-three," she said in a low voice. 
 
 "I should have said ten years older," commented 
 the doctor, with professional rudeness. "Well, it 
 doesn't matter." 
 
 Miss Cynthia stared at him with vague dismay. 
 "I thought perhaps I needed a a tonic," she said
 
 14 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 at last. " Something bitter, or I have taken six 
 bottles of Scoop's Vegetable Herb Compound since 
 last fall," she concluded somewhat proudly. " It was 
 recommended to me." 
 
 The doctor shook his head compassionately. 
 
 " You should have attended to this before," he said 
 slowly. He squared his broad shoulders ; then broke 
 into a short, impatient laugh. " About a hundred 
 years before," he added, under his breath. 
 
 " What what do you call my complaint ? " in- 
 quired Miss Cynthia. "Do you consider it 
 serious?" 
 
 " Do you want me to tell you the truth? " 
 
 " That is why I came to you," she said. She sat 
 quite erect in the straight-backed chair, her little 
 feet scarce touching the floor, her short-sighted blue 
 eyes fixed on the doctor's face. " I shall be obliged 
 to you," she added with careful dignity, "if you 
 will acquaint me with my exact condition. It is, I 
 think, more important to me than to anyone. 
 There is no one else to whom it matters." 
 
 Miss Cynthia's erect little figure did not waver dur- 
 ing the somewhat halting explanation which made her
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 15 
 
 grim future clear to her. Her hands, folded primly 
 in her lap, did not tremble. "I shall live only 
 one year," she said slowly. " That is what I un- 
 derstand one year. Am I right?" 
 
 The doctor's big face had grown pale, almost 
 ashamed. "I I am sorry," he stammered, with 
 a curious embarrassment. "Perhaps I should not 
 have told you so er plainly. But 
 
 Miss Cynthia arose with a certain definiteness of 
 manner. " I am glad I know," she said simply. " I 
 thank you for telling me. It was right that I 
 should know."
 
 XI 
 
 THE late afternoon sunshine flickered coldly across 
 the grim headstones which marked the last resting 
 place of Samuel Hastings Day and Susan Maria 
 Breyfogle, his wife. To Miss Cynthia, stumbling 
 weakly through the sodden grass, they appeared in 
 stony guise of her parents, waiting stiffly and with 
 inexorable patience for her to join them. 
 
 She remembered dully that they had always waited 
 for her thus. After church of a summer's evening 
 when other girls were loitering happily homeward, 
 arm in arm with the red-cheeked village beaux, she 
 had walked primly between her father and mother, 
 listening to the endless antiphonal discourses with 
 which they strove to seal her young ears against 
 the allurements of the world. Thus early had she 
 been led to differentiate between the inordinate de- 
 sires of the carnal or fleshly nature and the unyield- 
 ing demands of Deity, which might readily be recog- 
 nised in that they were invariably distasteful. 
 
 The conscientious Mrs. Day had earnestly striven 
 
 16
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 17! 
 
 to bring up her one child in what she was pleased to 
 term " the nurture and admonition of the Lord," 
 the worthy woman's interpretation of this Script- 
 ural phrase being at once simple and ingenuous. 
 The resulting discipline consisted mainly in ascer- 
 taining the natural desires of the girl's heart for 
 the purpose of thwarting them. 
 
 Once a courageous youth had ventured to walk 
 home with Cynthia Day from school, leaving her 
 at the gate with a lingering hand-clasp, which Mrs. 
 Day at the window above witnessed with tightened 
 lips. The girl had gone into the house, her face 
 bright with youthful blushes, to endure the cold dis- 
 pleasure of her mother's eyes. " I do not approve 
 of boys," Mrs. Day had announced, with a wither- 
 ing accent of finality. "I cannot allow you to 
 have anything to do with boys" 
 
 But the boy had continued to defy the disapproval 
 of the matron. Miss Cynthia drew her breath 
 sharply as she thought of him now. It was in such 
 young April weather as this that she had said good- 
 bye to him for the last time. Perhaps he had not 
 really cared. Perhaps he had forgotten. She had
 
 18 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 never known. It was, after all, only the pale 
 shadow of a love affair; but she remembered it with 
 singular vividness as she stood looking down at 
 the narrow, sunken space between the graves. This 
 was her place, reserved for her. And she was com- 
 ing to it soon. 
 
 She sank weakly down on the iron bench, set for 
 the cold comfort of mourners, mechanically lifting 
 her black skirt from contact with the ground. 
 "My stone will stand just there," she said aloud, 
 pointing with her tremulous little finger. "It will 
 be white and new. It will say, ' Cynthia Breyf ogle 
 Day, aged thirty-four. Only daughter of Samuel 
 Hastings Day and Susan Maria Breyf ogle, his wife. 
 Died April '" 
 
 She broke off with a short, sharp cry of utter re- 
 bellion. "I can't die! Oh, God! I ccm't die!" 
 
 A bluebird perched on the fence near by burst into 
 a low gurgle of happiness, the blossoming maples 
 tossed their scarlet fringes against the darkening 
 sky. Miss Cynthia had slipped from the iron bench 
 and lay in a huddled heap upon the wet earth, where 
 the new grass was pricking greenly through the
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 19 
 
 year's dead growth. She was sobbing wildly, like a 
 hurt child. " I've always tried to do just what you 
 wanted me to," she whispered, " and now and now 
 it's almost over ! " 
 
 She realised as she lay there prone against the 
 unanswering stone something of the pitiful futili- 
 ity of her life, something of its starved littleness. 
 She wondered dully why she had lived at all. Why, 
 having lived uselessly she must die unsatisfied. 
 Her broken thoughts struggled weakly to rise to 
 the barren heaven of the apocalyptic vision, inhab- 
 ited largely (she supposed) by the blameless Brey- 
 fogle and Day family connection. She strove to 
 picture herself robed in white and wearing large, in- 
 convenient wings, eternally occupied in playing a 
 small, shining harp. 
 
 " I don't want to die ! " she whimpered childishly. 
 " I don't want to die ! " 
 
 She decided at length that the inscription on the 
 tombstone should read, " Cynthia Breyfogle Day, 
 beloved daughter of Samuel Hastings Day and 
 Susan Maria Breyfogle, his wife." 
 
 " I should like," she murmured, " to have people
 
 20 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 think that somebody loved me, once." She lay 
 quite still after this, wrapped in a dim dream of the 
 long, peaceful days when the stone would be telling 
 its brief story, and she would be sleeping be- 
 neath it. 
 
 A drop of warm rain, shed like a tear from a great 
 gray hurrying cloud, fell gently against her wan 
 cheek. " The beloved daughter," whispered Miss 
 Cynthia, smiling piteously to herself. " They will 
 think, perhaps, that I loved somebody once." 
 
 The prattle of shrill, childish voices close at hand 
 mingled confusedly with her dream. It seemed to 
 her that she was once more a child, hungrily watch- 
 ing other children at play across the hedge. Her 
 mother's voice was calling insistently, " Come, 
 daughter! You must come in now; it is time to go 
 to bed." 
 
 " Yes, mother," she answered drowsily, " I'm 
 coming ! " 
 
 She rose stiffly to her feet, dimly conscious that 
 the rain was falling steadily with a soft patter on 
 the gaunt stones and leafless shrubbery. A pink 
 and yellow sunset shot long, dazzling beams
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 21 
 
 through the warm mist. The friendly bluebird, 
 perched on the topmost twig of a tall evergreen, re- 
 peated his rapturous exclamation again and again. 
 A redbreasted robin darted through the chill, wet 
 air with loud, cheerful calls to his flying mate. 
 Miss Cynthia felt strangely young and light of 
 heart as she walked slowly among the graves. 
 "Why, it it's beautiful!" she said in a sur- 
 prised little voice. 
 
 She almost stumbled over two small figures cuddled 
 snugly under the shelter of an overhanging bush. She 
 stopped and regarded them attentively. They stared 
 back at her from innocent, wide eyes. " It's raining," 
 said Miss Cynthia, with a vague smile. " You will be 
 quite wet if you stop here." 
 
 " We don't care," piped a little voice, " we like to be 
 out in the rain. 'Sides, there's goin' to be a rainbow. 
 We like rainbows." 
 
 " But why did you come here?" asked Miss Cynthia, 
 slowly recognising the Puffer twins. They wore no 
 hats, and their red hair stood out in a sort of aureole 
 about their round, freckled faces. 
 
 " Because it's a hill," answered the child proirptly.
 
 22 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " We always come up here to see rainbows. What did 
 you come for?" 
 
 Miss Cynthia lifted her wan face to the shining sky. 
 
 "I came to see a rainbow," she answered. "Yes, 
 that is why I came to see a rainbow." 
 
 "You're getting pretty wet," observed one of the 
 little girls, after a wondering silence. "Why do 
 you stay here and get wet? " 
 
 Miss Cynthia laughed weakly. "I never got wet 
 before in my life," she said. " I think I like it." 
 
 The child stared hard at the little draggled figure. 
 "I guess we'll go now," she said at last. "P'raps 
 you'd better come too. Do you want to take hold 
 of han's?" 
 
 " Yes," said Miss Cynthia eagerly, " I'd like to take 
 hold of hands." 
 
 " We most always run when we take hold of han's," 
 piped up the other child, with a twittering laugh. 
 " It's lots of fun if you don't fall down an' skin your 
 knee. I guess you can't run very fast, though." 
 
 The soft, warm hands of the two children seemed to 
 send thrills of a strange, new life into Miss Cynthia's 
 chilled body. She found herself presently at the foot
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 23 
 
 of the little slope, panting and breathless. It occurred 
 to her that she had just passed through the most ex- 
 citing experience of her life. " I never ran down hill 
 before," she gasped. 
 
 "Why didn't you?" 
 
 " Because my mother was afraid I'd tear my dress," 
 replied Miss Cynthia, promptly and truthfully. 
 
 " I guess you did tear it," said the child doubtfully. 
 " I heard something rip behind. Will anybody scold 
 you?" 
 
 " No," said Miss Cynthia firmly. " I shan't even 
 scold myself. It won't make any difference," she 
 added in a low voice. " I'm glad I tore it." 
 
 She was, in fact, aware of a keen and peculiar satis- 
 faction which held her warmly fast like the hands of 
 the Puffer twins. She yielded to it without question. 
 " It is only for a year," she told herself. She looked 
 down into the upturned faces of the twins with a faint 
 smile. "It's nice out of doors to-day, isn't it?" 
 
 " It's always nice outdoors," said one of the children 
 seriously; "but it's nicer when it's pleasant. We're 
 going after wild flowers to-morrow." 
 
 " I wish " began Miss Cynthia. Then she
 
 24 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 stopped short; she remembered the belated house 
 cleaning. 
 
 " We're goin' to bring apples an' bread an' butter, 
 an' eat 'em in the woods," continued the little girl, 
 sucking in her moist, red lips with anticipatory relish. 
 " It's lots of fun to have picnics. We have 'em 'most 
 every day in summer. Do you like picnics ? " 
 
 " I never went to a picnic but once," said Miss Cyn- 
 thia soberly, " and that was a long time ago." She 
 hesitated, while a faint flush tinged her pale cheeks. 
 " I I've got some big, red apples at my house," she 
 said slowly, " and and some red-raspberry jam." 
 
 The children stared at her in wondering silence. 
 "We like jam," sighed one. "'N every bit of 
 mother's jam is et up." 
 
 "If I could go after wild flowers with you, and 
 
 and Would you let me go with you? " Miss 
 
 Cynthia's voice trembled with eagerness. 
 
 "Would you bring lots of jam on bread an' two 
 red apples apiece ? " 
 
 "Yes, I would." 
 
 "An' a basket to dig roots? We're makin* a gar- 
 den. Have you got a garden ? "
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 25 
 
 " I've got some rosebushes and peonies in my yard," 
 said Miss Cynthia doubtfully, " and I guess some 
 daffodils." 
 
 The twins giggled and shot guilty glances at one 
 another. "We didn't know you liked little girls," 
 said one presently. " Our mother said you didn't ; 
 she said we mustn't go in your yard. But we did. 
 We picked two daffodils 'ithout askin'. Our mother 
 said you wouldn't give a single one of your flowers 
 away." 
 
 Miss Cynthia's lips trembled. " I do like little girls," 
 she said, in a small, weak voice. " I never knew very 
 many. I always had to stay in my own yard. 
 
 But " Her head was lifted with a resolute 
 
 air " I'm not going to stay there any more." 
 
 The children looked interested. " Why not?" they 
 demanded. 
 
 " Because I'm tired of it," said Miss Cynthia defin- 
 itely. " You can have all my daffodils, if you want 
 them." 
 
 "All right," said the Puffer twins, with cheerful 
 unanimity. " We'll come an' dig 'em up to-mor- 
 row."
 
 26 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " I thought you were going to have a picnic ? " 
 
 " We are." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 "In the mornin', maybe. Are you comin'?" 
 
 "If you'll let me," Miss Cynthia said joyfully. 
 She suddenly decided that she would not clean house 
 any more. "I don't want to clean house," she said 
 aloud. 
 
 "We think it's fun," observed the twin who spoke 
 oftenest. 
 
 "Fun?" echoed Miss Cynthia weakly. "Fun to 
 clean house?" 
 
 " Uh-huh, heaps of fun ! We like to rummage in old 
 trunks an' boxes, an' pull things about." 
 
 Miss Cynthia remembered the plethoric boxes in her 
 attic. " I've got a good many things," she said so- 
 berly. " But I never thought it was fun to pull them 
 about. I I never pulled them about." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I don't know," said Miss Cynthia doubtfully. 
 " Perhaps I was afraid to." 
 
 " We aren't afraid," said the talkative twin calmly. 
 "We've got to go in now. I guess supper's ready,
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 27 
 
 an' we're hungry. We'll come to your house to-mor* 
 row an' dig those daffodils." 
 
 " Don't forget," said Miss Cynthia. 
 
 She felt suddenly old and very, very tired when the 
 children had dropped her hands and dashed with a 
 cheerful whoop into the rather untidy Puffer door- 
 yard. 
 
 Her wet skirts dragged heavily about her tired 
 ankles and her head ached. " I suppose," she 
 thought drearily, " that I have taken cold. But 
 it won't make any difference." 
 
 There was real comfort in the idea. She walked 
 more briskly as she approached her own gate. "I 
 don't care if I am wet," she told herself. " I shall 
 get wet whenever I choose. I might as well." 
 
 The stooped figure of a woman clad in rusty black 
 and bearing a large flat parcel was fumbling with 
 the latch. She looked up with a little apprehensive 
 cough at Miss Cynthia's approach. "I'm reel glad 
 you're home," she said eagerly. "I jest brought 
 your dress over to try on." 
 
 "How do you do, Malvina?" said Miss Cynthia, 
 opening the gate. " Come in, won't you? "
 
 28 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " I've tried reel hard to fix that dress waist jest as 
 you wanted it," quavered Miss Bennett, with an anx- 
 ious smile. " An' I'm most sure the skirt '11 hang reel 
 pretty now 'at the gethers is changed. I hope it will, 
 anyhow. My ! I ain't hardly slep' nights, I've been 
 so worried 'bout it." 
 
 Miss Cynthia regarded her strangely. "It doesn't 
 make any difference about the dress," she said slowly. 
 She was thinking confusedly that Malvina Bennett 
 looked old and worn. She was painfully thin, too, 
 and her breath came in little gasps. " Have you had 
 supper?" she asked suddenly. 
 
 " Why, no, I ain't not yet," Miss Bennett told her, 
 with a startled look. " As I says to mother, I want 
 to fin' out if the waist is a good snug fit before I 
 stitch up them under-arm seams agin I'm bound I'll 
 git that wrinkle out ef it kills me! You know you 
 said you'd got to have the dress before Sunday. 
 An' I thought mebbe ef I set up kind of late, I 
 c'd " 
 
 " Come in," said Miss Cynthia urgently. 
 
 A feeble light burned in the chill darkness of the 
 front hall. Miss Cynthia shivered as she glanced
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 29 
 
 about her. " Come into the sitting room," she said 
 quickly. "We'll we'll have a fire and some hot 
 supper." 
 
 "My land!" ejaculated the astonished seamstress 
 under her breath. 
 
 " Abby ! " called Miss Cynthia. 
 
 The door of the kitchen flew open, and a tall, spare- 
 skirted figure appeared outlined against the gloom 
 beyond, "Yer supper's ready," said the woman, 
 recognising her mistress with a deliberate sniff like 
 that of a sagacious dog. "You c'n set right down 
 an' eat 's soon 's ye'r min' to." 
 
 Miss Cynthia hesitated, then she straightened her 
 little figure determinedly. " Malvina Bennett is going 
 to have supper with me," she said. " Make some hot 
 toast, Abby, plenty of it, and open a jar of pre- 
 serves. And yes, we'll have the cold beef, too. I'm 
 going to change my dress before tea, Abby, and I 
 wish you would light the fire in the sitting room and 
 bring another lamp. I want it to be warm and 
 and light." 
 
 " I do hope you ain't a-goin' to no extry trouble fen 
 me," piped Miss Bennett timidly. "- I'd reely no idee
 
 30 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 of stayin' to sapper; all I wanted was to git that dress 
 waist " 
 
 Miss Cynthia smiled in a preoccupied sort of way. 
 " Sit down," she said gently. " There isn't so very 
 much time, you know, and I've always wanted to have 
 it warm, and and light. It isn't pleasant like this, 
 is it?" 
 
 The woman in the kitchen door turned a stupefied 
 stare upon her mistress. " Toast! " she repeated, 
 " an* another lamp an' an' a fire! You ain't cal- 
 c'latin' to burn them nice, round logs your ma kep' f er 
 looks, be you? You ain't a-goin' to burn 'em now? " 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Cynthia, with an obstinate tight- 
 ening of her little mouth. " I'm going to burn them 
 now to-night." 
 
 When she came downstairs, trailing her best silk 
 gown behind her, she found Malvina Bennett hover- 
 ing over the timid flame which seemed to hesitate 
 about attacking the well-preserved logs. "The 
 chimbley don't seem to draw reel good," ventured the 
 dressmaker, casting sidelong glances of uneasy inter- 
 est at her hostess. " These 'ere cert'nly do look to 
 be awful nice, even sticks to burn."
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 31 
 
 "Well, I sh'd think es much ! " chimed in Abby 
 Whiton, setting down the tongs with a disapproving 
 thump. "An 5 I guess you disremembered that the 
 meat man don't call agin tell Sat'day. We'll hev to 
 save the cold beef fer to-morrow's dinner." 
 
 "We can have chicken to-morrow," Miss Cynth'r 
 said recklessly. " Anyway, I want the beef for sup- 
 per. Bring some kindling, Abby ; I want this fire to 
 burn bright. I want a big, warm fire." 
 
 The old chimney yielded its accumulated damps with 
 difficulty ; but at last the flames roared cheerfully up 
 its wide throat. Miss Cynthia sat before the purring 
 logs with a satisfied little smile on her lips ; her blue 
 eyes beamed with childish delight. "It looks," she 
 said softly, "just as I always thought it would. 
 After this I mean to have a fire whenever it is cold. 
 Isn't it pleasant, Malvina?" 
 
 Malvina Bennett had enjoyed her supper thoroughly. 
 She had been hungry and tired, and the hot tea and 
 toast and the generous slices of cold meat had warmed 
 her into a semblance of cheerfulness. " I don't know 
 as I ever see anythin' nicer," she sighed happily. 
 " My ! I never sh'd ha' thought o' sech a thing as
 
 32 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 stayin' here to supper ! " She might have added that 
 no one else in the village of Innisfield would have 
 thought of it, either. The old Breyfogle family had 
 never been famed for its hospitality. 
 
 " I like company," observed Miss Cynthia, after a 
 little silence. " I always wanted to have company." 
 
 "Did you?" murmured Miss Bennett wonderingly. 
 "Mebbe you won't like the way I fixed them pleats 
 behind," she went on, with an uneasy glance at the 
 flat paper parcel which lay unopened on a chair. " I 
 guess I'd ought to git right to work, if I'm goin' to 
 finish it by Sat'day night. The's an awful lot o' 
 fussy work on them bias folds, to git 'em to lay reel 
 nice an' even." 
 
 " I don't want the dress Saturday," said Miss 
 Cynthia dreamily. " I sha'n't need any more 
 dresses." 
 
 Miss Bennett's worn lips quivered. "I wish you'd 
 jest take a look at it," she faltered wistfully. " I've 
 took an awful sight o' pains with the waist. I s'pose 
 you've gone an' bought a ready-made dress in Boston, 
 an' don't care no more fer my sewin'. I've always 
 been 'fraid you would."
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 33 
 
 Miss Cynthia bit her lip. " I didn't mean that, Mal- 
 vina," she said, after a pause. "I only meant that 
 you needn't hurry. You you look tired. I I'm 
 sorry I found so much fault with the dress was it 
 yesterday? It seems like a long time ago a long 
 time ago. I'll look at the dress, of course. Yes, 
 that's beautiful. It's just as I wanted it. Sew it 
 up as it is. And and I'll pay you for it to- 
 night." 
 
 Miss Cynthia sat by her fire for a full hour after 
 her guest had left her. She wondered vaguely what 
 she could have done or said to make Malvina Bennett 
 so strangely happy and excited. Why, she had act- 
 ually cried when she said good-night. " I feel's if 
 I'd never reely knowed you all these years," she had 
 said. " I'm s' thankful I come over. I was s' awful 
 upset an* worried 'bout the dress I couldn't sca'cely 
 eat my victuals. 'N' now, seems 's 'o everythin' was 
 changed." 
 
 The last words echoed in Miss Cynthia's ears. 
 "Why not?" she thought aloud. "My life has all 
 been of a piece, so far, and now there's only one- 
 year left."
 
 34 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 She went to bed and dreamed that she was a little, 
 red-cheeked girl, wearing a pink dress with ruffles 
 which flew wide in the warm wind as she ran down a 
 long, green hill, taking hold of hands with the Puffer 
 twins.
 
 THE cold, dun clouds, which had seemed to waver and 
 lift a little the night before, had settled heavily upon 
 Miss Cynthia with the morning light. She was 
 thinking drearily of shrouds and coffins and funeral 
 hymns, as she sipped her weak coffee from the cracked 
 cup which Abby Whiton had carefully washed by 
 itself for twenty years. The fire on the hearth had 
 burned out, and the gray ashes stirred uneasily as the 
 spring wind whined in the chimney. 
 
 "Well, of all the impident young ones I ever see, 
 them Puffer twins is the beatenest!" Abby Whiton 
 set down a plate of pallid doughnuts before her mis- 
 tress with her customary definite thump. "I sent 
 'em a-flyin', though, with a flea in their years ! What 
 you s'pose they was doin' ? " 
 
 Miss Cynthia started to her feet, a pink flush stain- 
 ing the wan whiteness of her cheeks. " The Puffer 
 twins, did you say ? " she demanded excitedly. " I 
 had forgotten all about them. Where are they? I 
 want to see them ! " 
 
 35
 
 36 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " Home, I sh'd hope, by this time," said Abby tartly. 
 "They was diggin' up your posies as cool as cow- 
 cumbers ; they sez " 
 
 "I told them they might Oh, Abby!" 
 
 That estimable person stared in open-mouthed 
 astonishment at sight of her mistress running bare- 
 headed through the chilly April morning. 
 
 " Wait ! " she was calling shrilly after the two little 
 hurrying figures. " Wait for me ! " 
 
 The Puffer twins did not wait; they only ran the 
 faster, and defiantly clanged the latch of their own 
 gate in Miss Cynthia's face as she came up panting 
 and breathless. " It was all a mistake," she managed 
 to say. " I forgot to tell Abby about the daffodils. 
 She didn't know." 
 
 The twins stared at her in resentful silence through 
 the pickets of the gate. 
 
 "Won't you come back with me and get them?" 
 implored Miss Cynthia, with heartfelt distress. " Then 
 there is the picnic, you know." 
 
 The tallest twin nudged her sister and giggled. 
 "We told our mother 'bout the red apples an' the 
 jam," she said at last. " 'N' ma, she said she guessed
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 37 
 
 we'd been listenin' with our elbows. She said you 
 never gave anythin' away if you could help it." 
 
 Miss Cynthia looked from one to the other of the 
 two children, a painful lump rising in her throat. 
 " Oh ! " she said weakly, " I I do want to give things 
 away ; I always wanted to. Won't you come and get 
 the daffodils please come ! " 
 
 The gate swung open tentatively. 
 
 " Please come," repeated Miss Cynthia humbly. She 
 smiled wanly as she held out a blue little hand to each 
 of the children. " I like to take hold of hands," she 
 said. 
 
 Abby Whiton was standing at the side door, shad- 
 ing her astonished eyes with her hand, when the three 
 came into the yard. " Fer goodness sake ! " she 
 ej aculated, " what in under the sun's got int' 
 Jier? " 
 
 She kept peering out of the window in the intervals 
 of gathering the breakfast dishes together, while Miss 
 Cynthia and the two children busied themselves in the 
 weedy little border. They were undoubtedly digging 
 up the daffodils. The next time she reconnoitred 
 she beheld her mistress coming slowly toward the
 
 38 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 house, closely followed by the twins, who trampled 
 recklessly upon her unguarded skirts. 
 
 " Come right in ! " said Miss Cynthia hospitably. 
 
 Abby Whiton presented a warlike front on the 
 threshold. " They ain't a-comin' in here one step tell 
 they've wiped their feet good! " she announced. 
 "Fer the lan's sake! jest look at the mud! What 
 you s'pose your ma'd say to them feet on her 
 carpets ? " 
 
 Miss Cynthia did not seem to hear; she opened the 
 door wide. " Come in please ! " she entreated. " I'll 
 get the apples right away, and the jam." 
 
 Abby Whiton shut her thin lips together firmly while 
 her mistress hastily opened a jar of the precious red- 
 raspberry jam. " Cut some slices of bread, Abby, 
 and bring up six of the biggest apples you can find," 
 said Miss Cynthia hurriedly. "We're going on a 
 picnic." 
 
 ."On a picnic!" repeated Abby shrilly. "Well, 
 of all the redic'lous idees! I'd planned to begin 
 house cleanin' to-day ; I guess we've put it off a'ready 
 'bout as long as decent folks kin. The's all them 
 trunks to go through in the attic, an' "
 
 .The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 39 
 
 " I'm not going to clean house this spring," faltered 
 Miss Cynthia, trembling guiltily under the severe 
 scrutiny of the woman's eyes. " I I'm tired of stay- 
 ing in the house all the while, and and doing the 
 same things. I've decided to have a picnic 'most 
 every day after this. You can wash the windows, 
 Abby, or do anything you like ; but I " 
 
 " Well, I want-ta-know ! " ejaculated Abby Whiton. 
 She clattered down the cellar stairs in a whirlwind of 
 righteous indignation, muttering ominously to herself. 
 
 Miss Cynthia, with a frightened, flushed face, crept 
 into the sitting room, whence issued the sound of ex- 
 cited giggles. The twins had climbed upon two 
 chairs, and were staring at their distorted reflections 
 in the old-fashioned mirror above the mantel piece. 
 " It makes us look funny," exclaimed one of the twins, 
 clambering briskly down at Miss Cynthia's approach. 
 " Did you ever look in it? " 
 
 " Yes, I have," said Miss Cynthia, with a depressed 
 sigh ; " but I never thought it was funny." 
 
 " Well, it is funny," said the child positively. " It 
 makes us laugh. Come on, Ed; I guess we're goin' 
 now."
 
 40 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Miss Cynthia looked weakly astonished. " I thought 
 her name was " 
 
 " It's Edwina," giggled the little girl, " and mine's 
 Harriet. But our pa calls us Ed and Harry 'most all 
 the time. He says we're 'most exactly like boys, so 
 we might as well have boys' names. What's your 
 name 'sides Miss Cynthia ? " 
 
 Miss Cynthia blushed delicately. " Once a long 
 time ago, somebody called me June," she said, as if 
 talking to herself. " He said I looked like j ust 
 like a lovely day in June, when the roses were in blos- 
 som. He called me that June Day. It was so long 
 ago that I had forgotten it, till yesterday. Then 
 I remembered about it ! " 
 
 The children were regarding her attentively. They 
 said nothing. 
 
 Miss Cynthia fidgeted uneasily under the gaze of 
 their candid brown eyes. " I don't suppose," she 
 murmured, " that I look like that now." 
 
 "We think you'd look some better if you were fat- 
 ter," said Harriet doubtfully, " an' if you had on a 
 pink dress, an' if your hair was curled." 
 
 "Here's your apples," snapped Abby Whiton,
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 41 
 
 thrusting her hatchet face in at the open door. " But 
 
 of all the fool doin's / ever heerd of You'll 
 
 ketch yer death o' cold fer one thing. This ain't no 
 time of year fer eatin' victuals outdoors." 
 
 Miss Cynthia was packing the sandwiches and apples 
 into a little splint basket. " Of course I shall wear 
 my rubbers, Abby," she said with dignity. " Besides, 
 I I don't care if I do take cold. I shall take cold 
 if I wish ! " 
 
 It was surprisingly pleasant in the April woods. The 
 pale sunshine flickered cheerfully through the leafless 
 branches and lay in warm patches on the wet, brown 
 leaves and sodden mosses. The Puffer twins screamed 
 with delight at sight of the first downy-stemmed he- 
 paticas, clustered bluely at the foot of a giant 
 beech. " Don't pick 'em," cried Harriet, hurling 
 herself bodily upon her eager sister. " Let's let her 
 have 'em; we'll find some more. Look! there's white 
 ones over there! An' I'm most sure I c'n smell 
 arbutus ! " 
 
 Miss Cynthia was on her knees beside the nodding 
 blue flowers. " Oh ! " she murmured. She touched 
 the dainty things with her pallid little fingers, a soft
 
 42 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 rapture of happiness thrilling her through and 
 through. She did not pick them. 
 
 The children returning with blossom-crowded hands 
 stood quite still and regarded her curiously. " She's 
 just a-lookin' at 'em," whispered Harriet. " She 
 hasn't picked one." 
 
 " I guess she thinks they're most too pretty to 
 pick," said Edwina, with a little sigh of under- 
 standing. 
 
 "More likely she's thinkin' 'bout the apples," said 
 Harriet with a practical air. " She looks pretty 
 hungry, anyway, an' I'm most starved." 
 
 Nobody in either the Breyfogle or the Day families, 
 as far as Miss Cynthia knew, had ever been hungry 
 for their food. She was entirely familiar with cer- 
 tain unpleasant sensations at the pit of her stomach, 
 to which it had been her habit to refer as " my faint 
 spells." That these "faint spells" frequently pre- 
 faced one of Abby Whiton's pallid meals served in 
 the curtained gloom of the Breyfogle dining room, 
 Miss Cynthia was well aware ; but she had never mis- 
 taken them for common, vulgar appetite. She ob- 
 served the rapturous looks of anticipation on the
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 43 
 
 round, freckled faces of the children with astonished 
 interest. 
 
 " Hm-m-m ! " sighed the twins in soulful concert, 
 as their sharp, white teeth sank juicily into the shin- 
 ing sides of two red apples. 
 
 "Do they taste good?" asked Miss Cynthia incred- 
 ulously. 
 
 " Uh-huh," assented Harriet, with wordless satis- 
 faction. " Why don't you eat yours? " 
 
 Miss Cynthia bit timidly into one of the rosy spheres. 
 " I neglected to bring my fruit-knife," she murmured 
 apologetically ; then quite forgot how " unlady-like " 
 it was to bite an apple in her amazed enjoyment of 
 its novelty. 
 
 " We'd better save the rest till we're hungry again," 
 observed Harriet frugally. " It's an awful long time 
 till this afternoon, an' we'll be most starved time we 
 get up on Byer's hill. There's heaps of wintergreens 
 up there, and they'll be chuck full of berries. Come 
 on ; let's hurry ! " 
 
 It was a long tramp through briar-set pastures and 
 scrubby woodlands; there were high rail-fences to 
 climb over, and shallow brooks to cross on slippery,
 
 44 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 round stones. Miss Cynthia's unaccustomed little 
 feet ached cruelly ; her breath came in hurried gasps ; 
 but she doggedly followed the indefatigable twins, who 
 skipped over the ground like a pair of red squirrels. 
 
 Edwina's quick, brown eyes were the first to observe 
 her distress. " Why, you're gettin' real tired, aren't 
 you? " she asked kindly. 
 
 Miss Cynthia's lips quivered; her eyes filled with a 
 sudden rush of childish tears. " I I'm afraid I can't 
 go much farther." she faltered. " My side aches 
 so, and ' 
 
 " It's your clo'es," pronounced Harriet briefly. 
 " You can't run an' climb fences when you 're a lady. 
 Sometimes we play lady on rainy afternoons ; but we're 
 are n't ever goin' to be truly ladies. "Tisn't any fun. 
 You c'n sit down here an' rest, an' we'll go up on the 
 hill an' get the wintergreens ; after that we'll go home. 
 We'll bring you some of every single thing we find 
 cross our hearts we will ! " 
 
 Miss Cynthia sank tremulously down upon a par- 
 ticularly damp and mouldering log which one of the 
 twins kindly pointed out. It was so delightful to 
 merely rest that she drew deep breaths of satisfaction.
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 45 
 
 Presently she recalled the fact that a meeting of the 
 executive committee of the Ladies' Aid and Mis- 
 sionary Society had been appointed at her house that 
 afternoon. Consulting her watch she found that it 
 would be impossible to reach home in time to receive 
 the committee. She reviewed the correlated facts with 
 dreamy indifference. Abby Whiton would open the 
 door, she knew. She would, in all probability, tell the 
 committee about the Puffer twins digging up the daf- 
 fodils ; also, she would describe in detail the prepara- 
 tions for the picnic, concluding with a spirited account 
 of her own subsequent industries and anxieties. Abby 
 Whiton was quite as well known and respected in the 
 community as any one of the matrons who formed the 
 committee, hence her account of the singular doings 
 of Miss Cynthia would merit, and receive, the gravest 
 consideration. 
 
 Miss Cynthia contemplated, as in a vision, the solemn 
 consternation of Mrs. Buckthorn, and the wondering 
 astonishment of the others. It did not appear to her 
 as at all important. 
 
 She presently forgot the meeting altogether, as she 
 rose uncertainly to her feet and strolled away from the
 
 46 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 neighbourhood of the damp log, leaving the little 
 splint basket behind her. 
 
 The remark of Mrs. Puffer, as truthfully reported 
 by the twins recurred to her mind. " I never thought 
 much about giving my things away," she said to her- 
 self. " We never gave things away at our house. 
 Grandmother Breyfogle used to say it wasn't so much 
 charity with most folks as it was pure laziness. She 
 said it was easier to pack a lot of stuff off onto other 
 shiftless folks than it was to take care of it. But 
 there is no use for me to keep things now. I may as 
 well give everything away." 
 
 Unconsciously she had walked faster and faster as she 
 pursued this course of reminiscent reasoning. Hav- 
 ing arrived at its simple conclusion she stopped short 
 and looked about her. The open pasture had grad- 
 ually given place to a thick, solemn-looking wood. 
 Ground-pine and russet mosses, elastic and fragrant, 
 stilled the sound of her little feet. There was a 
 subtle, alluring sweetness abroad, mingling with the 
 spicy breath of the trees. Miss Cynthia's short- 
 sighted blue eyes wandered hopefully to a steep bank 
 covered with brown leaves and the discarded needles of
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 47 
 
 the great pine trees which stood guardian above it. 
 Once, a long time ago, she had run away from school 
 on an April day with the boy. And on a bank like 
 this her eager fingers stirred the withered leaves 
 they had found Oh, the young rapture of it! 
 
 The wild fragrance swept her faded cheek like a 
 caress. She cried aloud with the ecstasy of her dis- 
 covery arbutus, pink and white like a baby's palm, 
 folded close in rosy buds, opened wide like white stars. 
 Her sombre little world disappeared in a rose-tinted 
 mist of happiness; pain, disappointment, loneliness, 
 the long shadow of approaching 3eath all was for- 
 gotten in the delightful, the satisfying vision of the 
 moment. 
 
 And always just beyond stretched another starry 
 slope, or a bank yielding pinker and more odorous 
 buds. She bound the flowers into great bunches and 
 swung them upon her arm that her hands might be 
 empty for more. Then the gentle madness passed, and 
 by slow degrees she realised that the bright afternoon 
 light had faded, and that a lonely little wind, presag- 
 ing rain, was beginning to cry among the tree tops. 
 
 Miss Cynthia called aloud upon the Puffer twins in a
 
 48 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 shrill, frightened voice; then she hurried through a 
 rough pasture, leaving bits of her black gown on the 
 clutching briars, only to find her way barred by an un- 
 familiar stone wall. 
 
 On the farther side of the road was a narrow and 
 very muddy road, which seemed to Miss Cynthia's 
 tired eyes to stretch away up to the lonely sky in one 
 direction, and to lose itself in a gloomy wood at the 
 other. She weakly adventured herself upon the stone 
 wall, but the stones slipped uncertainly beneath her 
 tired feet. Then she sat down and wept large, childish 
 tears of pure fright and fatigue.
 
 IV 
 
 THE melancholy procedure of shedding tears is fre- 
 quently followed by a definite and cheerful reaction. 
 This doubtless accounts for the fact that many per- 
 sons of a weak and lymphatic disposition are prone to 
 indulge in what has been aptly termed " the luxury of 
 grief." Miss Cynthia, after crying helplessly for 
 perhaps five minutes, again addressed herself to the 
 task of surmounting the stone wall. This time she 
 succeeded and landed on the other side, breathless and 
 tremulous with her unwonted exertions. 
 
 The intermittent creak and rattle of wagon wheels 
 reached her anxious ears from beyond the brow of the 
 hill. Presently the wagon itself hove into view. The 
 single brown horse which drew it pounded heavily 
 down the long, muddy slope, his course being con- 
 trolled by a ruddy-cheeked young man in blue overalls 
 who sat on the high seat. A long step-ladder pro- 
 truded from the back of the vehicle and an alert- 
 looking collie trotted briskly at the wheel. 
 
 49
 
 50 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Miss Cynthia instinctively clutched at the friendly 
 wall. She ardently wished that she had not climbed 
 over ; it now seemed impossible to climb back, besides, 
 the alert collie had already spied her. He dashed for- 
 ward with loud, excited barkings. Miss Cynthia 
 screamed. She was very much afraid of dogs, and this 
 particular dog was spattered with mud to the tip of 
 his curly tail. " Go away ! " she cried weakly. " Oh, 
 what shall I do ! Go away ! " The muddy dog had 
 planted a proprietory paw on the skirt of her gown 
 and was snuffing his find with a doggish grin of satis- 
 faction. 
 
 The young man drew up his clumsy horse with a loud 
 " Whoa ! Here, Rover, you rascal ! Down, sir, 
 down ! " he commanded. " He won't hurt you, 
 ma'am," he added, staring curiously at the shrinking 
 little figure flattened thinly against the stone wall. 
 
 " I I've lost my way, I think," said Miss Cyn- 
 thia, striving vainly to regain her vanished dignity. 
 Fresh tears clouded her blue eyes, and she was obliged 
 to wink fast to keep them from falling down her 
 cheeks. She was in the habit of distrusting strange 
 men quite as deeply as she did dogs, and indeed had
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 51 
 
 vaguely associated both with those lines from Reve- 
 lations which refer to the unfortunates shut out 
 from the celestial city as " dogs and sorcerers and 
 whoremongers and whosoever maketh and loveth a 
 lie." The late Mrs. Day had once inscribed this 
 passage of Scripture upon a thin strip of paper, and 
 after reading the sounding words with an awful voice 
 had snipped them into small, square pieces and com- 
 pelled her child to swallow them one by one. It was 
 this novel and imposing punishment for a very small 
 lie which formed the unassailable basis of Miss 
 Cynthia's opinion of dogs and men. 
 
 This particular young man was looking at her very 
 kindly and reassuringly out of a pair of honest gray 
 eyes ; as for the muddy collie, he had retreated to a 
 position behind his master and was also eyeing her in a 
 speculative, but entirely friendly manner. 
 
 " I think I know you," said the young man, in his 
 pleasant, deep voice. " You are Miss Day of Innis- 
 field. My name is George Blossom ; I'm sorry to say 
 I've frequently stolen apples off the sweeting tree 
 back of your barn, when I was a boy. How good they 
 were, to be sure, and how indignant the tall woman in
 
 52 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 & purple calico gown used to be when she caught us, 
 which wasn't often." 
 
 " I suppose you mean Abby Whiton," said Miss 
 Cynthia, in a depressed voice. " She's nearly always 
 indignant about something. How how far is it to 
 Innisfield, and which way must I go to get there ? " 
 
 " It's a matter of three miles to the village, Miss 
 Day," the young man told her, " I'm going home my- 
 self, and if you won't mind riding in my wagon I 
 shall be glad to take you. It will be easier than walk- 
 ing, anyway." 
 
 " I haven't any idea where the twins can be," sighed 
 Miss Cynthia ; " they may be looking for me." Then, 
 seeing the puzzled look in the young man's eyes, she 
 entered into an explanation of some length concern- 
 ing the picnic, and the wintergreen hunt, and of how 
 the little splint basket, containing three red apples and 
 six slices of bread and butter, had been left by the log. 
 "I forgot how late it was growing after I found the 
 arbutus," she finished. " I haven't seen any before in 
 years." 
 
 The puzzled look had only deepened as she went on 
 with her halting little story. But the young man
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 53 
 
 laughed outright when she mentioned the Puffer 
 twins. " I'll risk Ed and Harry Puffer in any part 
 of the country," he said. " They'll probably go 
 straight home after they've eaten up everything in 
 the basket. You'd better get right in with me and 
 go to the village. We'll stop at the Puffers' on the 
 way and see if the children have come." 
 
 He lifted Miss Cynthia to the high seat of the 
 wagon, and they were presently rattling down the 
 muddy road behind the big brown horse at what 
 seemed a reckless rate of speed. 
 
 " I've just finished a job," observed George Blossom, 
 by way of making conversation. He jerked his thumb 
 over his shoulder in an explanatory manner which 
 seemed to include the long step-ladder and a half 
 dozen of sticky pails which danced noisily on the un- 
 steady bed of the wagon. " I'm a painter and paper- 
 hanger by trade," he went on, with a scowl which 
 looked decidedly out of place on his ruddy, good- 
 humoured face. 
 
 Miss Cynthia had surreptitiously attached herself 
 with barnacle-like firmness to the low rail which sur- 
 rounded the wagon seat on one side, and to George
 
 54 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Blossom's coat on the other. She was really afraid 
 she might fall off in some mad, unexpected plunge of 
 the stolid, brown horse; and this fear of the animal 
 had in great degree lessened her apprehension of the 
 man who drove it. " Don't you think we we're going 
 pretty fast ? " she faltered, as the wagon wheel 
 lurched violently over a stone. 
 
 " Why, perhaps we are," said George Blossom, pull- 
 ing his horse to a walk and glancing quizzically down 
 at the small, scared face by his side. "You are n't 
 used to driving, I reckon? " 
 
 " Not not exactly. I've ridden in carriages, 
 though, a good deal to to funerals. That seems 
 different, you know ; you can't see the horses for one 
 thing, and they generally go nice and slow." 
 
 " Yes, I guess it is, quite different," agreed the young 
 fellow soberly. Then his eyes twinkled. " You've 
 got a big house, Miss Day ; did you ever think how 
 scrumptious it would look if you had it all painted up 
 outside? Say a light, steel gray; or a white, with a 
 green trim and green blinds ; then for inside work, I've 
 got paper that can't be beat ; white grounds with roses 
 running all over 'em as natural as life, or floral
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 55 
 
 stripes, or bunches of different sorts of posies tied 
 with pink an' blue ribbons oh, they're great ! I wisK 
 you'd give me the job of fixing up your place." 
 
 " I never thought of doing anything to the house," 
 said Miss Cynthia meditatively. " It's always looked 
 just as it does now since I can remember. Grand- 
 father Breyfogle had it papered when he was married. 
 The papers were all very nice and expensive ; that on 
 the parlour walls cost four dollars a roll. It was im- 
 ported from England." 
 
 The young man whistled. " I'll bet I could put you 
 up something twice as pretty for say seventy-five 
 cents," he hazarded. " You want white paint rubbed 
 down to an ivory finish for those old-fashioned rooms, 
 and something light and handsome for the side walls. 
 I've just been doing up Mrs. Scott's parlour and din- 
 ing room the parlour in kind of a soft, dull green, 
 and the dining room in blue and white. Then I did 
 Miss Rosalie's rooms. Gracious, if they ain't pretty ! 
 I wish you could see them ! " 
 
 " I remember Rosalie Scott," said Miss Cynthia, with 
 a reminiscent frown ; " she always used to giggle out 
 loud in sermon time. Once I gave her a head of cara-
 
 56 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 way, and she pulled it to pieces and stuck the seeds all 
 over Deacon Scrimger's coat in a sort of pattern. Her 
 mother never once looked that way, though I should 
 think she'd have expected 'most anything of Rosalie." 
 
 The young man threw back his head and laughed 
 heartily. " I guess Mrs. Scott didn't want to bother 
 Miss Rosalie as long as she was quiet," he said. " She 
 was a regular mischief when she was little. She's 
 come back from boarding-school now, to stay, and she 
 she's just beautiful! " 
 
 The young man's tone was so earnest and heartfelt 
 that Miss Cynthia felt a sympathetic thrill. " I'd 
 like to see her," she said, almost eagerly. "What 
 sort of paper did you put on her room, did you 
 Bay?" 
 
 " Miss Rosalie's got two rooms, now she's home for 
 good," the young man told her, with a deep sigh. " I 
 can show you samples of the papers if you'll just 
 hold the lines while I*get 'em ; they're under the seat." 
 
 Miss Cynthia grasped the reins so firmly that her lit- 
 tle hands trembled. She sat up very straight and a 
 pink spot burned in each sallow cheek. Mr. Blossom 
 did not appear to notice her agitation. He got down
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 57 
 
 off the seat, thrust one long, exploring arm beneath it 
 and presently produced a bundle of small rolls of wall- 
 paper, which he proceeded to spread out on his knee 
 for Miss Cynthia's inspection. 
 
 " There, this one with a kind of a cream-white 
 ground and little wreaths of roses running all over 
 it is on her bedroom. I put white enamel paint on the 
 woodwork, and she's got her grandmother's old 
 mahogany furniture in there, and 
 
 The young man stopped short and looked at his 
 companion curiously. Her blue eyes were fixed 
 earnestly on the bobbing head of the brown horse ; her 
 lips were screwed up into a small pink knot, not un- 
 like one of the pale rosebuds on the white wall-paper. 
 
 " Aren't you going to look at these papers, ma'am, 
 now I've got 'em out? " he asked in a disappointed 
 voice. 
 
 " I don't see how I can and drive this horse," replied 
 Miss Cynthia, in a tone of poignant distress. " Seems 
 to me the harder I pull on the lines the faster he goes. 
 Look he's running away ! " 
 
 Mr. Blossom reached over and possessed himself of 
 the reins, which he proceeded to hold negligently in his
 
 58 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 left hand, while he dlscanted at length on the beauty 
 of the wall-papers and the elegance of the apartments 
 in the Scott house. " If I could only get a few more 
 jobs like that one maybe I could get somewhere in the 
 world," he concluded, his frank face clouding like the 
 inconstant April sky. " I've always wanted to study 
 designing and inside decorating on a big scale. I 
 could do it, I know I could, if I only had a chance. 
 But I suppose I'll spend the balance of my days 
 painting the village folks' picket fences, and giving 
 the farmers' barns an occasional coat of red paint, 
 when they ain't too darned stingy to give me the 
 job." 
 
 " I don't think," said Miss Cynthia, with the air of a 
 person who consciously exerts an influence, " that you 
 
 ought to say Well, I don't like to speak the 
 
 word myself, because it means real bad swearing. I 
 said it once when I was a little girl, and my mother 
 snipped my tongue with a pair of sharp scissors. 
 Of course she didn't really cut a piece off; but it 
 made a sore place, and I always remember it when 
 I hear that word." 
 
 " Jiminy ; I should think you would ! " agreed
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 59 
 
 George Blossom, with a surprised whistle. " It seems 
 to go mighty well with words like stingy and mean, 
 though," he added. " I'd kind of hate to give it up." 
 
 Miss Cynthia fixed her blue eyes upon the young man 
 with an inquiring gaze. " Did you ever hear anyone 
 say that I was stingy ? " she asked distinctly. 
 
 Mr. Blossom blushed a beautiful, surprised-looking 
 red; even his ears burned scarlet under the light 
 
 brown curls of his hair. " I I didn't mean " he 
 
 began with evident distress. " I'm sure I " 
 
 Miss Cynthia sighed. She was not a very astute lit- 
 tle person, but she arrived at a rapid and correct con- 
 clusion for once. " I see that you have," she said re- 
 gretfully. " Well, do you know, I never thought very 
 much about it about being stingy, I mean, till till 
 yesterday. Yesterday I heard something some- 
 thing very important to me. It it somehow changed 
 everything. I think I've been very foolish to be so 
 so saving. I didn't really need to be economical, 
 you know. And I've decided to give nearly everything 
 in my house away. I shall not need it myself, and I'm 
 sure I shall enjoy giving it away. It it will be dif- 
 ferent."
 
 60 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Mr. Blossom was so astonished that he could hardly 
 believe what his scarlet ears were telling him. The 
 Breyfogle family were, in the estimation of their 
 townspeople, an unalterable proposition. One could 
 depend upon their stinginess quite as implicitly as on 
 other folks' generosity. To be depended upon in any 
 capacity is in itself praiseworthy ; and nobody likes to 
 have the fixed stars of his firmament turned inconti- 
 nently into frisking comets. Mr. Blossom, therefore, 
 upon hearing these surprising sentiments from the lips 
 of Miss Cynthia Day, merely gave vent to a conserva- 
 tive whistle. He was one of those fortunate persons, 
 usually of the sterner sex, who are able to express a 
 large number of varied emotions in this entirely safe 
 and non-committal manner. 
 
 "I can't think just how to begin," pursued Miss 
 Cynthia earnestly. "I don't know who to give the 
 things to, in the first place." 
 
 The sagacious Mr. Blossom saw his opportunity and 
 seized it with business-like promptness. " I think, 
 ma'am," he said very respectfully, " that one of the 
 best ways to give things away that is, if you have 
 too much of anything, money, for example is to give
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 61 
 
 work to the people that need work, and pay them well 
 for it. Some folks Jew you down so't you can't make 
 any sort of a profit. 'Live and let live' is a good 
 enough motto for me." 
 
 " ' Live and let live,' " repeated Miss Cynthia 
 thoughtfully. " What do you think that means ? " 
 
 " Why, it's plain enough," said Mr. Blossom 
 strongly. " You're living all right, ain't you? Got 
 enough of everything and something to spare, if 
 you've a mind to ; but you've got to ' let ' other folks 
 live; and that means, I take it, that you ought to 
 help 'em to live. If there's anything you want done 
 that you can't do for yourself, hire somebody that 
 can do it, and pay 'em for doing it good, fair 
 money, so they can live, too. If everybody did that 
 right along I guess there wouldn't be so much talk 
 about labour unions and strikes and all that sort of 
 thing." 
 
 Miss Cynthia smiled vaguely. "I guess so, too," 
 she said pleasantly. Then she sighed. "I wish it 
 was true," she murmured. 
 
 " Wish what was true? " 
 
 " About living if you let other folks live."
 
 62 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " Course it's true ; who said it wasn't ? " 
 
 " Sometimes people die, you know, when when they 
 aren't very old, and when they don't want to die, 
 either. How do you explain that? " 
 
 Mr. Blossom appeared slightly staggered by this 
 metaphysical problem. " I can't explain everything 
 that happens, of course," he said candidly. " But," 
 he added firmly, " I know that * Live and let live ' '11 
 stand, as a general rule. I guess some folks could 
 quote Scripture to back it up, too. I can't remember 
 Bible verses for shucks, but there's something or other 
 about getting the same sort of crops out of the ground 
 that you put in. And that stands to reason and ex- 
 perience, too, doesn't it? If you put in potatoes you 
 don't expect to dig turnips. You could turn the say- 
 ing 'round, if you wanted to, and it would sound just 
 as well maybe better. Let live an' live." 
 
 Mr. Blossom looked modestly pleased with himself as 
 he finished this pointed exposition. " Miss Rosalie's a 
 great hand for arguing about 'most everything," he 
 added irrelevantly. " Off an' on, we've had some 
 regular debates on all sorts of subjects. She's as 
 bright and smart as a new whip, Miss Rosalie is ; only
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 63 
 
 there ain't any sting in her as there is to the end of a 
 good whip-lash. She's just sweet! " 
 
 The young man lapsed into a pleasant revery which 
 Miss Cynthia did not disturb. She was considering 
 in her own peculiarly slow, bewildered, and timid way 
 some very astonishing ideas which George Blossom's 
 simple remarks had suggested. But if Miss Cynthia's 
 mental processes were sadly involved and clouded, her 
 practical inferences were simple and to the point. 
 
 " If it will help you any to paint my house, inside 
 or out, or to paper it," she said with gentle dig- 
 nity, " I shall be very happy to have it done. I shall 
 think of what you have said. It has never occurred 
 to me before ; yet it seems very reasonable, and yes 
 true. I'm afraid I haven't taken much pains to ' let 
 people live,' and that's why " 
 
 She stopped short with a little quiver in her voice. 
 "And that's why," she finished bravely "I'm go- 
 ing to do quite differently after this."
 
 THE Puffer twins were energetically swinging upon 
 their own gate when George Blossom, with Miss Cyn- 
 thia at his side, drew up before the house. "Here 
 you are, youngsters!" he called out heartily, "and 
 here's Miss Day. Where do you s'pose I found 
 her? " 
 
 The twins had promptly abandoned their athletic 
 performance upon the gate in favour of similar 
 strenuous endeavour at the back of the wagon. They 
 precipitated themselves upon the person of the young 
 man with every token of enthusiastic regard. " Did 
 you bring us any apples? " they demanded. 
 
 "I shouldn't wonder," admitted Mr. Blossom joy- 
 ously. " Just look in my basket there ; and findings is 
 keepings." 
 
 " We didn't see you anywhere," Edwina said, address- 
 ing Miss Cynthia, while Harriet explored the wagon 
 like a particularly active squirrel. " But we found 
 your basket and brought it home. We saved two 
 
 64
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 65 
 
 slices of bread and jam for you, and one apple, and 
 we've put a big bunch of wintergreen berries in 
 besides." 
 
 " Thank you," said Miss Cynthia graciously. " I 
 found this arbutus and brought it to you. Here is a 
 big bunch for each of you." 
 
 "Where's yours?" demanded Harriet. "Didn't 
 you keep any for yourself? We ate lots an' lots of 
 wintergreen berries as we went along, an' we brought 
 some home. We like to be square." 
 
 Miss Cynthia had opened her mouth to reply when 
 she was transfixed by the sight of a stout, imposing 
 woman, wearing a fortress-like bonnet which com- 
 manded a very high and prominent forehead. This 
 person was advancing majestically along the sidewalk 
 in company with a much smaller lady, who was com- 
 pelled to tilt her head sideways to address her lofty 
 companion. They had been talking earnestly together, 
 but the conversation suddenly ceased when they simul- 
 taneously recognised Miss Cynthia in her unlooked- 
 for position on the high seat of George Blossom's 
 wagon. That young person blushed as he lifted his 
 cap to the ladies. He was a modest young man, was
 
 86 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 George Blossom, and he realised in his imperfect 
 masculine way that his companion had done a very 
 singular thing in losing herself upon a muddy road 
 three miles beyond Innisfield. 
 
 Miss Cynthia spoke first. She had immediately 
 recognised the tall lady as Mrs. Buckthorn, the chair- 
 man of the Executive Committee of the Ladies' Aid 
 Society, which was to have met at her house that 
 afternoon. The small lady was the wife of the min- 
 ister. 
 
 " Good-afternoon, Mrs. Buckthorn," began Miss 
 Cynthia, with an anxiously propitiatory smile. 
 "I am sorry I was not at home this afternoon when 
 the committee called. I I was away on a picnic, 
 and I lost my way in the woods. Besides," she 
 added, with undeniable hardihood, " I forgot all 
 about the meeting." 
 
 Mrs. Buckthorn drew in her breath in a peculiar 
 sibilant fashion she was accustomed to make use of 
 when surprised or displeased. " So I have learned," 
 she said deliberately. " Abby Whiton told us of the 
 picnic. She did not know that you had forgotten 
 the appointment. I dare say you had a very excel-
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 67 
 
 lent reason for what you did. The Lord's busi* 
 ness does not admit of delay or negligence on the 
 part of his servants." 
 
 Miss Cynthia shook her head. "I wanted to go," 
 she said simply, " and so I just forgot all about 
 the meeting. I hope it didn't put you out very 
 much." 
 
 "No, it didn't at all," the small lady spoke up 
 quickly. " I asked the committee to come to the par- 
 sonage, and we've had the meeting. I hope you had a 
 pleasant time," she went on, her smile touched with a 
 faint wistfulness. "I'd like to go arbutus hunting 
 myself I see you have some. But there seems to be 
 so much to do in the parish just now." 
 
 " And house cleaning, Philura," put in Mrs. Buck- 
 thorn in her majestic bass. " Every one of us ladies 
 left some important household task unfinished, in 
 order to attend this meeting. I trust that we shall 
 not be found unfaithful stewards of the mammon of 
 unrighteousness when the last day comes ! " 
 
 " I'm not going to clean house," said Miss Cynthia 
 defiantly. " I'm going to have a picnic almost every 
 day."
 
 68 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " Goody ! goody ! " cried the Puffer twins in subdued 
 chorus. "Will you bring jam on bread and red 
 apples every time ? " 
 
 "As long as they last," Miss Cynthia told them 
 cheerfully. 
 
 There followed a prolonged silence, in the course of 
 which George Blossom stared hard at the back of his 
 brown horse, and the two women on the sidewalk 
 stared at Miss Cynthia. Mrs. Buckthorn's gaze, 
 delivered over the rim of her spectacles, con- 
 veyed shocked incredulity, majestic displeasure, pained 
 astonishment, and determined curiosity. The light- 
 blue eyes of the minister's wife were opened wide in a 
 puzzled and surprised look, which Miss Cynthia met 
 with a deprecatory smile. 
 
 "I guess we'd better be movin' along, Mis' Petti- 
 bone," observed Mrs. Buckthorn, in the tone of a 
 magistrate who suspends sentence. " Good-bye, Cyn- 
 thia. I trust the Lord will give you a better 
 mind before you sleep" 
 
 " Darned old hypocrite ! " muttered George Blossom, 
 with cheerful acrimony. " Do you want to get out 
 here, Miss Day, or shall I drive you on to your
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 69 
 
 house? I'd like to look the place over as soon as I 
 can." 
 
 " Thank you," said Miss Cynthia, with an absent- 
 minded smile. Then she became conscious that the 
 young man's honest gray eyes were fixed inquiringly 
 upon her. " I don't know what people will say when 
 I begin to do the things that that I want to do. 
 I've always done just what somebody else told me to 
 do ; it it's easier, I guess." 
 
 " I s'pose all the old tabbies in town '11 talk to beat 
 the cars if you let me have that job of painting and 
 papering," said George Blossom gloomily. " But I'd 
 let 'em talk. I would, by gracious ! 'Tain't any of 
 their funeral, I guess. Now, is it? " 
 
 " No," said Miss Cynthia, with a curious little catch 
 in her breath. " It certainly isn't. I think I shall 
 let them talk," she went on after a little pause. " That 
 is, I can't help it if they do talk ; but I shall do as 
 I like." 
 
 Her blue eyes wore so puzzled and wistful a look 
 that George Blossom was moved to squeeze the little 
 hand she offered him while he shook it warmly. 
 
 "Thank you very much for bringing me home,"
 
 70 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 said Miss Cynthia. "I don't know what I should 
 have done, if you hadn't come along just when you 
 did." 
 
 " Don't you mention it, ma'am," cried George Blos- 
 som, giving the chilly little fingers another warm 
 squeeze. " I can tell you it was a piece of rare good 
 fortune for me. I should never have thought of such 
 a thing as asking you for a job. I'll be around to- 
 morrow morning with my colour-cards and sample- 
 books. I'll guarantee to do a job that '11 please you, 
 Miss Day. I'll make the old place look simply great. 
 You'll see!" 
 
 Miss Cynthia smiled in pleased anticipation; she 
 was, nevertheless, depressed to the point of feeling 
 utterly meek and despondent when she had entered 
 her own door and closed it behind her. Abby Whiton 
 hastened to describe the visit of the committee with 
 an amplitude of graphic detail which left room for 
 neither question nor comment. 
 
 " I cert'nly thought I should die when I seen 'em all 
 a-standin' there," she asseverated; "Mis' Buckthorn 
 an* the minister's wife though she ain't much, as 
 all of us knows an' Electa Pratt, with the feathers
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 71 
 
 stickin' up straight in her bunnit she's always 
 wore 'em sence Philura Rice caught the parson with 
 hern. ' No ! ' I says, * she ain't in ; she's gone on a 
 picnic.' My land ! I could 'a' knocked 'em down with 
 a feather they looked s' thunder-struck. 'To a 
 picnic?' says Mis' Buckthorn. 'Yes,' I says, 'with 
 the Puffer twins! ' I thought I should die! " 
 
 " Suppose you should?" 
 
 "Should what?" 
 
 " Should die. Suppose you knew you were going 
 to die you're always talking about it. What would 
 you do ? " 
 
 " Fer goodness sake, what an idee! I cert'nly ain't 
 a-goin' t' die tell m' time comes. Well, I guess I'd 
 git my kitchen cleaned up good f er one thing. Then, 
 I'd plan out my fun'ral, an' order my tombstone. 
 Ma, she picked out all her fun'ral hymns, I remem- 
 ber; an' pa, he s'lected a tex' fer his fun'ral sermon. 
 He tol' us everythin' we was to put on him down to 
 his socks. He wanted all his best things. Like es 
 not he was 'f raid we'd save 'em up fer Dave an' Will ; 
 an' mebbe we would 'uv, too, if pa hadn't been cute 
 enough to think it all out beforehand. Sickness is
 
 72 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 sent, I s'pose, so 'at we c'n prepare for what's before 
 us. I hope t' the land I ain't called sudden ! " 
 
 "You may broil a chop for my tea," said Miss 
 Cynthia unexpectedly. "I want it brown and hot. 
 I didn't have any dinner, you know. I want some 
 toast, too." 
 
 "Yer supper's been ready an' waitin' fer half an 
 hour," Abby Whiton replied, moving her angular el- 
 bows in a way which signified a determined difference 
 of opinion. " The's dried beef an* pickles an' cake 
 an' tea. I'm sure that's enough fer " 
 
 Miss Cynthia walked into the kitchen. "Give me 
 the toasting-fork," she said tranquilly. "I think 
 I should like to get my own supper." 
 
 Abby Whiton planted her hands on her hips, her 
 elbows vibrating rapidly. " Git yer own supper ! " 
 she exclaimed. "Well, I want-ta-know ! " 
 
 " Bring me the chop, Abby, and some bread," or- 
 dered Miss Cynthia, opening the drafts of the stove. 
 "I shall get thoroughly warm while I am doing it." 
 
 "Now, look-a-here, Miss Cynthy, I've lived in this 
 'ere house goin' on thirty years, an' I ain't in the habit 
 of bavin' nobody come in my kitchen an' talk up to
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 73 
 
 me! Even yer ma never done it towards the last, an' 
 you know very well that I ain't a-goin' to stan' it. 
 You an' me ain't never had no words before, an' I 
 don't see why we should begin now. Seems to me 
 you've been actin' mighty notional an' uppity sence 
 yiste'd'y. I've been thinkin' 'bout it all day b* 
 spells. I remember when you was little, you us't to 
 git fractious once in a while, but your ma or yer 
 Gran'ma Breyfogle always took it out of ye mighty 
 quick. As yer ma us't to say : * Dis'pline mus' be 
 maintained,' she says. I never looked fer any trouble 
 in this 'ere kitchen ; an' I ain't a-goin' to have none, 
 neither!" 
 
 Miss Cynthia listened attentively to this manifesto, 
 a worried but entirely stubborn expression gathering 
 about her small mouth. Abby Whiton was irresist- 
 ibly reminded of the long-defunct Grandfather Brey- 
 fogle, whose imperial dictum nobody had ever been 
 able to successfully contravene. "Fer the lan's 
 sake ! " she muttered to herself, " s'pose she sh'd take 
 a turn after all these years ! " 
 
 When Miss Cynthia spoke it was in the Breyfogle 
 voice, and the Breyfogle revolutionary spirit looked
 
 74 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 out of her blue eyes. " You will have to remember in 
 future, Abby, that this is my kitchen," she said dis- 
 tinctly, " and that it is in my house. I want you to 
 bring my chop and two slices of my bread. I shall 
 get my supper on my stove. Do you understand 
 me?" 
 
 Abby Whiton stared. "Fer the lan's sake!" she 
 repeated in a sibilant whisper. Then she whirled 
 about with loud, trampling steps, more expres- 
 sive of her dazed and outraged feelings than mere 
 profanity, however lurid, cut the bread, brought the 
 chop from the closet, and finished by slamming down 
 the toasting-fork with an accentuated clatter which 
 scared the dozing cat into wild-eyed consternation. 
 
 " I c'n see what's a-comin' ! " she exclaimed bitterly. 
 " After all these years, an* me a-slavin' my fingers to 
 the bone sence you was knee high to a grasshopper 
 an' never allowed no imperdence in this kitchen. If 
 I live, I leave to-morrow mornin', bag an' baggage! " 
 She might have added with entire suitability "and 
 may the Lord have mercy on your soul." 
 
 Miss Cynthia proceeded to toast her chop with out- 
 ward calm, her mouth still wearing the Breyfogle
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 75 
 
 expression. Inwardly, she was quaking with long- 
 accustomed dread. Never before in the course of 
 her whole life had she ventured to differ in the slight- 
 est degree with the definite opinions of Abby Whiton. 
 She had, of course, made a dignified but entirely su- 
 perficial show of consulting her about various house- 
 hold activities and economies ; but in the end she had 
 invariably yielded to Abby Whiton's loudly-expressed 
 decisions. Miss Cynthia's intellect refused to con- 
 template the consequences of her present rash be- 
 haviour. 
 
 "To-morrow mornin'," repeated Abby Whiton tri- 
 umphantly. She appeared to divine the real state of 
 her mistress's mind, and proceeded to pile Pelion 
 upon Ossa with mistaken energy. " I guess yer 
 poor, dead ma 'ud turn over in her grave ef she could 
 know that I'd been fairly driv* to leave her kitchen 
 after all these years. W'y, I've always intended to 
 lay you out, Miss Cynthy, same as I done fer her." 
 
 Miss Cynthia turned suddenly ; her eyes blazed. " I 
 don't -want you to stay here," she said breathlessly. 
 "You you shall not lay me out! Do you hear? 
 You shall not! I am going to let you live any-
 
 76 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 where you want to except in this kitchen ; but I'm 
 going to do as I please in my own house as long as 
 I live. Do you hear me? " 
 
 "I ain't deef," snorted Abby Whiton. Then she 
 sprang forward just in time to catch Miss Cynthia's 
 slight figure as she swayed weakly toward the hot 
 stove. " Did you ever! " she muttered to herself, as 
 she skilfully plied the camphor and smelling-salts. 
 " She's jest plain beat out with that redic'lous pic- 
 nic trampin' with a lot of young ones, an 5 joltin' 
 in a lumber-wagon from goodness knows where. I 
 hope I c'n see my duty ; an' I shell do it ! " 
 
 She helped her mistress to bed with a firmness not 
 untouched with real tenderness which melted Miss 
 Cynthia's soul within her. As she sat propped among 
 her white pillows eating the chop and toast, which 
 Abby Whiton presently set before her with a curi- 
 ously indulgent air, she reviewed the circumstances 
 of her revolt with mild regret. " I'm sorry I spoke 
 to you just as I did, Abby," she said meekly. "I 
 was pretty tired, I guess, and " 
 
 " Don't you say 'nother word, Miss Cynthy ; it's all 
 right. I'll see 'at you don't git so tuckered out agin,
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 77 
 
 that's all," Abby Whiton told her, with the strong 
 kindness of tone and manner one would use toward 
 a particularly exasperating child, made ill by her 
 own naughtiness. 
 
 Miss Cynthia weakly permitted the inference to 
 pass. But the tranquil stubbornness of the Brey- 
 fogles rested upon her sleeping features in so marked 
 a degree that Abby Whiton observed it with fresh 
 astonishment when she came to remove the tray and 
 the candle. "My goodness! ef she ain't gittin' to 
 be the spit an' image of her gran'pa ! " she murmured, 
 " an' the land knows he was his own boss, 's well 's 
 everybody else's, to his dyin' day ! "
 
 VI 
 
 THE fact that the rain was pouring out of a dun- 
 coloured sky in torrents did not damp the business 
 ardour of young Mr. Blossom. He appeared at Miss 
 Cynthia's door clad in a streaming mackintosh, 
 bearing a streaming umbrella and a huge package 
 of samples done up in waterproof cloth under his 
 arm. 
 
 " No, you can't see Miss Cynthy ; she's flat on her 
 back this mornin'," Abby Whiton informed him. 
 " I've jes' took her breakfas' upstairs, an' she ain't 
 a-goin' to git out o' bed to-day. I do' know but 
 what I shell sen' fer the doctor. 'Twouldn't su'prise 
 me a mite ef she sh'd hev a long spell o' sickness 
 after what she done yiste'd'y. Where in under the 
 sun did you come acrost her, George? " 
 
 "Over on Scott's cross-road, not far from the old 
 red bridge," said Mr. Blossom. He looked exceed- 
 ingly disappointed. "Do you suppose she'd be able 
 to look over these samples ? " he asked. " She told 
 me to bring 'em this morning, sure. And of course 
 
 78
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 79 
 
 the quicker I get to work on the job the quicker I 
 can get it done." 
 
 "What job?" demanded Abby Whiton sharply. 
 Her aspect was so aggressive, not to say intimidating, 
 that George Blossom was involuntarily reminded of 
 the last time that bony hand had seized upon him 
 from behind, just as he was about to pocket a particu- 
 larly luscious sweeting. 
 
 He hesitated diplomatically. "Perhaps I'd better 
 call again," he said, with a propitiatory smile. "I 
 don't want to take your time, Abby." 
 
 " I've got time a-plenty to hear what your errant is 
 in this 'ere house," she told him incisively. "I've 
 heerd you're gittin' to be a terrible smart, pushin' 
 business man, George ; but I guess we'll try an' make 
 out 'ithout any paintin' an' paperin' this spring." 
 Abby Whiton smiled grimly at the discomfited expres- 
 sion in the young fellow's gray eyes. 
 
 " Not this spring," she repeated decidedly. " W'y, 
 I wouldn't go through the mess of it ef you was to 
 pay me ! I know what it is to hev paint-pails in ev'r y 
 corner an' scraps of paper tracked all over the place. 
 So you might's well "
 
 80 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " Oh, good-morning, Mr. Blossom," called a clear 
 little voice from overhead. " I thought I heard you 
 speak. Won't you walk right in; Abby will take 
 your coat and umbrella. I'll be down at once." 
 
 "Fer the lan's sake!" ejaculated Abby Whiton, 
 with a scandalised sniff. " Ef she ain't opened her 
 window an' stuck her head right out in the rain! 
 She'll git her death; that's what she'U git," 
 
 " Oh, I guess not," opined Mr. Blossom cheerfully. 
 " She had on a shawl, you know." He stepped into 
 the hall with a confident and masterful air, before 
 which Abby Whiton involuntarily retreated kitchen- 
 ward. 
 
 " Here, you c'n give me yer umbereel, an' that wet 
 coat o' yourn," she remarked acidly. " I'll hang 'em 
 m the wood-shed to drip a spell. I guess I'll hev to 
 step upstairs an' see what Miss Cynthy's up to now." 
 
 As to the exact nature of the interview which took 
 place between mistress and maid above stairs George 
 Blossom could only guess, as he waited for what 
 seemed an interminable length of time in the sepul- 
 chral hall. He gave vent to a low, apprehensive 
 whistle, as an occasional excited accent reached his
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 81 
 
 attentive ears. " Jiminy ! I hope she's game," he 
 murmured. 
 
 Two successive slams of two distant doors appeared 
 to terminate the engagement, and presently Miss 
 Cynthia came down the stairs. Her cheeks were 
 flushed and her blue eyes shone with the light of hard- 
 won victory; she looked young, almost girlish in her 
 slim black dress. George Blossom sprang to his 
 feet with a little exclamation of inquiring sympathy. 
 
 "No, I'm not sick," Miss Cynthia told him de- 
 cidedly. "But I was so tired I overslept for the 
 first time in years. I'm not used to being out of 
 doors, you know. When I awoke I found Abby had 
 brought my breakfast upstairs. Now we'll look at 
 the papers ; for I'd like you to begin to-morrow." 
 
 " I suppose you'll make a thorough, complete j ob 
 of it," observed George Blossom, glancing critically 
 about the dingy walls of the room they entered. 
 "There'll be some plastering to be done where the 
 cracks are bad, and it '11 make considerable trouble, 
 first and last. The carpets '11 have to be taken up 
 and the furniture moved." 
 
 "I'm ready for anything," declared Miss Cynthia,
 
 82 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 the flush returning to her cheeks and the sparkle to 
 her eyes. "I'll hire a woman, and a man, too, if 
 necessary. Abby Whiton's going to leave." 
 
 "Whew!" exclaimed Mr. Blossom. Then he 
 laughed outright. " I got her that time," he exulted 
 boyishly. 
 
 " She's going right off to-day," went on Miss 
 Cynthia, with a dubious little quaver in her defiant 
 voice. " I I shall be quite alone in the house. I 
 I don't know whether " 
 
 "I can get you a girl," said George Blossom con- 
 fidently. "Mother 5 !! be sure to know of somebody. 
 I'll ask her. We'll have a girl here by night ; see if 
 we don't." 
 
 Then the sample-books were spread out in all the 
 bewildering array of their dazzling possibilities. 
 Miss Cynthia strove vainly to picture to herself a 
 green parlour and a yellow hall in striking juxta- 
 position ; a blue dining room coupled crudely with 
 a pink sitting room; bedrooms festooned with mam- 
 moth pink roses climbing over impossible lattice- 
 work; papered ceilings in vast designs of gilded 
 scrolls and arabesques; mouldings and borders in
 
 /The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 83 
 
 endless variety. She became gradually pale and de- 
 pressed ; and all the while the youthful and inexperi- 
 enced George discoursed volubly of the style and 
 elegance of his papers, and the astonishing changes 
 which said papers would produce when applied to 
 the walls of the old Breyfogle house. 
 
 "I I don't know," murmured Miss Cynthia 
 faintly. "I'm afraid I'd feel strange with things 
 so so different. These roses, now, and this scroll- 
 work. Someway I feel all mixed up, and my 
 head " 
 
 Mr. Blossom stared at her in vague alarm. " Say ! " 
 he blurted out, "I oughtn't to have showed you all 
 these books at once. Mother says they're enough to 
 turn the brain of a saint. She couldn't pick out a 
 paper for our parlour to save her life. I had to do 
 it myself, and now she wishes it was different." 
 
 Miss Cynthia sighed apprehensively. She ap- 
 peared to be listening furtively to the distant sounds 
 of strong, decided footfalls which passed to and fro 
 with dread regularity. " It's Abby," she explained, 
 in a small, weak voice. " I suppose she's packing 
 her things,"
 
 84 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Miss Cynthia was struggling bravely with a de- 
 pressing belief that the foundations of her little 
 world were about to be terribly shaken, if not alto- 
 gether removed. She realised abjectly that she had 
 brought this unlocked for cataclysm upon herself; 
 that it was a direct result of her own rash acts. For 
 the moment she longed to dismiss George Blossom 
 with his terrible sample-books. She could then 
 humbly capitulate before Abby Whiton's entrench- 
 ments and everything would go on as before till 
 till " 
 
 " Of course I don't want Abby to stay after all she 
 said," she syllabled faintly. " But " 
 
 At this crucial moment Mr. Blossom deposited his 
 sample-books upon the floor with a decided thud. 
 " It's clearing off," he said abruptly ; " the sun's out 
 now. If you'll let me I'm going to bring the phae- 
 ton around and take you over to mother's to dinner ; 
 then we'll hunt a girl this afternoon. What do you 
 say? I won't be ten minutes." 
 
 " Oh, I don't believe I could," faltered Miss Cynthia. 
 "Your mother wouldn't be expecting me, and 
 
 " She asked me to bring you," declared George
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 85 
 
 Blossom mendaciously. " She said she hadn't seen 
 you for years to speak to. She was so surprised 
 and pleased when I told her you'd given me such a 
 splendid job. I told her about our ride yesterday, 
 and she said she really wished she could have a good 
 talk with you." 
 
 The last part of this statement was strictly true, 
 and the young man's tone was so hearty and con- 
 vincing, his gray eyes so kind and reassuring that 
 Miss Cynthia, her little courage quite exhausted, 
 looked at him gratefully. " I'll go," she said. 
 Then her face fell. "I shall have to stay and see 
 Abby off," she faltered. "I must settle with her, 
 and " 
 
 "Leave her money on the table and a note telling 
 her to put the key under the door-mat," promptly 
 advised the sapient George. " I guess there aren't 
 any fond last words coming to her, if she talked to 
 you as I expect she did." 
 
 And this hard-hearted suggestion Miss Cynthia 
 weakly followed to the letter. 
 
 Half an hour later Abby Whiton, reconnoitring 
 the premises from an upper window, was thunder-
 
 86 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 struck to behold her mistress in the full panoply of 
 her best gown, being assisted by George Blossom 
 into his new phaeton. This was the last drop in the 
 overflowing cup of her indignities. " Fer the Tan's 
 sake!" she cried. "Ef she ain't gone silly daft 
 over that boy! It's all clear to me now. Well, I'd 
 a sight druther have laid her out than to see her 
 makin' a fool o' herself." 
 
 Functions of a mortuary nature had always proved 
 more congenial to the somewhat gloomy tastes of 
 Miss Whiton than anything in the way of love and 
 matrimony. She was accustomed to look down 
 upon all " men-folks " from a Matterhorn-like peak 
 of maiden scorn; but for "young fellers," such as 
 George Blossom, she felt an unqualified con- 
 tempt. 
 
 " W'y, he ain't hardly out o' short pants ! " she told 
 herself fiercely, as she hurried down to the lower re- 
 gions for further investigations. "More'n likely 
 she hadn't no idee I meant a word I said 'bout goin' ; 
 but she'll find she's mistook. I ain't a-goin' to be 
 tromped on by nobody." 
 
 As a matter of fact, Miss Whiton had as yet made
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 87 
 
 no move toward actual preparations for leaving, 
 beyond ostentatiously emptying her wardrobe. 
 "M' closet's got to be cleaned out, anyhow," she 
 had reflected; "I might's well do it to-day as any 
 other day." 
 
 She had decided further that she would allow Miss 
 Cynthia to have the house painted on the outside. 
 " 'Tain't a-goin' to hurt me any, an' I guess the's 
 spots along the gutters 'at needs it," she admitted. 
 " I reelly hadn't noticed. As for the paperin', 
 ef she's s' awful set on makin' a change I do' 
 know as I care if the parlour an' settin* room's 
 done." 
 
 This indulgent and amicable frame of mind was 
 suddenly changed to wrath and bitterness of spirit 
 by the discovery of the letter with its valuable en- 
 closure, which Miss Cynthia had deposited in a con- 
 spicuous place upon the kitchen table. 
 
 " My wages, an' fifty dollars extry ' f er long an' 
 faithful services ' ! " snorted Abby. " Well, I want- 
 ta-know! I c'n leave the key under the door-mat, 
 kin I? Well !" 
 
 Her grim face paled as the inexorable nature of
 
 88 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 the communication forced itself upon her atten- 
 tion. " W'y W'y ! She reelly wants I should go 
 an' I a-livin' here in this house sence she was a 
 baby! I remember it 's 'o it was yiste'd'y. I was 
 livin' to home when Mis' Day come after me. 
 'We've got a little girl three years old,' she says: 
 ' but she's a good, obedient child,' she says. An' 
 she cert'nly was, poor little thing! I never did care 
 much fer childern, but she was sech a white-faced, 
 scared-lookin' little mite, an' her ma was always so 
 up-an'-down with her, let alone her pa an' Gran'ma 
 an' Gran'pa Breyfogle. All of 'em took a han' at 
 fetchin' her up, off an' on. None of 'em b'lieved in 
 sparin' the rod, neither. My! how she us't' holler 
 some days! Then agin, she'd creep 'round like a 
 little lamb, 's quiet an' good 's could be. They kep' 
 her dressed jes' so clean an' neat, an' she wa'n't 
 never 'lowed to muss her clo'es or to play out over- 
 much. They kep' her busy a-doin' her stents an' her 
 cat'chism. She cert'nly was a good child. An' to 
 think of her a-breakm* out now after all these 
 years ! " 
 Abby Whiton scorned the display of sentiment
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 89 
 
 of any sort, but alone in the familiar kitchen, pain- 
 ful tears crowded her dry old eyes and coursed salt 
 and bitter down her lean cheeks, as she again perused 
 Miss Cynthia's brief and decisive communication. 
 Could she have known it, there were other drops scarce 
 dry among the few words of dismissal and farewell. 
 Thirty years of life together in any relationship knits 
 bonds that are bound to hurt when they are broken. 
 
 " Mebbe I was kind of foolish to undertake to cross 
 her so," acknowledged poor Abby. " Come to think 
 of it, she's reelly the boss here, an' her Gran'pa 
 Breyf ogle's ways are a-growin' on her, I guess. 
 Course she can't help that! But it cert'nly is queer 
 how it come on her all of a sudden. W'y, only last 
 week she says to me, 'Abby,' she says, 'don't you 
 think we'd better invite the minister an' his wife to 
 tea pretty soon?' 'Land, no!' I says, 'not this 
 spring. We've had 'em twict a'ready sence Mis' 
 Buckthorn had 'em to her house. The' ain't no sense 
 in bein' too lavish,' I says. 'It costs money ev'ry 
 time we hev comp'ny,' I says. An' she give right in 
 without a word, same as she always done. 
 
 "My! ef I ain't saved an' scrimped fer her! I'll
 
 90 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 bet I ain't wasted a bit of victuals the size o' my 
 thumb nail sence her ma died. I've jest took the hull 
 r'sponsibility right onto my shoulders, an' I hain't 
 shirked m' duty neither. I really couldn't ha' done 
 more fer her ef I'd 'a be'n a blood relation o' hern, 
 
 an' now Well, I'll hev to go, that's all the' is 
 
 'bout it. But what in under the sun she'll do 
 without me is more 'n I c'n tell. More 'n likely she'll 
 git in some slack young girl 'at '11 throw her money 
 out the back door faster 'an she c'n bring it in at the 
 front. I know 'em, with their good-fer-nothin', 
 shif 'less ways ! Well, I'm a-goin' ; I can't help what 
 happens to her now." 
 
 In pursuance of this resolution Miss Whiton pro- 
 duced a long-cherished stump of lead pencil from its 
 chosen niche atop the kitchen clock, and painfully 
 scrawled a few words on the back of the paper upon 
 which the farewell words of her mistress were 
 inscribed. 
 
 " Miss Cynthy : [she wrote] I ain't in the habit 
 of takin' no money I don't earn. I don't want no fifty 
 dollars extry fer doin' right. You can spend it on
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 91 
 
 wall-paper, if you want to. But if I was you I 
 should lay it up for a rainy day that ain't fur off. 
 You won't git anybody in a hurry that will do 
 fer you what I done. Your resp'fully, Abby 
 Whiton." 
 
 This done, she sealed up the unshed balance of her 
 tears with two or three vigorous sniffs of self-right- 
 eous approval, packed her belongings with a long- 
 armed energy approaching fierceness, donned her 
 best black alpaca and her old-fashioned black hat 
 trimmed with purple asters, the gift of Grandmother 
 Breyfogle. 
 
 The kitchen was painfully clean and silent, as she 
 stood and looked about it for the last time. The 
 loud-voiced clock which had ticked a faithful accom- 
 paniment to her many labours during thirty years 
 sounded solemnly in her ears, as it had done on the 
 days when some member of the family had lain dying 
 above stairs. 
 
 " Oh my! " wailed Abby Whiton, suddenly throwing 
 up her hands. " Seems 's 'o I couldn't stan' it 
 nohow ! "
 
 92 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 She whirled blindly about and went out of the door, 
 turned the clumsy old key in its worn lock, drew it out 
 and thrust it under the mat. Then she walked 
 steadily down the path and out into the street, her 
 head high, her eyes fixed straight before her.
 
 VII 
 
 IF Miss Cynthia had cherished any unpleasant doubts 
 as to the warmth of her reception at the hands of 
 George Blossom's mother, these doubts were immedi- 
 ately put to rest at the sight of Mrs. Blossom herself, 
 rosy, stout, and smiling, her voluminous purple calico 
 skirts and spotless apron flying wide on the April 
 wind as she hurried down the path to meet her 
 guest. 
 
 " Well, now I call this reel kind and neighbourly ! " 
 she cried, enthusiastically kissing Miss Cynthia's thin 
 cheek. "I'm kep' in so constant with the milk an' 
 all I don't get out much, but I do enjoy to see folks. 
 Our George, he's been tellin' me 'bout the job you've 
 given him at your house, and I wanted to tell 
 you how glad I am. He 's so ambitious, our George 
 is. I don't know as I c'n make out just what he doos 
 want to do; I sh'd think he'd be pretty well satisfied 
 to be gettin' along as well as he is, with a good trade 
 
 93
 
 94 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 an' all. But I suspicion there's a girl at the 
 root of the matter." 
 
 The good woman winked and nodded jovially at Miss 
 Cynthia, who found herself in quite a pleasant flutter 
 of anticipation. She had never been allowed to visit 
 or to have company in her younger days, and of late 
 years the feeble stirrings of her social ambitions had 
 been promptly suppressed by the frugal Abby 
 Whiton. She experienced an entirely new and de- 
 lightful sensation as she found herself ensconced in 
 Mrs. Blossom's comfortable, sunshiny sitting room. 
 There were scarlet geraniums blooming in the clear 
 windows, and a yellow canary singing riotously in a 
 gilt cage. There were books and magazines, too, 
 with gay covers, and a deep chair with cushions. 
 
 "Our George is a great hand for reading," Mrs. 
 Blossom explained, with smiling pride. "An' he 's 
 always gettin' me something new an' pretty. He 
 bought me the canary and this chair for my birthday. 
 I never see anybody like that boy for thinkin' up 
 things to do for other folks. I guess he'll make 
 somebody a pretty good husband, some of these 
 days."
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 95 
 
 " Is it Rosalie Scott ? " asked Miss Cynthia, with 
 simplicity. 
 
 Mrs. Blossom laughed exuberantly. 
 
 "Has George been talkin' to 3 r ou 'bout her, 
 a'ready?" she inquired. "Well, I declare, he doos 
 beat all ! I tell him he ought n't to wear his heart on 
 his sleeve the way he doos, but he's just like me; I 
 never could keep in 'bout anything I reelly cared 
 about. Rosalie 's a lovely girl. My ! I guess she is! 
 If our George can get her But I don't know, she 's 
 be'n away to school, an' I guess her pa an' ma think 
 our George ain't up to her level. We think he's up 
 to most anybody's level, as far as smartness an' good- 
 ness goes. Of course, we ain't rich, an' we ain't be'n 
 able to do for George the way we'd like to, but we 
 think there ain't a nicer boy anywhere than our 
 George." Her motherly eyes demanded instant cor- 
 roboration from Miss Cynthia. 
 
 "He was certainly very kind to me yesterday," 
 Miss Cynthia said sincerely. " I'm glad I met him 
 up there on the hill. Perhaps I shouldn't have 
 thought of " 
 
 "No, I don't s'pose you would, reelly," chimed in
 
 96 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Mrs. Blossom apologetically. " Our George is so full 
 of idees, an' he's real pushin', too, in his business. 
 It '11 be quite a tear-up at your house to do all you're 
 talking of. An' Abby Whiton 's gone! I sh'd 
 think you'd reelly dread to make a change. She 
 must have been pretty near like one of the family, 
 after all these years." 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Cynthia, with a troubled little 
 smile, "that was just it. She was so much like one 
 of the family that she I I thought I should like 
 to have things different for a year, maybe." 
 
 "I sh'd think you would enjoy a change on some 
 accounts, most everybody doos," agreed Mrs. Blossom 
 cautiously. She looked hard at her visitor, her 
 honest brown eyes filled with a frank surprise and 
 curiosity. " I used to know your mother some, when 
 we were both girls," she went on with a reminiscent 
 smile. " She always lived at home after she was 
 married, and you were her only child. Her folks 
 couldn't bear to let her out of their sight, I remember, 
 an' they was just the same with you, I've heard 
 tell." 
 
 " I always stayed at home a good deal," admitted
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 97 
 
 Miss Cynthia, with an air of proud reserve. "There 
 didn't seem to be any call to go out much. Then, of 
 course, there was sickness, so " 
 
 " Of course, of course," sighed Mrs. Blossom ; " most 
 of us is kep' in by one thing or another. But now 
 the' ain't anything to hender you, I sh'd say. An' I 
 guess you'll begin to have a good time, once you get 
 your house all fixed up." She nodded and smiled 
 encouragingly. "You 've got such nice big rooms 
 at your house you c'n entertain company reel nice, 
 an' have folks to stay with you, too. It ain't as if 
 you was old. Why you can't be more'n " 
 
 Miss Cynthia blushed resentfully, then she slowly 
 paled. "I'm thirty-three," she said in a low, deter- 
 mined voice, " I don't mean to wait to begin my good 
 times. I've waited too long, now." 
 
 " Well, I must say you 're reel sensible," observed 
 Mrs. Blossom wonderingly. "Most of us keeps 
 a-jog-trottin' right along, without seem' anything 
 ahead of us except our work. I know I do." 
 
 " What do you think is the best way to give things 
 away?" asked Miss Cynthia suddenly. "My house 
 is so full of all sorts of furniture and clothes and
 
 98 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 fancy-work and and tilings, I want to give them 
 away." 
 
 Her hostess looked hopelessly mystified. "Our 
 
 George was saying " she began. Then she 
 
 laughed comfortably. " Well, I declare, if that ain't 
 a new idee! Most of us is busy the endurin' while 
 tryin' to hold on to our old things. But perhaps on 
 account of the paintin' an' paperin' you was thinkin' 
 
 of refurnishin'. You might have an auction ; or " 
 
 The good woman's face lighted with the fire of a new 
 idea. "Did you ever hear of a rummage sale? I 
 was readin' 'bout one in the Ladies' Household 
 Treasury the other day." 
 
 Miss Cynthia shook her head. " I don't want to sell 
 my things," she said, " I want to give them away. It 
 will be different." 
 
 " I sh'd say so ! " exclaimed Mrs. Blossom. After a 
 tense silence she laughed again, in the rich, mellow 
 way which seemed to be a habit of hers. " You might 
 have a rummage give-away," she suggested. "Just 
 set out everything you don't want and let folks come 
 and take their pick. You'd get rid of your things 
 all right."
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 99 
 
 "I don't see why that wouldn't be a good idea," 
 Miss Cynthia said thoughtfully. "But how would 
 people know I was going to to rummage? " 
 
 " Why, I s'pose it might be give out in church, 
 it's a kind of charity, seems to me, though I don't 
 know as I ever heard of such a thing. It 'ud get 
 around fast enough, anyway, if you was to speak of 
 it. The' 's plenty of folks 'at 'ud be glad to see what 
 you set out, even if you was n't goin' to give 'em a 
 stick of it. Why don't you ask the minister? " 
 
 " I don't see," Miss Cynthia observed mildly, " why 
 I should ask the minister. It has n't anything to do 
 with charity or or religion. I'm tired of my things, 
 and I'm tired of being stingy, that 's all." 
 
 Mrs. Blossom stared helplessly at her guest. " The' 
 's all sorts of tired feelin's comes onto folks in the 
 spring," she said at last, " but I guess this is the first 
 time I ever heard tell of that special kind. But here 
 comes George. I'll just step out into the kitchen and 
 look after the dinner while you an' him visit a spell. 
 Don't you let him show you a single one of those 
 wall-papers of liisn, or you won't be able to eat a 
 bite."
 
 100 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Miss Cynthia did not in the least know why, but she 
 felt better and brighter and younger and more loving 
 than she had felt in years, when she arose from Mrs. 
 Blossom's cheerful dinner-table. 
 
 " You want to be sure an' get a girl 'at knows how 
 to cook reel well," said that good woman beamingly, 
 as she observed the pleasant glow in her guest's wan 
 face. 
 
 She cherished a private little gospel of her own, did 
 Mrs. Blossom, and it had a vast deal in it about good 
 cooking. She was vaguely aware that man does not 
 live by bread alone; but a certain fine, motherly 
 instinct assured her that the quality of the bread 
 terrestrial determines to an astonishing degree one's 
 appetite for the bread celestial. It probably would 
 never have occurred to Mrs. Blossom that Cyn- 
 thia Day was sick and weak and old before her time, 
 and gloomy and depressed and stingy and timid and 
 inhospitable, just because of the quality of the meals 
 she had hitherto partaken of in the musty seclusion of 
 the Breyfogle dining room. But she held certain 
 shrewd, well-founded suspicions regarding the meth- 
 ods of Abby Whiton.
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 101 
 
 " Somebody that can cook reel good, wholesome, 
 relishin' victuals," she repeated, with her rich, 
 gurgling laugh. "Now, there 's Nellie Ryan. I 
 taught her to cook, myself times when I had to get 
 in help from outside. She 's slack about her kitchen, 
 I'll admit, an' I never could teach her to save the 
 pieces ; but she c'n turn out as tasty a meal as you'd 
 want to set down to ; an' she's willin' as willin' c'n be. 
 She's pretty, too; an' for my part, I like to see a 
 rosy, good-natured face in my kitchen." 
 
 "I shan't mind if she's slack," Miss Cynthia said 
 eagerly. " I think I'd like it. I've never seen any- 
 body slack, or or pretty in our kitchen." 
 
 Nellie Ryan was leaning upon the picket gate 
 talking with a smart-looking young workman in over- 
 alls when George Blossom reined in his big brown 
 horse before her mother's cottage. She nodded shyly, 
 her pretty Irish face dimpling and flushing coquet- 
 tishly. The young fellow in overalls wheeled about 
 with a sheepish grin. " Hello, George ! " he growled, 
 " that you? " 
 
 "Hello, Bill," responded Mr. Blossom amiably.
 
 102 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " I've brought Miss Day to see Nellie on a little busi- 
 ness." 
 
 Thus introduced, Miss Cynthia somewhat breath- 
 lessly unfolded her errand. " I do hope you'll come," 
 she finished, " I'm all alone, and I I don't know what 
 to do." 
 
 The girl's eyes followed her late visitor as he tramped 
 away down the street. " I'm afraid I couldn't stay 
 with you very long," she said, blushing. " I could 
 come for the summer, perhaps." 
 
 "If you'll stay with me for a year," said Miss 
 Cynthia, looking wistfully down into the pretty, rosy 
 face, " I'll give you four dollars a week. I want 
 somebody who will stay for a year." 
 
 The girl opened her blue eyes very wide; the sum 
 mentioned was an unheard of sum to pay for house- 
 work in the village of Innisfield. "I should like to 
 earn all that money, ma'am," she said, showing her 
 white teeth in a pleased smile ; " an' I'll do it if 
 if She cast a shy, laughing glance at George 
 Blossom. "I was thinkin' of being married in the 
 fall, ma'am, and I should hate to to ask him to wait ; 
 but maybe "
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 103 
 
 " Don't do it," Miss Cynthia said quickly. " Don't 
 ask him to wait. No no, you mustn't wait ! Come 
 and stay with me for the summer. Perhaps it won't 
 
 be a a year. Perhaps " She controlled herself 
 
 with a visible effort. " I shall pay you just the same 
 for the time you do stay." 
 
 And so it came to pass that Nellie Ryan reigned in 
 Abby Whiton's stead, and things were " different " in 
 the Breyfogle kitchen, and also in the Breyfogle 
 dining room. George Blossom began to scrape and 
 paint the outside of the Breyfogle house, and the 
 young man known as Bill assisted him in the process. 
 Of a noon Bill ate his lunch with Nellie at the kitchen 
 table Abby Whiton had scoured to a stern and uncom- 
 promising whiteness. 
 
 Miss Cynthia could hear their careless young laugh- 
 ter as she ate her own solitary dinner. This meal was 
 now of such a surprisingly satisfying and abundant 
 nature that she was almost afraid to meet the 
 crayoned eyes of the late Mrs. Day, who still presided 
 in cold black and white from above the mantelpiece. 
 She had already entertained the minister and his wife
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 at tea, and George Blossom and his mother at dinner, 
 and the Puffer twins had formed the cheerful habit 
 of dropping in to breakfast whenever the appetite for 
 jam and toast overcame them, which was often. 
 
 All this had taken place, and the evening and the 
 morning were the sixth day. 
 
 On the seventh day Miss Cynthia went to church.
 
 vin 
 
 CYNTHIA DAY had been accustomed to attend the 
 regular morning service of the Innisfield Presbyterian 
 church since the days when, after sitting for what 
 seemed a dreary age with her young eyes hope- 
 lessly below the horizon of the family pew and her 
 small feet sticking out straight in front, she had been 
 mercifully permitted to lose consciousness upon her 
 mother's angular knees. 
 
 The Breyf ogle pew, with its array of fly-blown palm- 
 leaf fans, its musty hymnals and its curious old- 
 fashioned foot-stools, prone to topple over thunder- 
 ously in the midst of "the long prayer," was as 
 much of a family heritage as the old house on Maple 
 Street, or the family plot in the bleak burying- 
 ground. Miss Cynthia had always cherished a belief 
 that the title to a mansion in the skies was inalien- 
 ably associated with a rigidly regular attendance 
 upon what she had been taught to call " divine serv- 
 ice." As to just what constituted the service, or in 
 
 105
 
 106 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 what particular part of it inhered divinity, Miss 
 Cynthia had never ventured to inquire. 
 
 On this particular Sunday morning, while the thin- 
 voiced bell still clanged its insistent summons to wor- 
 ship, Miss Cynthia slipped into her accustomed cor- 
 ner, in her own peculiarly modest and shadowy way. 
 She had never attracted the attention of curious eyes, 
 being as much a part of the familiar Sabbath topog- 
 raphy of the place as the thick, black Bible on the 
 preacher's desk, or the shining, bald head of Deacon 
 Scrimger in the fourth pew from the chancel. 
 
 It was a time-honoured custom among the adult 
 members of the congregation to recognise the sanctity 
 of the place and occasion by briefly bowing the head 
 upon the further rim of one's pew. This pious act 
 (originating in the early Puritan days) combined an 
 uncompromising denial of the Papish practice of 
 kneeling in church with an ingeniously difficult atti- 
 tude of body calculated to meet the stern demands of 
 the New England conscience. For a person of small 
 stature, the exercise became a painfully strenuous 
 one. But no Breyf ogle had ever been known to omit 
 it. Miss Cynthia, therefore, leaned aspiringly for-
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 107 
 
 ward, the toes of her little shoes scarce touching the 
 floor, and grasping the cold, slippery railing of the 
 pew with one determined hand, with the other applied 
 an equally cold and slippery handkerchief to her 
 eyes in the prescribed manner. 
 
 This devotional period was quite frankly employed 
 by the younger and more thoughtless members of the 
 congregation as an excellent opportunity for inspect- 
 ing the hats and bonnets on the bowed heads of the 
 worshippers. Well over, certain whispered obser- 
 vations on current topics of communal interest 
 might be circumspectly passed between contiguous 
 pews. 
 
 On the present occasion the majestic Mrs. Buck- 
 thorn was seen to exchange discreet confidences with 
 Miss Electa Pratt in the choir seats, and that lady's 
 prominent plumes vibrated with poignant emotion as 
 she whispered a few words in the ear of the lady next 
 her. Other heads in various parts of the house bowed 
 like weighted grain under a passing breeze, while a 
 fire of inquisitive eyes was presently centred upon 
 the crown of Miss Cynthia's black bonnet, which still 
 remained bowed upon the outer rim of the Breyfogle
 
 108 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 pew. Strange and surprising rumours concerning 
 the singular doings of Miss Cynthia had been circu- 
 lated from mouth to mouth during the past week, and 
 the unusual worshipfulness of her demeanour was felt 
 to be strongly corroborative evidence. 
 
 But Miss Cynthia was quietly crying in the black- 
 bordered handkerchief beneath the shelter of her 
 drooping black veil. The revolution in her small, 
 bleak world had been so complete and overwhelming 
 that the sight of the unchanged Breyfogle pew, and 
 even the ancient and musty smell of the hymn books, 
 so directly associated with religion of the Brey- 
 fogle Presbyterian variety as to subtly represent the 
 odour of sanctity in Miss Cynthia's nostrils had 
 proved painfully agitating. 
 
 It was almost as though she had come suddenly face 
 to face with her stern-visaged Grandfather Brey- 
 fogle, in the midst of some escapade of acknowledged 
 impropriety. For the moment she was quite drowned 
 in distressing doubts and fears. She wished weakly 
 that all was over, and that she was safely hidden from 
 human view beneath the sheltering sod of the family 
 plot. She trembled to think of her bold plans for the
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 109 
 
 coming week. They now appeared to her as brazen 
 and improper to the verge of sinfulness. And all 
 these quiverings and cryings of a newly-awakened 
 soul arose in a very sincere, if wordless, little prayer 
 to the God of her fathers. 
 
 The effort to swallow her unreasoning tears, and to 
 furtively dab away the evidences of them with her 
 thinly-starched pocket-handkerchief occupied Miss 
 Cynthia through the preliminary prayers and hymns 
 until the pleasantly secular reading of the notices was 
 announced. 
 
 This tiny oasis of human interest, set midway 
 between a sermon of unknown length and dulness and 
 the various devotional exercises which immediately 
 preceded it, always received the closest attention of 
 the congregation; it being, in fact, a sort of social 
 programme for the entire community. It was then 
 that Miss Cynthia raised her head and fixed her 
 reddened eyes upon the minister with what strongly 
 resembled a look of actual defiance. 
 
 " My gracious ! " whispered the observant Miss 
 Pratt. "Do look at her! She's been cryin', an' I 
 don't wonder ! "
 
 110 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 The evening service, conducted by the Y. P. S. C. 
 E. ; the regular weekly church prayer meeting ; the 
 second grand Combination Entertainment in the 
 lecture course of the Y. M. C. A. ; the annual offering 
 for the cause of foreign missions, and the cake sale 
 and social of the W. C. T. U. having been duly 
 announced and commented upon, the Rev. Mr. Petti- 
 bone lifted the last thin slip of paper from the sacred 
 desk and assumed an attitude which his congregation 
 recognised as prefatory to remarks of a peculiarly 
 pastoral nature. 
 
 "I hold in my hand," said the Rev. Mr. Pettibone, 
 with impressive oratorical emphasis, " one of the most 
 remarkable notices which has ever been laid upon this 
 pulpit. Perhaps I should add that I have not met, 
 in my experience as a pastor, with a similar case. 
 And yet, this communication is a very direct and 
 practical exposition of Biblical truth. We are told 
 in the Scriptures that the man who possesses two 
 cloaks should straightway give one of them to the 
 man who has none. How many of us have heeded 
 this direct command of the Master's? How many of 
 the female members of this congregation having two
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 111 
 
 bonnets, or two dresses, or two shawls, or two " 
 
 Mr. Pettibone paused, as he met the anxious eyes of 
 his wife in one of the front pews. 
 
 " Or two er of any necessary article of cloth- 
 ing," he concluded somewhat lamely, " have 
 freely offered this er extra garment to the woman 
 who had none? I venture to say that very few of 
 us have even contemplated such an action. But here 
 is one of our own number who wishes to freely give 
 to give, mark you not only clothing, but a number 
 of other useful articles to those in need. I will now 
 read the notice as it was handed to me : 
 
 " ' Miss Cynthia Day would like to give away a num- 
 ber of articles, comprising clothing, furniture, car- 
 pets and household goods of all descriptions, at her 
 residence on Maple Street, beginning at ten o'clock 
 on Thursday morning of this week. Will the 
 members of the congregation kindly spread this 
 notice among those who are in need of such 
 articles ? ' 
 
 The audible gasp of consternation and astonishment 
 which followed was promptly covered by the reading 
 of a hymn. When the congregation stood up to
 
 112 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 sing, Miss Cynthia stood up, slim and straight in the 
 Breyfogle pew. Her small face wore a strangely 
 aloof and impersonal expression which was variously 
 construed as pride, vain-glory, hypocrisy, and even 
 a failing mind by the charitable matrons of her 
 acquaintance. 
 
 It is to be feared that the Reverend Silas Pettibone's 
 very excellent discourse did not receive the attention 
 which it merited. The weak and superficial render- 
 ing of the closing hymn, and the final benediction, 
 utilised for the most part by the congregation as a 
 period of preparation for a hasty exodus into the 
 aisles, prefaced a determined assault upon the Brey- 
 fogle pew. Miss Cynthia, pale and tremulous, but 
 strongly resembling her intrepid ancestor, waited the 
 attack. 
 
 "Well, well, well, Cynthy!" began Deacon 
 Scrimger, clicking his artificial teeth in an unpleasant 
 smile, " you give us quite a leetle s'prise this mornin' 
 quite a s'prise! What's your idee in givin' away 
 your worldly goods in this 'ere " 
 
 " Let me speak to her," commanded Mrs. Buckthorn, 
 elbowing the gathering crowd with the determined
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 113 
 
 authority of an ambulance surgeon hastily summoned 
 to the scene of a fatal accident. 
 
 " What do you mean by this unheard of action, my 
 dear child?" she inquired. "Have you any concep- 
 tion of the dangerous ideas you are settin' afloat in 
 this 'ere community? Suppose each an' every one 
 of us should undertake to do as you are doing, we 
 should shortly have the tramps an* beggars from the 
 whole county at our doors. I pity you, Cynthia, 
 from the bottom of my heart; I do, indeed! You 
 should have consulted me before " 
 
 "You'd better b'lieve I'm comin' a-Thursday, 
 bright an' early, too!" twittered Miss Electa Pratt, 
 with a girlish giggle. " I think it's just too excit- 
 ing an' lovely for anything! I wouldn't miss it for 
 worlds! I may come, mayn't I?" 
 
 " I hope," said Miss Cynthia stiffly, " that you will 
 all come and help me, so that the things will go to 
 the right people." 
 
 " Who are the right people ? " demanded an incisive 
 voice from the rear. A suppressed laugh arose at 
 this question. 
 
 Miss Cynthia shook her head. " I don't know," she
 
 114 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 said. " But I expect they'll come. I have so many 
 things, you know; and and I've never given any 
 of them away. I shall give them away now, even if 
 the wrong people take them." 
 
 Mrs. Pettibone pressed close to the little woman's 
 side they were both little women. "I think it's 
 just beautiful," she whispered encouragingly. " It 
 it's like the Encircling Good, you know. That's 
 everywhere, and we can each take from it just what 
 we want most." 
 
 " But I'm not doing it to to be good, or religious," 
 faltered Miss Cynthia. "It's only because I I 
 want to " 
 
 Mrs. Pettibone squeezed Miss Cynthia's cold little 
 fingers. " I shall come and help," she said, " so will 
 Mr. Pettibone." 
 
 "I shall be there," intoned Mrs. Buckthorn majesti- 
 cally. " I consider it my pers'nal dooty. I have 
 never been known to blench at the call of dooty, 
 whatever the pers'nal sacrifice to self." 
 
 " I'll try to git eround," quavered Deacon Scrimger. 
 " I've got a leetle idee of my own 'at I'll let ye know 
 when the time comes."
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 115 
 
 There seemed to be no doubt whatever of the success 
 of the enterprise considered from a merely social 
 standpoint. If Miss Cynthia had desired to put an 
 end to her long loneliness, she could not have devised 
 a better scheme. In the days that followed pretty 
 Nellie Ryan was kept busy from morning till night 
 answering the door-bell, which was finally jerked 
 bodily from its ancient socket by an eager young 
 person from a neighbouring village who had come to 
 inquire whether any bicycles were to be given away on 
 Thursday. 
 
 " What / want to know is, just what do you intend 
 givin' away?" asked Mrs. Buckthorn, whose sense of 
 duty had led her to call upon Miss Cynthia early on 
 Monday morning. 
 
 "Why, nearly everything," replied Miss Cynthia 
 calmly. "I am going to have these rooms papered 
 and painted, and it will be ever so much easier to give 
 the things away than to move them about from place 
 to place." 
 
 " Then you mean to buy everything new," observed 
 Mrs. Buckthorn, transfixing Miss Cynthia with her 
 spectacled gaze.
 
 116 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Miss Cynthia bore up bravely under the attack. " I 
 expect to use some old furniture that has been stored 
 in the attic for years," she replied. " I am tired of 
 seeing these things," she added with unexpected 
 bitterness. 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me, Cynthia Day, that you are 
 goin' to give to any Tom, Dick, or Harry that '11 
 carry *em away this furniture an' these carpets that 
 your sainted ma took care of as if they was made of 
 gold?" 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Cynthia directly. She glanced 
 about the densely furnished rooms with an odd ex- 
 pression which did not escape the vigilant eyes of 
 the matron. 
 
 " Not this stuffed sofa? " demanded Mrs. Buckthorn, 
 with rising indignation. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "An' these 'ere black walnut chairs with gilt 
 trimmings?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And both of those marble-topped tables?" 
 
 Miss Cynthia inclined her head stiffly. 
 
 "An* this han'some body-brussels carpet, with not
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 117 
 
 a hole in it, an' hardly faded a mite, an' that eVgant 
 whatnot with all those china ornaments ? " 
 
 Miss Cynthia straightened herself in her chair, with 
 a determined tightening of her small mouth. "If 
 I if I was to die," she said in a low voice, " these 
 things would have to be sold at auction. I have no 
 no relatives, who would care for them. If I wish to 
 give them away, why should anyone why should I 
 not do it?" 
 
 Mrs. Buckthorn carefully inspected the small figure 
 of her hostess, as she sat on one of the stuffed chairs 
 in the full light of the east window. " I haven't 
 seen you look as 'well as you do now for years, Cyn- 
 thia," she said meditatively. " Seems to me you've 
 been fleshin' up quite a little this spring, an' I never 
 saw you show such a colour since you was a girl. 
 But I do d'clare I believe your mind is affected. Do 
 you have headaches much ? " 
 
 Miss Cynthia smiled faintly. " I haven't had the 
 headache since I began to leave my windows open at 
 night," she said. 
 
 " You don't mean to tell me that you sleep with 
 your windows open!" exclaimed Mrs. Buckthorn
 
 118 The Resurrection of Miss ^Cynthia 
 
 increduously. " Why, ain't you afraid of the night 
 air are' burglars? It doosn't seem quite nice 
 for a female person to admit the night air into her 
 bedroom. It's sure to give you colds an' maybe 
 consumption. Why, I remember a niece of mine 'at 
 was possessed to throw up her windows at night, an' 
 many an' many a time I've shut 'em down after she'd 
 gone to sleep. I felt as 'o it was my pers'nal dooty. 
 An' do you know that girl died of consumption before 
 she was twenty ! It was a warnin' to me! Then, if a 
 burglar " 
 
 "I used to think just that way," explained Miss 
 Cynthia, "but one night I felt so so smothered, I 
 couldn't seem to get my breath, so I opened the win- 
 dows, and, really, I was surprised, I did sleep better. 
 I felt as though I didn't care if I did take cold," she 
 added under her breath. 
 
 Mrs. Buckthorn arose with a deep, discouraged sigh 
 and began a majestic tour of the premises. "Not 
 this I hope, Cynthia," she said, indicating a ponder- 
 ous gilt-embossed Bible. 
 
 " Yes, I think so ; I never read in it." 
 
 " Never read in it ! "
 
 iThe Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 119 
 
 "I've a smaller one upstairs," amended Miss Cyn- 
 thia hastily. 
 
 "What about this?" 'This' was a large and 
 elaborate hair-wreath in a deep glass case. " If I 
 remember rightly, your dear departed mother made 
 this beautiful wreath." 
 
 "Yes, she did," admitted Miss Cynthia, staring at 
 the object with a queer look in her blue eyes. "I 
 helped, too. I stayed in the house all the afternoons 
 of a whole summer, when I was seventeen, straighten- 
 ing out combings. All the family hair is in it, and 
 they're all dead but me." 
 
 " What a pr-recious family memorial ! " exclaimed 
 Mrs. Buckthorn feelingly. " Surely you're not 
 thinking of parting with that! " 
 
 " I'm not going to give it away," said Miss Cynthia. 
 She did not see fit to inform her visitor that she had 
 already laid the foundations of a sort of funeral 
 pyre in the back yard which she believed would 
 materially assist her in solving a number of problems 
 of a similar nature. 
 
 " I never saw such eVgant fine tattin' and crocheted 
 work as your dear relatives used to do when they was
 
 120 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 sojournin' in this vale of tears," Mrs. Buckthorn went 
 on. " Now, this here han'some set of tidies an' chair- 
 covers, what was you going to do with these ? " 
 
 Miss Cynthia's blue eyes sparkled with a singular 
 light. 
 
 " I made those things," she said abruptly. " I 
 crocheted them out of number ninety spool cotton 
 with a fine steel hook. I worked a year on them, and 
 
 all the while I " She stopped short, and eyed her 
 
 visitor, as she fingered the hated objects. " Would 
 you would you care to accept them? " she asked. 
 
 "My! I don't see how you c'n bear to part 
 with 'em!" murmured Mrs. Buckthorn. "I 
 shouldn't like to rob " 
 
 " I want to part with them," interrupted Miss Cyn- 
 thia breathlessly. " They always make me think 
 
 of Do take them, Mrs. Buckthorn; they won't 
 
 make you think of anything." 
 
 "My dear child, they'll make me think of you! 
 Thank you, so much! " 
 
 Miss Cynthia meekly endured the voluminous em- 
 brace and moist, matronly kiss which was the direct 
 outcome of this transaction. There were other
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 121 
 
 objects within view at sight of which Mrs. Buck- 
 thorn's neighbourly sympathies and mournful mem- 
 ories of past days overflowed in a flood of picturesque 
 reminiscences. 
 
 " It doos bring it all back to me so! " she sighed. 
 " It was right here, I remember, on this nice black hair 
 rug, that the undertaker it was Mr. Fish, in those 
 days ; poor man, he's dead an' gone, too ! Well, he 
 set your sainted gran'father's coffin right on this here 
 rug, with a wreath on top of it made out of purple 
 an' white everlastin's that me an' Mr. Buckthorn sent 
 in. We always thought so much of all your folks. 
 I don't suppose you ever realised just what they was 
 to us" 
 
 " No, I didn't," Miss Cynthia admitted. " I never 
 supposed the neighbours cared very much about any 
 of us. I don't see why they should." 
 
 Mrs. Buckthorn gave vent to a long and windy sigh. 
 She squeezed Miss Cynthia's little hand. " The 
 sacredest feelin's of the human heart ain't always 
 apparent," she said, "but the's occasions, such as 
 deaths an' fun'rals, that brings 'em to the surface. 
 Of course, you'll keep this han'some hair rug. 1
 
 122 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 d'clare, I don't b'lieve the moths has ever been in it. 
 Seems to me I c'n smell camphire on it now." 
 
 Miss Cynthia was looking very pale. " I wish you'd 
 take it away," she said in a low voice. 
 
 She drew a deep breath of the wild April air as she 
 stood on the doorstep watching the departing form 
 of Mrs. Buckthorn. That good lady had cordially 
 offered to " stay all day an' help get ready for Thurs- 
 day." But Miss Cynthia had excused herself on the 
 ground of a previous and pressing engagement. 
 
 "I'm afraid I'm getting real sly," she told herself, 
 with a guilty little laugh. " It was only the bonfire. 
 The twins are coming to help; but I couldn't have 
 her. I'm glad she's taken away all those things. I 
 hope I'll never see them again ! "
 
 IX 
 
 THE idea of the bonfire originated in Harriet 
 Puffer's fertile brain. " That's an awfully funny 
 kind of a wreath," she remarked, when curiously 
 examining the mortuary memorial composed of the 
 indestructible remains of many dead and gone Brey- 
 f ogles and Days. " I sh'd think you'd rather have 
 one made out of real flowers." 
 
 " I should," sighed Miss Cynthia. " I wish I knew 
 what to do with this one. I can't give it away, and 
 I'm not going to put anything up in the attic any 
 more." 
 
 " It's lots of fun to burn things up," observed 
 Harriet thoughtfully. "We could make a lovely 
 doll's cupboard out the wood an' glass part see, it's 
 got a regular little door. An' the hair part would 
 sizzle right up, if you sh'd put it on a bonfire." 
 
 " So it would," agreed Miss Cynthia. Her mind 
 reverted to the vast collection of family documents 
 stored away in divers ancient receptacles above stairs, 
 
 123
 
 124 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 which it had been her mother's unvarying custom to 
 unpack, to untie, to dust, to retie and pack again 
 with dire thoroughness, as the seasons changed. She 
 herself had already performed this rite on nine 
 successive occasions. " These family papers harbour 
 dust and dirt, if neglected," had been Grandmother 
 Breyf ogle's dictum. " But they should be preserved 
 out of respect to the departed." 
 
 "I shall burn them all," said Miss Cynthia firmly. 
 "There'll be nobody to take care of them next 
 spring." 
 
 The Puffer twins had already regaled themselves 
 upon certain choice selections from a herd of ginger- 
 bread animals constructed by the ingenious Nellie. 
 They now j oyously accompanied Miss Cynthia to the 
 attic, entirely ready to convey any designated object 
 to the back yard; the one idea in their youthful 
 minds being to build as large and inflammable a pile as 
 possible. It did not strike them as at all singular 
 that the first article to be consigned to the place of 
 sacrifice was a small, three-legged stool. 
 
 "I used to sit on that stool to do my stents," said 
 Miss Cynthia, regarding it soberly.
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 125 
 
 " What are stents ? " inquired Harriet. 
 
 " Something you have to do perfectly in a certain 
 time or get punished," Miss Cynthia told her. " I 
 had to sew, and knit, and cut patches, and crochet, 
 and learn hymns and Bible verses on that stool. 
 Nearly every day I was whipped for failing in one of 
 my stents." 
 
 The twins regarded the three-legged stool with a 
 fearful interest. " If you'd been twins " sug- 
 gested Edwina hopefully. 
 
 " If I had been twins," said Miss Cynthia gloomily, 
 " there would have been two stools." 
 
 "I guess we'd rather do stunts," giggled Harriet. 
 " Stunts are more fun, like climbing awful high trees, 
 when you're scared of fallin', or hoppin* on one foot 
 to the grocery store that's an awful hard stunt, 
 but we c'n do it." 
 
 The stool of dire memories was planted as the 
 foundation of the pyre. Around it gradually arose 
 a pyramid of old letters, cancelled checks, tax bills 
 and bundles of red-lined documents and leather- 
 backed account books. 
 
 A curious box containing divers sets of gold-
 
 126 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 mounted, artificial teeth roused the twins to excited 
 questionings. "Are they real teeth? Whose teeth 
 are they? Why are teeth in this box? What are 
 these teeth for? " 
 
 Miss Cynthia could not fully explain the mystery. 
 She dimly remembered hearing her grandmother say 
 that Uncle Jeremiah Breyfogle's false teeth might 
 come in useful some day; she knew they had cost a 
 sight of money. The teeth rattled realistically as 
 the twins dropped them into a niche in the prospective 
 bonfire. The box was reserved for a doll's trunk. 
 
 The pile grew fast after that ; Nellie Ryan smilingly 
 assisted; so did the helpful and ubiquitous William. 
 Hopelessly maimed furniture, strange shrunken shoes, 
 laced with mould and cobwebs, leaking overshoes in 
 odd sizes, curious headgear of every antiquated 
 fashion, broken umbrellas, theological books and 
 pamphlets, bundles of old periodicals yellowed with 
 age, remnants of wall-paper, bunches of odourless 
 herbs passed down the stairs and out into the unac- 
 customed light of day like a procession of dismal old 
 ghosts. 
 
 And now Miss Cynthia was delving with determined
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 127 
 
 zeal into the row of trunks and boxes which lurked 
 darkly beneath the eaves. Here were stores of 
 ancient, moth-corrupted muffs and collars, smelling 
 evilly of camphor and tobacco ; queer old cloaks and 
 dresses, dropping to pieces with age ; yellowed under- 
 clothing, breathing a lonesome aroma of desolation ; 
 rolls of pieces, breadths of forgotten fabrics she 
 heaped them all under the open sky-light. " Are any 
 of these good for anything, to anybody ? " she asked 
 hopelessly. 
 
 Nellie Ryan shook her pretty head. "The linen 
 would drop to pieces if you tried to bleach it, ma'am," 
 she said, " and the other things are too queer and old- 
 fashioned for folks now-a-days." 
 
 " If they had been given away forty years ago 
 somebody might have been glad of them," mused Miss 
 Cynthia. " But now take them all down and put 
 them on the bonfire." 
 
 A zealous antiquarian would doubtless have 
 shuddered at the vandalisms committed by Miss Cyn- 
 thia during the next hour. An actual lust for space 
 for emptiness had laid hold upon her. Her 
 small, colourless face glowed, her blue eyes burned
 
 128 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 with iconoclastic fires, as she raked forth the long- 
 venerated relics of by-gone days. 
 
 "Anything that is good for anybody to use we'll 
 give away," she said ; " the rest shall be burned. 
 I'm not going to save anything." 
 
 The Puffer twins, their curly red heads topped by 
 huge, flower-decked bonnets, gambolled joyously in 
 the midst of the parti-coloured heaps. 
 
 "You can have anything you like for your dolls," 
 Miss Cynthia told them recklessly. 
 
 Nellie Ryan's bright eyes rested inquiringly upon 
 a pile of gay-coloured light silks and muslins. " What 
 am I to do with these, ma'am? " she asked. " They're 
 too good to burn up, and I'm afraid poor people 
 couldn't use them. There's real pretty lace on this 
 dress." She held up a thin, India silk of a delicate 
 peach-blossom pink. 
 
 Miss Cynthia stared at it thoughtfully. "How I 
 did want to wear that silk once," she murmured. 
 " I was so tired of black ; but I wasn't allowed to have 
 it because somebody had just died a cousin of 
 mother's, I think. It is pretty, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Why don't you wear it now ? " demanded Harriet
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 129 
 
 Puffer, who had added a green silk mantilla and a 
 scarlet cashmere scarf to her costume. 
 
 " Why don't 7 wear it ? " echoed Miss Cynthia. 
 "Why, all my dresses are black. I've always worn 
 black, you know." 
 
 Nellie Ryan was surveying her mistress with new in- 
 terest. Miss Day had always appeared hopelessly 
 plain and middle-aged in her young eyes. Now, she 
 was forced to admit, that with her abundant brown 
 hair ruffled into tiny waves and her cheeks faintly 
 flushed, Miss Cynthia was looking really young, and, 
 yes actually pretty. It was a surprising idea to 
 Nellie. "I don't see, ma'am, why you should 
 always wear black," she said doubtfully. "Why 
 couldn't you have some of these pretty things made 
 over and wear them? " 
 
 Miss Cynthia smoothed the soft folds of the peach- 
 blossom silk with a tremulous little hand. " I should 
 like to wear a pink dress," she breathed. " I've nearly 
 always been obliged to wear black, and pretty 
 soon " 
 
 She waited a little in a breathless silence, then she 
 said faintly, " I suppose everybody up in heaven
 
 130 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 wears white forever and ever. Did you ever hear 
 of an angel wearing a pink dress, Nellie, or a blue 
 one?" 
 
 " No, ma'am," replied Nellie promptly. She had 
 never laid eyes upon one of Botticelli's or Fra Angel- 
 ico's pictured angels in their gay clothing. " Yes'm, 
 I guess they always wear white," she went on, " made 
 up something like a nightgown, an' with long feather 
 wings behind." 
 
 Miss Cynthia sighed. These were her own regretful 
 conclusions. 
 
 " All that I've seen in pictures are about one style," 
 proceeded Nellie, tilting her pretty head thoughtfully. 
 " Just plain white, with a round neck, sort of low ; and 
 sometimes there's a breast-pin on one shoulder, to hold 
 the fulness, I suppose. They 'most always wear their 
 hair down their back, and no shoes or stockings. I 
 sh'd think they'd look real queer, shouldn't you, 
 ma'am? There's pictures of 'em like that in our 
 ' Pilgrim's Progress.' ' 
 
 Miss Cynthia was sitting up very straight ; she had 
 spread out the pink silk dress across her lap. "I 
 might as well," she said thoughtfully. "Malvina
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 131 
 
 Bennett will be glad of the work. Yes, I will have a 
 pink dress, and a blue one, too. I should like a red 
 dress for next winter, and a warm brown one, the 
 colour of ripe nuts, for fall, and a soft, cool, green 
 one for summer. There are so many pretty colours, 
 when you think of it, Nellie ! " 
 
 Miss Cynthia was making a rapid division of the 
 articles on the floor. " Some of these will be pretty 
 for you to wear, Nellie, when when you are mar- 
 ried," she said softly. "Put them away till then, 
 and these you may hang in the spare-room closet." 
 
 " Oh ! " gasped the girl, in a stupor of wonder and 
 delight. " All these pretty things for me? Oh, how 
 good you are, Miss Day ! " 
 
 " We'll set aside some of the furniture for you, too," 
 pursued Miss Cynthia. " I I should like to help you 
 to be happy. It must be " 
 
 She stopped short, her blue eyes brimming with a 
 wistful light. " Everybody ought to be happy 
 sometime," she said. 
 
 And Nellie Ryan hurried downstairs to tell Bill that 
 Miss Cynthia was a real angel, even if she didn't wear 
 feather wings.
 
 132 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 At twilight, when the robins were singing raptur- 
 ously in the budding elms, the bonfire was lighted. 
 Miss Cynthia and the Puffer twins watched it. How 
 the flames did roar and sparkle in scarlet and yellow 
 splendour as they devoured the flotsam and jetsam of 
 lives swept away so long ago in the inexorable flood of 
 years. Very soon little remained save a heap of glow- 
 ing coals. Miss Cynthia regarded them with vague 
 sadness. She was wondering why things lasted so 
 much longer than their owners. The vision of a life 
 eternal appeared so ghostly dim, so far-away, so hope- 
 lessly shadowed with strong-scented funeral flowers 
 and shrouds and coffins and chill, damp graves and 
 cold, reticent tombstones. 
 
 "Do you ever think much about going to to 
 heaven, children ? " she asked the twins, who stood 
 quietly hand in hand watching the fitful flames, as 
 they rose and sank and hovered, spirit-like, over the 
 vanished form of the three-legged stool. 
 
 "Not if we c'n help it," said Harriet promptly. 
 "We don't want to be buried up. You have to be 
 buried up 'fore you can go to heaven." 
 
 " But you know it's only our poor, frail bodies that
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 133 
 
 are buried," argued Miss Cynthia, in a small, weak 
 voice. " Our ransomed souls go to heaven if we are 
 only good." 
 
 "We aren't good," said Harriet firmly. "An* we 
 don't want to go to heaven. You have to wear a 
 crown an' play on a harp in heaven, an' we don't want 
 to play on a harp; we don't want wings, either. Do 
 you ? " 
 
 " No," said Miss Cynthia, distinctly. " I do not." 
 
 "What's the use of talkin' 'bout it then?" asked 
 Harriet blandly. 
 
 " Sometimes people have to die, whether they 
 want to or not," faltered Miss Cynthia. The terrible 
 little pain pricked her as she spoke. 
 
 "We don't b'lieve we'll die, anyway," said Harriet 
 doggedly. " Once, our Sunday-school teacher said 
 we'd ought to think 'bout dying. So we tried. We 
 held our breath a nawful long time, till we got just 
 as red as fire in our faces. 'N' we foun' out 'at you've 
 just gotta live. You can't help it. That fire's just 
 right now to pop corn on. Come on an' get the pop- 
 per, Ed!" 
 
 "It's really quite a long time till next spring,"
 
 134s The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 thought Miss Cynthia, as she looked up through the 
 swaying elms, through which bright stars were be- 
 ginning to peep like friendly eyes. " Perhaps if I 
 don't think about it I'll forget. I wish I could 
 forget ! " 
 
 " Supper's ready, ma'am ! " called Nellie Ryan, 
 thrusting her rosy face out at the door. " An' I've 
 built a beautiful bright fire in the dining room ! " 
 
 At bedtime Miss Cynthia perused three long and 
 difficult chapters in her regular course of Bible read- 
 ing. She was engaged in reading the Bible through 
 for the twenty-seventh time since the days when the 
 nightly exercise had constituted one of the dreaded 
 "stents." The three chapters, with her morning 
 psalm, she had always regarded vaguely as a blood- 
 less sacrifice on the altar of a "jealous God." 
 
 On this occasion the evening offering consisted of 
 three chapters from Chronicles, full of curious names, 
 hard to pronounce. Miss Cynthia toiled bravely 
 through them, paying anxious heed to the many-syl- 
 labled words. She was haunted by an uneasy sense 
 that she ought to be unusually religious, in view of 
 the event which loomed terribly in her near future.
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 185 
 
 She wondered timidly if Bukkiah and Jesharelah and 
 Azareel and Jeremoth and all the others of those long- 
 dead sons of Gedaliah were wearing white dresses, 
 made up like nightgowns, with breast-pins on the 
 shoulders, and long feather wings behind ; and if she 
 herself, similarly attired, would be obliged to meet 
 them on that awesome sea of glass mingled with fire. 
 The prospect was somehow singularly depressing. 
 
 She remained long on her knees, striving to frame 
 into acceptable rhetoric a series of innocently hypo- 
 critical petitions, which she weakly hoped would grat- 
 ify the Breyfogle conception of deity. 
 
 The Breyfogle God was possessed of a terrible, cold, 
 unwinking eye, immovably fixed in the region directly 
 above the ceiling of her bedroom. His large, at- 
 tentive, critical ear bent down from a dreadful height 
 for the express purpose of listening to what she had 
 to say about her soul, and about the heathen, and 
 about the community in which she lived. Miss Cyn- 
 thia had always been especially zealous for the 
 heathen. 
 
 When at last all was finished she climbed into her 
 chilly bed and lay there crying quietly. " I don't
 
 186 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 see why I want to live so ! " she moaned to herself 
 the Self who is always unobtrusively ready to listen 
 to our weak complainings, to our futile regrets, to 
 our voiceless aspirations. " But, oh, I do want to 
 live! I want to be happy like other folks. Why 
 should I have to go to heaven now ? I've been expect- 
 ing something to happen all these years something 
 beautiful! But it hasn't happened yet. I wish 
 it would happen right away. I wish I had friends, 
 and some pretty clothes pink dresses and blue. I 
 
 wish I wish " 
 
 Who can explain what actually happens to us when 
 we sleep? Does the unseen self slip out into the vast, 
 gray void and wander far far from its inert shell? 
 Do strange, wise helpers find it there in that dim bor- 
 der-land, staggering beneath its burden of pitiful 
 wants? Do they plead with it to understand?
 
 AT exactly six-thirty by the clock on Thursday morn- 
 ing Deacon Scrimger tied his dejected white horse, 
 drawing a roomy spring wagon, to the hitching post 
 in front of the Breyfogle house on Maple Street. 
 Nellie Ryan was sweeping the front piazza with long, 
 even strokes of her broom, but she stopped short to 
 watch the old man as he crunched briskly up the 
 gravel walk. 
 
 He was very thin and angular, was Deacon Scrimger, 
 so stooped that his large, lean, aquiline old face ap- 
 peared to be curiously attached to the front of his 
 body. He moved with an agile nimbleness of foot 
 which somehow offended the youthful eyes of the girl. 
 " I've called around to git the stuff," he began, with 
 a preliminary wheeze and snuffle like that of a rusty 
 engine. " I says to m' wife, I c'n save Cynthy Day 
 a deal of trouble, I says, fust an' last, by jest haulin' 
 the hull outfit over to my place. No doubt some of 
 
 137
 
 138 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 it '11 want fixin' up it bein' old stuff, an' I'll ten' t* 
 that ; arterward, we'll see to disposin' of it to the right 
 parties. I'll jest take it right out now, if you'll show 
 me where 't is." 
 
 "Does Miss Day expect you?" asked Nellie coldly. 
 
 "Why, cert'nly, my good girl, cert'nly; I tol' her 
 a-Sunday I'd call eround. If she ain't up yit there's 
 no use to disturb her. I'll jest look the stuff over 
 an' take my pick right now ; I dunno as I c'n haul it 
 all one trip, but 'tain't fur." 
 
 " I'll have to ask Miss Day," said Nellie, with a dis- 
 dainful smile, " and I never disturb her until seven 
 o'clock." 
 
 "The' 's the cause of foreign missions," pursued 
 Deacon Scrimger thoughtfully, as he edged past the 
 girl so as to command a view of the front hall, " an* 
 the paster's salary more 'n a hunderd dollars in ar- 
 rears, an' no way to git it, times bein' hard an' money 
 close, an' nec'sary repairs on the meetin'-house roof. 
 I figur' 'at I c'n turn this 'ere occasion into one of re- 
 
 joicin' fer the cause, an' at the same time Was 
 
 these 'ere the articles ? " 
 
 " Miss Day intends to set them out in the front yard
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 139 
 
 at ten o'clock, an' let people take their pick," said 
 Nellie stonily. " Mr. and Mrs. Pettibone are coming, 
 an' they'll help see that the right folks get their 
 share." 
 
 "The' ain't a particle o' use o' all that," argued 
 Deacon Scrimger amiably. " It '11 tromp up the front 
 yard turrible ; I don't s'pose she's thought of that ; 
 an' more 'n likely the most undeservin' folks in town 
 '11 be on han'. 'Tain't right to give things away, 
 anyhow. 'Tain't law, an' 'tain't gospil, if you git 
 right down to it. Folks 'd ought to pay fer what 
 they git in this world. They don't value nothin' 'at 
 they don't pay fer in hard cash." 
 " Did you want to buy the things, sir? " 
 Deacon Scrimger scratched his head thoughtfully. 
 "Well!" he ejaculated at length. "I was thinkin' 
 of haulin' the stuff over to my place, as I tol' ye ; an' 
 arter I'd put it in order, sellin' it fer a low price to 
 d'servin' folks as 'd ought to hev it. You see I c'd 
 ten' to that part of it as she can't, bein' a female. 
 The resultin' cash I'd 'lotted to donate to the church, 
 reservin' a small sum to compensate me fer my trouble. 
 That's the idee, an' it's a good one. An' say! I
 
 140 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 shan't mind givin' you, well say a dollar fer yer 
 good will." 
 
 " Do you mean that if I let you take all these things 
 away now without telling Miss Day that you'll give 
 me a dollar?" 
 
 " Well, I dunno 's I'd put it jest that way, but yes, 
 that's about the idee. I won't pay ye, though, till 
 the stuff 's delivered." 
 
 " But what would you do if Miss Day objected to 
 your plan when she found it out. She'll be coming 
 down pretty soon." 
 
 " Tee hee hee ! " giggled Deacon Scrimger. 
 " You ain't nobody's fool, be ye ? It's somethin' like 
 this, m' gal, she giv' out in public meetin' that she 
 was calc'latin' to give away the stuff to anybody that 
 wanted it. Now / want it. I want the hull of it, fer 
 r'ligious purposes, as I tol' ye. 'F I take it on those 
 air conditions I guess she 'd find it purty middlin' hard 
 to git a-holt of it agin, even if she went to law 'bout 
 it. D' ye understan' ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do," said Nellie Ryan, her pretty face in a 
 blaze of indignation. "And do you know what I 
 think of you? I think you're a horrid, mean old
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 141 
 
 skinflint, that's what you are! A lot you'd give it 
 to the church, wouldn't you? An' you'd give me a 
 dollar, indeed! What do you take me for?" 
 
 " I take ye f er a mighty sassy little tyke, that's 
 what I take ye fer! You'd ought to be switched 
 right smart fer talkin' that way to me. But, say ! " 
 The old man's manner suddenly changed " mebbe I 
 didn't offer ye 'nough. S'pose we say a dollar down, 
 right now, an' well, I don't care if I make it a dol- 
 lar an' a half extry, arter " 
 
 " Stop ! " cried Nellie, stamping her foot. " Don't 
 you talk to me no more. I'll tell Miss Day what 
 you've said. I'll tell everybody you " 
 
 "An' I'll tell everybody you lie," retorted the old 
 
 man, eyeing the girl malevolently. " I'll tell 'em 
 
 Well, you jest hold your horses fer a spell an' see 
 what happens. Mebbe you'll be sorry yit 'at you've 
 been so mighty brash. I'll be eround agin." 
 
 He hopped nimbly into his wagon and rattled away, 
 and Nellie Ryan, breathing hard, marched into the 
 kitchen and broke the treasured cracked tea-cup and 
 two plates in the stormy process of getting break- 
 fast.
 
 142 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Miss Cynthia merely laughed when the girl told her 
 what had happened. 
 
 " That was certainly a bright idea of Deacon Scrim- 
 ger's," she agreed, " and it would undoubtedly save 
 us trouble." 
 
 The little lady's eyes were very bright and her cheeks 
 were actually pink as she helped to carry the smaller 
 articles into the fresh, bright morning. She was wear- 
 ing a blue dress, hastily constructed by Malvina Ben- 
 nett. The Puffer twins put in a busy but delight- 
 ful hour before school time, and George Blossom and 
 William Cartright commonly known as Bill 
 cleared the big rooms in an astonishingly short space 
 of time. 
 
 Heavy curtains of dignified brocade; dingy, old- 
 fashioned shades ; musty carpets, their colours religi- 
 ously preserved through years of use; stuffed furni- 
 ture; footstools innumerable; fancy work and bric-a- 
 brac of every degree of hideousness trooped out into 
 the green yard in a long procession. Clothing, too, 
 of every sort and description; queer full-skirted 
 dresses and nondescript hats; broadcloth coats with 
 Jong voluminous tails, dating back to Grandfather
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 143 
 
 Breyf ogle's time; greatcoats, waistcoats, and trou- 
 sers, canes, umbrellas, and shoes all looking shabby 
 and ashamed in the light of the radiant spring morn- 
 ing. Miss Cynthia, surveying them hopelessly, was 
 moved to wish that a strong wind might sweep them 
 all away, like the withered and forgotten leaves of 
 yester year. The stupendous tides of Life stirred 
 strangely in her blood; for the first time she dimly 
 sensed the fact that old things must pass away before 
 the on-rushing flood of the new. 
 
 " I don't believe anybody will want one of these 
 things," she said. "I don't see how anybody can 
 want them." 
 
 But at nine o'clock the street began to fill with 
 people. A stranger coming into Innisfield on that 
 Thursday morning might have guessed that a fair 
 or a circus procession was in progress. 
 
 As a matter of fact a stranger did come to town, 
 and, seeing the vehicles hitched to every convenient 
 post and the people congregated in little gossipping 
 knots on every street corner, asked a few casual ques- 
 tions. The answers he received filled him with curi- 
 osity and astonishment. He was a tall man, with
 
 144 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 a strong, clean-shaven face and a pair of youthful, 
 dark eyes which belied his gray hair. 
 
 " 'Tain't an auction, 'xactly," one old farmer in- 
 formed him. " I do' know what you'd call it. We 
 come to town to see the show more'n anythln' else; 
 but I b'lieve m' wife's got a marble-topped table an' 
 some kind of a fancy book. She's always been han- 
 kerin' arter one of them tables with a grave-stun top 
 sence we was married, but we ain't seen our way clear 
 to gittin' it. I tol' m' wife I'd feel kind o' shabby 
 'bout takin' it home, seein' we didn't pay nothin' fer 
 it, but she says she was fair urged to take it. Miss 
 Day, she jest insisted. It doos beat all ! " 
 
 " Miss Day ? " repeated the stranger inquiringly. 
 "I used to know a person by that name who lived 
 about here a Miss Cynthia Day." 
 
 " Same name," the farmer told him with a chuckle. 
 "An 5 , my gracious! I guess she's a-losin' her mind! 
 If you ever knew any o' the fam'bly I reckon you'll 
 remember that the hull kit an' caboodle of 'em was 
 closer 'an the bark to a tree. They never give up 
 anythin' they onct got their han's onto ; you couldn't 
 git 'em to even think of it. Miss Cynthy is the last of
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 145 
 
 'em, an' a chip o' the old block, as we always s'posed ; 
 but she's took an awful curious turn all of a sudden, 
 an' is givin' away pretty much everythin' in the 
 house." 
 
 " Perhaps she means to move away," hazarded the 
 stranger. 
 
 "No, that ain't it; she's repairin' her house, an' 
 most likely wants to fix up bran' new. 'Tain't gittin' 
 red of her things that's s'prised folks so ; but it's the 
 way she's gone about it. If she'd auctioned 'em off 
 nobody 'd have said anythin' ; but to give 'em away 
 Gosh!" 
 
 The stranger thoughtfully made his way toward the 
 Breyfogle house on Maple Street. He met numer- 
 ous persons coming away, some laughing derisively, 
 others solemnly content; nearly everybody carried 
 something. Nobody noticed him when he quietly 
 opened Miss Cynthia's gate and walked in. 
 
 A group of excited persons were arguing hotly over 
 an armchair which seemed in danger of being rent in 
 twain. The matter was presently settled by a small 
 lady in a blue dress, who marched up to the com- 
 batants with an air of authority. "I've already
 
 146 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 given this chair to Sarah Hopkins," she said, " and 
 this footstool; she needs them for her old mother." 
 
 The lady in the blue dress did not glance at the 
 stranger; she was evidently exceedingly busy and 
 very much in demand. But the stranger followed 
 her with his eyes as she hurried away to another 
 group. 
 
 " Were you looking for anything in particular, sir? " 
 asked a polite voice at his elbow. He glanced down 
 at the speaker. She was a little woman, with a fluff 
 of light-brown hair shading childish eyes. " I am 
 the minister's wife," she went on with a pretty air of 
 importance, " and I am trying to help distribute these 
 gifts of Miss Day's to the best advantage. It's a 
 beautiful idea, isn't it?" 
 
 "I don't think I quite understand it," he said, his 
 dark eyes full of a laughing light. "Just why is 
 Miss Day giving her things away ? " 
 
 "Do you know her?" demanded Mrs. Pettibone. 
 
 " I used to know her," he answered. " I knew some- 
 thing of the family when I was a boy. You 
 probably don't remember me. I remember you as 
 Miss Philura Rice."
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 147! 
 
 The minister's wife stared hard at the stranger. 
 " Why you're not " 
 
 " I am James Blake," he said briefly. " I left In- 
 nisfield about fifteen years ago." 
 
 The minister's wife continued to gaze earnestly at 
 him, and he laughed apologetically. " I suppose you 
 are wondering why I'm here now. Really, I don't 
 know. I happened to be in Boston, and concluded 
 to take a look at the old place." 
 
 "I'm real glad you've come," said Mrs. Pettibone 
 hospitably. " I remember you very well now ; of 
 course you'll " 
 
 " I'm going back to town directly," he told her has- 
 tily. " In fact I must go now this minute ; I've an 
 important engagement." He consulted his watch. 
 
 " Did you bring your wife with you ? " cordially 
 inquired the minister's wife. " I should so much like 
 to have you both stop to dinner with us at the par- 
 sonage; Mr. Pettibone would be delighted. You 
 really must n't go away without " 
 
 "I didn't bring my wife," he told her quizzically. 
 He seemed to have forgotten his pressing engage- 
 ment. His eyes were upon Miss Cynthia, who was
 
 148 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 standing on the steps talking to a very large woman 
 in a fortress-like bonnet. " She's changed very lit- 
 tle," he said. 
 
 "You mean Mrs. Buckthorn? She's the sort of 
 person who doesn't change, you know," said the min- 
 ister's wife. She was thinking very hard, was Mrs. 
 Pettibone, and to very little purpose. "I expect 
 Electa Pratt would remember," she thought aloud. 
 
 James Blake smiled observantly. " Is Electa Pratt 
 still in evidence? " he asked. " If she is, she certainly 
 would remember what, for example?" 
 
 " I was only trying to think," murmured Mrs. Petti- 
 bone, very much confused. "I was wondering " 
 
 " I think I should like to speak to Miss Day," he 
 said. "Will you will you present me? She will 
 have forgotten me, I'm sure." 
 
 Mrs. Pettibone flushed an agitated pink. " She is 
 coming to speak to me now," she said. 
 
 Miss Cynthia in her blue dress, with her brown hair 
 ruffled into tiny waves, came swiftly across the grass. 
 She still did not appear to notice the tall stranger 
 who waited at Mrs. Pettibone's side. There had been 
 so many strangers and so many old friends and neigh-
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 149 
 
 bours. Nearly everything had been given away, and 
 the remaining articles had been marked "Reserved" 
 by the minister's careful hand. She was happier than 
 she had ever been in her life in the unaccustomed 
 glow of making other people happy. So it did not 
 surprise her in the least when Mrs. Pettibone caught 
 her warmly by the hand. " An old friend," she mur- 
 mured, "perhaps you will remember." Then the 
 minister's little wife slipped away and left the two 
 standing there together. 
 
 Miss Cynthia looked up and met the dark eyes of 
 the tall man. He was smiling down at her with a 
 half admiring, half quizzical glance. " Now I won- 
 der," he said softly, " if you have the slightest idea 
 who I am? It's a long, long while since you've seen 
 me, and the years haven't been kind to me, as you 
 can plainly see. You are changed very little, Miss 
 Day." 
 
 Miss Cynthia drew a deep breath. Then she smiled 
 a wistful, mysterious sort of a smile. " How strange 
 that you should come back now" she said. 
 
 " Then you do remember me? " He was puzzled by 
 her look, which seemed to lend a strange aloofness to
 
 150 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 her small person. " I should have known you any- 
 where," he added briskly. " But perhaps I'm hardly 
 fair when I say that, for I've seen you once before 
 five years ago." 
 
 " Yes ? " Her voice was gentle and abstracted in- 
 different, the man thought. 
 
 " It was in Boston," he went on, in a matter of fact 
 tone. "You were buying something in a shop; so 
 was I. I thought at first I would speak to you, 
 but " 
 
 She looked at him with quiet understanding, " But 
 you changed your mind," she finished. " I am glad 
 you did not speak to me then." 
 
 "Luckily I'm not planning to bore you now," he 
 went on, with an embarrassed little laugh. " I really 
 can't tell you why I came here at all. A curious de- 
 sire to see the place overtook me. One cannot ac- 
 count for the freaks of impulse, you know. And 
 
 this this " He glanced about the disordered 
 
 yard with a slight lifting of his broad shoulders. 
 "What impelled you, Miss Day, to distribute your 
 cherished ancestral belongings to the countryside at 
 large?"
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 151 
 
 " Don't you know? " she asked in a choked little 
 whisper. " Can't you guess ? " 
 
 Manifestly he could not, for he was regarding her 
 with astonishment, not unmixed with dismay. 
 
 " I think you ought to know you" she went on. 
 " Because it was for this I sent you away. I lied 
 to you then because " 
 
 He frowned perplexedly. " Oh, I had forgotten all 
 that," he said with cheerful decision. "A boy and 
 girl affair one can afford to forget or laugh at it 
 all, when one's hair turns gray." 
 
 "Have you forgotten? Do you laugh when you 
 think of it? " she asked wonderingly. " I have never 
 laughed to think that " 
 
 " I beg that you will not think of it again," he inter- 
 posed hastily. " It is not worth while, I assure you." 
 
 Miss Cynthia did not seem to have heard his last 
 words. " I am glad you came. I wanted to see you," 
 she said, with a happy little sigh. " It seems to to 
 match everything else." 
 
 "You're very good to say that," he cried, pulling 
 out his watch; "it makes me sorry that I must bid 
 you good-bye. I had almost forgotten my train."
 
 152 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Her little hand lay for a moment in his, the strange 
 aloof happiness of her look brimming over in two 
 large, bright tears. " Good-bye," she said softly, 
 and turned away. She did not look at him again. 
 
 He saw that much as he strode away down the street, 
 for he deliberately turned and looked back.
 
 XI 
 
 Miss ROSALIE SCOTT, having arranged and rear- 
 ranged her girlish possessions in her grandmother's 
 well-rubbed mahogany chest of drawers, and hung 
 and rehung the pictures and ornaments on her newly- 
 papered walls, and admired for the hundredth time 
 the sweet freshness of the metamorphosed parlour, 
 was feeling slightly bored with lif e. There was, to be 
 sure, plenty of good, wholesome work to occupy her 
 time in the big farmhouse. " Helping mother " was 
 a broad and comprehensive term which seemed to 
 the young girl's impatient fancy to involve slow 
 years, spent in endless, irritating duties. 
 
 Mother Scott was sweet and placid as she compassed 
 her unvarying round ; indeed, to her daughter's secret 
 wonderment, she actually seemed to enjoy herself in a 
 staid, elderly fashion. But she appeared (to Rosalie) 
 to regard her young daughter as entirely ready to 
 become staid and elderly, too. 
 
 Rosalie's education including three terms of paint- 
 ing lessons and four years of piano lessons had been 
 
 153
 
 154 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 expensive; but it was now well over. There was a 
 new piano in the parlour, and over it hung a water- 
 colour painting of a yard of pansies. These objects 
 represented very concretely the ornamental side of 
 the young woman's attainments. For the rest, she 
 was vaguely supposed to have assimilated the contents 
 of the pile of dull-coloured text-books which had been 
 incontinently consigned to the attic. She did her 
 hair becomingly and wore her clothes stylishly. 
 Father and Mother Scott exchanged stealthy glances 
 of delight over her pretty, uncommon ways. Her 
 tall, well-rounded figure, her smooth, abundant dark 
 hair, her flashing white teeth, her sparkling, long- 
 lashed eyes were a perpetual wonder and delight to 
 them. They were complacently glad that they had 
 been able to " do for Rosalie." But all was now com- 
 pleted finished. Nothing remained to be expected 
 or desired beyond the monotonous though perfectly 
 comfortable level of the present, which stretched 
 away into an equally monotonous and comfortable 
 future. 
 
 With the girl, herself, it was vastly different. She 
 was merely waiting though quite unconsciously
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 155 
 
 for something wonderful to happen. She did not 
 picture to herself what this wonderful something was 
 to be ; but she nevertheless longed for it with ill-con- 
 cealed impatience. 
 
 When, therefore, George Blossom, driving his new 
 phaeton, and wearing a smart ready-made suit, ap- 
 peared at the Scott farmhouse, he was made very 
 welcome by Miss Rosalie. Almost any interruption 
 which offered to break the colourless monotony of her 
 every-day life would have been welcome ; but when the 
 interruption took the shape of a good-looking young 
 man (wearing passable clothes and a really creditable 
 necktie) Miss Rosalie exhibited an elation which 
 alarmed her prudent mother. 
 
 "I don't want you should encourage him to come 
 here too much, daughter," purred the anxious matron, 
 hovering uncertainly about her daughter, as she stood 
 before her mirror patting and pulling herself into 
 shape as a bird preens its feathers. " Of course the 
 Blossoms are real nice folks, an' all that ; but " 
 
 The girl broke into a light trill of laughter. 
 "Why, Mother Scott! do you suppose I'd think of 
 such a thing? " she demanded. " He's only a common
 
 156 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 workingman. But I suppose I've got to be decently 
 polite to him, haven't I? I do wish we lived in the 
 city; things are so different there. The girls at 
 school would be so amused to think I actually had a 
 call from a young man who papered and painted our 
 house ! " 
 
 She shrugged her pretty shoulders in a way she had 
 learned from her French teacher, and her mother 
 breathed an anxious sigh. "Dear me!" she mur- 
 mured, as the girl left the room, " it is such a task to 
 
 bring up a girl. I wonder " She paused to 
 
 straighten the silver trifles on the dressing-table, then 
 went down to her kitchen, her honest American heart 
 filled with vague reproaches. 
 
 George Blossom had a great deal to say for himself. 
 He was not at all a timid young man, and he ex- 
 hibited a certain masculine masterfulness of manner, 
 to which Miss Rosalie responded with brief sentences 
 and fleeting smiles and pretty airs of deference. 
 
 " I wish," said Mr. Blossom confidently, " that you 
 would let me drive you down to the village to call on 
 Miss Day. She hasn't the remotest idea about the 
 papers for her rooms, and yet she doesn't want me to
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 157 
 
 pick them out for her. Perhaps you could advise 
 her ; you have such beautiful taste, Miss Rosalie, and 
 you know exactly what you want every time." 
 
 " That Miss Day must be an awfully queer person 
 about 'most everything," said the girl, with one of her 
 little shrugs. " I never heard of anything so amus- 
 ing as that affair of hers last week. Just fancy 
 pulling all sorts and conditions of things out of one's 
 house and giving them away in that public manner! 
 Really, I don't think I should have cared to have 
 everybody see what I'd been saving up all those years. 
 It must have been rather embarrassing, I should 
 think." 
 
 " I hadn't thought of it in that light ; but I guess 
 it was rather queer of her," said Mr. Blossom, with an 
 admiring look. " The fact is, I expect I'm responsible 
 for the whole affair. I got into a pretty plain sort 
 of a talk with her, and without really meaning to do 
 so, I told her the truth about herself for once. She 
 seemed dreadfully stirred up and in earnest by the 
 time I got through. It was really that that put her 
 up to giving her things away, though I haven't men- 
 tioned it to anyone else except mother."
 
 158 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 The girl lifted her pretty eyebrows. "What a 
 dangerous person you must be," she said coquettishly. 
 " I shall have to look out or you'll be telling me the 
 truth about myself; I'm sure that would be awfully 
 unpleasant ! " 
 
 " I mean to do that some day," he told her. 
 
 "Mean to do what?" she asked, with the wide eyes 
 of uncomprehending innocence. 
 
 " I mean to tell you the truth about yourself and 
 about myself." He held her dark eyes determinedly 
 with his own. " But I can't do it yet. I shall wait 
 till " 
 
 " I'll advise you never to do anything of the kind ! " 
 breathed the girl, with a nervous little laugh. Her 
 smooth cheeks were deeply flushed; her eyes shone; 
 her strong brown hands trembled in her lap. This 
 was life. It thrilled and interested her. 
 
 " I will ask mother if I may go with you to see that 
 funny little Miss Day," she added, with a pretty 
 air of condescension. " She must be one of the quaint- 
 est persons in the world almost like a character in 
 a book. I love to study quaint persons!" 
 
 "Do you know I'm not going to paint houses or
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 159 
 
 paper rooms all the rest of my life," he told her 
 abruptly, when they were driving away through the 
 gay young landscape. Her richly coloured face 
 under its plumed black hat was turned toward him in- 
 quiringly. 
 
 " I'm going to study designing next year in earnest. 
 In fact, I've commenced already. I'm taking a regu- 
 lar course in a correspondence school." 
 
 "You arc?" 
 
 He nodded. "It's simply great! I'm putting in 
 every minute I can get on it. It's fine to go away to 
 
 school; but if you can't do that Anyway, I'm 
 
 going in to win. Do you understand?" 
 
 " Do you know, I think it's awfully nice and am- 
 bitious for you to try and improve yourself," she 
 drawled, bending her long neck to one side. " Every- 
 one owes it to themselves to do what they can, I 
 think." 
 
 " They owe it to other people, too," he said, staring 
 hard at her handsome profile. " I'll tell you one 
 thing, Rosalie, I shouldn't care a darn whether I im- 
 proved or not, if it wasn't for " 
 
 "But you ought to care, if there wasn't another
 
 160 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 person in the whole world," interrupted the girl, in 
 a kindly didactic tone. She looked enchantingly 
 pretty, but dangerous, as she said it. 
 
 The young man bit his lip f rowningly. " Of course 
 you don't care what I do," he said gloomily ; " there's 
 no reason why you should." 
 
 "Why, certainly I care!" she replied, with lifted 
 eyebrows. "I'm always glad to see everybody im- 
 prove." 
 
 He jerked his lines and spoke sharply to his horse; 
 then appeared entirely absorbed in the resulting phe- 
 nomena. 
 
 The girl sat silent, a slight smile of entire happiness 
 dimpling the corners of her red lips. 
 
 "What a comfortable carriage this is," she said 
 after a while, raising her voice a little as the wheels 
 rattled over the loose stones. 
 
 " Glad you think so," he said tersely. " I bought it 
 for mother." 
 
 She stole a sidelong glance at his stern young face. 
 " How nice of you ! " she murmured. 
 
 "Oh, I'm a pretty decent sort of a fellow for an 
 ordinary workman," he answered, with a careless
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 161 
 
 flick at the brown horse. There was a queer aching 
 lump in his throat ; he swallowed hard to get rid of it. 
 
 " Oh, but you aren't an ordinary workman," she 
 cooed. "You have lots and lots of talent. Any- 
 body could see that." 
 
 " Do you think so ! " He turned and beamed on her 
 like a young god. "I believe I can do anything, 
 Rosalie, if you'll only only believe im me," he whis- 
 pered. 
 
 The girl straightened herself with a pretty air of 
 coldness. " I am always interested in talented per- 
 sons," she said gently. " But isn't that Miss Day's 
 house? How improved it is! It is astonishing what 
 a coat of paint will do for a shabby old house. It 
 looks positively rejuvenated. Really, do you know I 
 should think you would be perfectly satisfied to work 
 such miracles with your paint-pots and brushes. It's 
 ever so much better than painting poor pictures or 
 making poor designs!" She smiled brilliantly into 
 his abashed face. 
 
 Miss Cynthia was eagerly glad to see them. She 
 held the tall girl's hand in both her own and looked up 
 at her wistfully. "How you have changed, my
 
 162 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 dear," she said. " It was so good of you to think of 
 helping me in my task of picking out wall-papers. 
 First, I think I want one thing, then I am quite sure 
 I shall prefer something different, and it is all so 
 confusing." 
 
 Miss Rosalie's bright eyes rested meditatively on 
 the small person of her hostess. She was thinking 
 that it was really very odd for a person of Miss Cyn- 
 thia's age to care what sort of wall-papers she had, or 
 what sort of clothes she wore. And Miss Cynthia so 
 evidently did care. She was wearing a gown of soft, 
 pale green, the colour of young leaves, enlivened with 
 touches of white the tender white of half -blown blos- 
 soms. Her cheeks were delicately flushed, and her 
 blue eyes had somehow taken to themselves the soft, 
 deep colour of early violets. 
 
 " She is really quite good-looking considering," 
 the girl told herself, with ingenuous surprise. " But 
 I don't see what possible difference it can make to 
 her now." 
 
 She was delightedly conscious that George Blossom 
 had not noticed Miss Cynthia's finery, and that he was 
 looking furtively, but persistently, at herself, his hon-
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 163 
 
 est eyes pleading with her to be kind. She was pret- 
 tily indifferent to all this, was Rosalie, and so very 
 sure of her accomplished self that she was quite ready 
 to give her undivided attention to the subject of Miss 
 Cynthia's wall-papers. 
 
 It was absurdly easy, for a person of artistic tastes 
 and cultivated perceptions. A soft leaf-green was 
 obviously the thing for the big southwest parlour. 
 And the rather dark and narrow entrance hall must 
 be illuminated with a cheerful, pale yellow, which 
 would greet the incoming guest like a burst of sun- 
 light. Nothing could be prettier for the dining 
 room than a dull gold, with a frieze of ripe pumpkins 
 and great shadowy leaves. 
 
 And so they went through the empty rooms, where 
 only a bit of old-fashioned furniture remained here 
 and there a tiny work-table, a bookcase with queer, 
 diamond-shaped glass, a mahogany sideboard with 
 claw feet. 
 
 " These pieces of old furniture are simply dear! " 
 declared the girl. " But just what do you mean to 
 put with them, now that you've given away all the 
 rest?"
 
 164 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Miss Cynthia hesitated. " I'm sure you will think 
 me very odd," she said appealingly ; " but all I gave 
 
 away was so associated with Do you know, 
 
 my dear, I've never had a very good time that is, 
 not yet. Oh, I do hope you'll begin right away to 
 have a good time while you're young." 
 
 "I expect to," said Rosalie Scott, with conviction. 
 " Why shouldn't I have a good time ? " 
 
 She held her little chin very high, and her dark 
 lashes cast bewitching shadows on her soft cheeks. 
 But how palpably absurd it was for an elderly person, 
 like Miss Cynthia, to think about having good times ! 
 She shrugged her shoulders gently and glanced side- 
 wise at George Blossom. She felt sure that he would 
 agree with her. "You were speaking of the furni- 
 ture, were you not? " she reminded her hostess sweetly. 
 
 " Yes, I believe I was of the furniture. I was go- 
 ing to tell you that I have in the attic, stored away by 
 itself, some furniture that I did not give away. It 
 has never been used since I can remember. It be- 
 longed to the Breyfogle family ever so far back. 
 When mother was married she wanted to have things 
 different, you know, so she refurnished all of the
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 165 
 
 rooms downstairs and most of the chambers. She 
 wanted everything to be new and yes, I suppose she 
 liked her furniture to be fashionable; so she bought 
 all black walnut, with a great deal of carving and 
 gilt lines ; the bureaus and tables all had white marble 
 tops, and the carpets were covered with large wreaths 
 of bright-coloured flowers. Perhaps you remember?" 
 
 Miss Scott nodded. "Dreadful, wasn't it?" she 
 said, with a brilliant smile. " The early Victorian 
 style of furniture is quite as hideous as hoop-skirts. 
 Really, I think you were sensible to get rid of it, even 
 if you had to give it away." 
 
 Miss Cynthia looked puzzled. " Everything was 
 very nice and and expensive," she said doubtfully. 
 "I gave it away because because I was tired of 
 keeping everything for myself. Besides I disliked 
 it for for other reasons. The furniture upstairs 
 is as old-fashioned as can be ; but I thought it would 
 do for the little while " 
 
 " I wish you'd show it to me," said Rosalie, her 
 girlish curiosity getting the better of her. "/* it 
 mahogany ? Mahogany is all the rage now." 
 
 "Is it?" said Miss Cynthia vaguely. "Really, I
 
 166 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 didn't notice. The pieces are of some dark wood, I 
 know, very old and queer. If you won't mind coming 
 upstairs I shall be glad to show them to you." 
 
 The girl burst into a little ecstatic shriek of surprise 
 and delight when her eyes fell upon the dusty shapes 
 huddled together in a dark corner of the Breyfogle 
 attic. " Oh ! " she cried. " What a find ! You are 
 certainly a lucky person. Do you know these are the 
 dearest, sweetest, loveliest old mahogany! To think 
 of their being packed away up here in the dark all 
 these years ! " 
 
 "Are they really nice?" asked Miss Cynthia, in un- 
 affected surprise. " I'm glad if they're really good 
 for something. I should like the rooms to look pretty 
 and different." 
 
 "Pretty!" echoed Miss Scott. "Do look at that 
 sofa! Isn't it the sweetest thing! and those chairs, 
 and that exquisite table ! And not one piece broken, 
 or even marred ! I never heard of such a thing ! " 
 
 The girl was really carried out of herself with de- 
 light. "You know I learned all about the value of 
 Colonial furniture, and all that sort of thing, when I 
 was in school in Boston," she went on, with a serious
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 167 
 
 air of superior culture. " I went through our attic 
 the minute I got home; but we never had such per- 
 fectly ex^Mmte things as these." 
 
 " They have been in the family for generations," 
 observed Miss Cynthia, with a touch of her vanished 
 pride. "We always kept everything; and we took 
 good care of everything we kept. Mother and Abby 
 Whiton used to rub these things with wax every year 
 at house-cleaning time, I remember. But mother 
 thought them very ugly and old-fashioned." 
 
 " The idea ! " laughed the girl. " Well, you'll have 
 the most stylish house imaginable. Do let me help 
 arrange it when it is ready ; won't you? " 
 
 " I shall be so glad if you will," Miss Cynthia told 
 her. 
 
 Her blue eyes beamed upon the two young people, 
 with innocent pleasure in their supposed happiness. 
 
 "George Mr. Blossom has told me all about your 
 pretty rooms," she went on. "I hope he can make 
 my old walls look just as pretty. Then we can do 
 the rest." 
 
 Rosalie's scarlet lip curled cruelly. " We found Mr. 
 Blossom a most careful and conscientious workman,"
 
 168 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 she drawled indifferently. " I am recommending him 
 to all of our friends." 
 
 The young man grew suddenly pale. He turned on 
 his heel to conceal the uncontrollable quiver of his 
 boyish mouth. 
 
 " I think I must ask you to take me home now, Mr. 
 Blossom; mother will be growing anxious," Miss 
 Rosalie concluded, with a nice propriety of manner. 
 
 Miss Cynthia watched the two uneasily, as they 
 walked down to the front gate, the girl smiling and 
 brilliant, the boy still pale and downcast. 
 
 "Oh!" murmured Miss Cynthia, "I'm afraid!" 
 She lifted one fragile little hand to the breast of her 
 gay spring gown and held it there, while the smiling 
 girl and the unhappy-looking boy drove away down 
 the street.
 
 XII 
 
 ONE warm morning in the latter part of June Mrs. 
 Pettibone stood tapping lightly at Miss Cynthia 
 Day's side door. After she had knocked, the little 
 lady quietly surveyed the house in its trim purity and 
 perfection; the gravelled walks, the velvet lawn dap- 
 pled with leaf shadows were pleasant to the eye; so 
 were the clear windows, revealing cool glimpses of 
 dainty curtains of lace and muslin. Mrs. Pettibone 
 had been intensely interested in the changes which had 
 taken place in the old Breyfogle house. The subse- 
 quent generous donations of money which had re- 
 paired the church and parsonage, and enabled the 
 minister to go away for a much-needed holiday, had 
 aroused her to a sincere gratitude mingled with a sense 
 of lively curiosity. 
 
 Ostensibly, she had come to thank Miss Cynthia for 
 her generosity and thoughtfulness. Inwardly, she 
 was determined to find out why a descendant of the 
 Breyfogle family should thus suddenly have deflected 
 from the hereditary standards of conduct. 
 
 169
 
 170 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Miss Cynthia herself presently opened the door. 
 She smiled wanly into the face of her pastor's wife. 
 There were violet shadows under her blue eyes (Mrs. 
 Pettibone observed) and her little hands trembled. 
 She was wearing a youthful gown of pink muslin, 
 beruffled and befrilled, and a broad white hat laden 
 with pink roses shaded her colourless face. 
 
 " You were going out this morning! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Pettibone apologetically. " No, indeed ; I won't come 
 in. I just stopped for a moment to thank you; you 
 have been so very kind and generous." 
 
 "But I was only going into the yard," Miss Cyn- 
 thia protested. "I felt lonely and and tired this 
 morning. I waked up in the night, and I couldn't go 
 to sleep. You know how one thinks of all sorts of 
 things those that have happened already, and and 
 those that are going to happen not always 
 pleasant things. I'm sure you think me very 
 foolish." 
 
 " I guess most of us are f oolish that way at one time 
 or another," said the minister's wife comfortably. 
 " I made up my mind long ago that the things we are 
 afraid of in the night are not worth remembering the
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 171 
 
 next morning in fact, we generally forget all about 
 them as soon as the sun is up." 
 
 " I wish you would come in and see my house," said 
 Miss Cynthia, with the air of one who determinedly 
 changes the subject. " It is all finished at last, even 
 to the kitchen. It has taken a long time longer 
 than I thought; but I wish I had it all to do over 
 again." 
 
 Mrs. Pettibone was frankly delighted with all that 
 she saw in the renovated house. "I don't see how 
 you could have waited so long to do it," she said. 
 " But you," she looked thoughtfully at the girlish 
 figure of her hostess, " you have changed more than 
 the house. I don't believe I should have known you 
 if a year ago I had suddenly come face to face with 
 you in that pink gown." 
 
 " I suppose you think I've taken leave of my senses," 
 murmured Miss Cynthia, with a defiant lifting of her 
 small head. " Almost everybody does think so, I 
 have been told. But I don't care. It doesn't make 
 any difference what " 
 
 "I think you are a wise woman, my dear," Mrs. 
 Pettibone made haste to interpose. "You ought to
 
 172 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 know what I would be likely to think." She lapsed 
 into a thoughtful silence, then added in a low voice, 
 " If you only looked happier. Sometimes, I have 
 wondered " 
 
 " I am happier than I have ever been before in my 
 life," Miss Cynthia told her doggedly. " I never did 
 anything I really wanted to until this spring. Then 
 I made up my mind that I might as well try 
 to have a good time the way the way other people 
 do. Yesterday I played dolls all day long with the 
 Puffer twins because when I was a little girl I was 
 never allowed to waste my time with dolls. I haven't 
 thought yet what I want to do next; but when I do 
 I shall hurry and do it right away. I I must hurry 
 because the days go so fast. I never knew a sum- 
 mer to go away so fast. It is the last of June 
 already, and " 
 
 She gripped her small hands together in her lap. 
 " Don't you know of some way to make the days go 
 slow?" she asked the minister's wife, with a dreary 
 little smile. " I used to think the time dragged so ; 
 but it doesn't now. Even a long, long night goes 
 away so quickly. It is morning before I know it."
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 173 
 
 Mrs. Pettibone looked sweetly puzzled. "I don't 
 see," she said, "why you should want the days to 
 pass slowly. Every day is sure to bring something 
 beautiful with it, and the years are bearing us on to 
 something more beautiful still." 
 
 She stopped and looked carefully at her hostess; 
 Miss Cynthia sat stonily quiet, her small hands still 
 gripped in her lap. " You are thinking about heaven, 
 I suppose," she said dryly. " That is all very well 
 if you haven't got to go there. I don't believe any- 
 body really wants to go to heaven. I don't. I want 
 to stay in this world a long time. I -want to! " 
 
 " Then you will," Mrs. Pettibone spoke in a tone 
 of comfortable conviction. "Don't you remember 
 that ' every one that seeketh, findeth ; and to him that 
 knocketh it shall be opened ' ? " 
 
 "That's in the Bible," said Miss Cynthia, with a 
 spent breath of long weariness. " I've read my Bible 
 through twenty-six times ; I'm reading it for the 
 twenty-seventh time now. But I I don't like to read 
 the Bible. I think it's tiresome. There isn't a bit 
 of use in my pretending anything else." 
 
 " Why do you read it then ? " asked Mrs. Pettibone
 
 174 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 unexpectedly. " I shouldn't read a word of it, if I 
 didn't want to." 
 
 "You wouldn't!" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "But oh, I must read it and and pray. I 
 should be frightened not to pray." Miss Cynthia 
 had grown even paler; her breath came in little 
 hurried gasps. 
 
 Mrs. Pettibone didn't appear to notice. She vaguely 
 understood by this time that she was dealing with that 
 very terrible thing a naked soul. "God knows all 
 about what you really want, even if you don't mention 
 it," she said in a low, shaken voice. "When you 
 really want something you must believe that God can 
 give it to you, and that he "wants to give it to you 
 even more than you want it." 
 
 Miss Cynthia shivered. " I always think of God 
 as watching me, always watching and displeased 
 angry. I am not resigned. I just can't say ' Thy 
 will be done.' / don't want it to be done! " 
 
 Mrs. Pettibone leaned forward in her chair ; her eyes 
 were radiant. "I used to think just that way," she 
 said. " And I was ugly to look at and lonesome and
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 175 
 
 forlorn, and I believed that it was God's will that 1 
 should stay that way till I died. I thought 
 that perhaps if I bore it all with resignation I should 
 go to heaven a queer sort of place, I supposed it 
 was, my dear ; and I didn't want to go at all. But 
 I thought God couldn't find that out if I only went 
 to church regularly and said my prayers night and 
 morning. I never dared to pray for anything I 
 really wanted." 
 
 She paused to laugh aloud a triumphant, jubilant 
 little laugh of pure delight and happiness. "One 
 day I heard a woman say that whether we think so 
 or not God is good all sorts of good anything, 
 everything I could think of that / wanted; not what 
 somebody else thought I ought to want, but what / 
 wanted, down deep in my heart. 
 
 " At first, I hardly dared to believe it I had grown 
 such a coward but I did a funny thing, I am sure 
 you will say ; I wrote out a list of the things I wanted. 
 And I'm going to tell you what they were, though 
 I've never told anybody else but my husband. I 
 wanted two new dresses, and a silk petticoat one of 
 the nice jrustly ones, you know, and a hat with ostrich
 
 176 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 plumes and a long, soft, curly feather boa. I was so 
 ashamed to think I wanted such foolish things. But 
 I did want them; and I got every one of them! I 
 have that feather boa yet, and I never put it on with- 
 out thinking, * this was a present from my Father.' 
 It's such a beautiful thought. Why, it makes every- 
 thing in the whole world beautiful ! I don't know all 
 that God is, my dear; but I do know that he is all 
 good. 
 
 "There was something else I wanted, too." Mrs. 
 Pettibone sighed and smiled reminiscently, while a 
 girlish colour flushed her cheeks. " That was the big- 
 gest and best thing I asked for. It was so wonderful 
 that I hesitated, at first. You don't remember me 
 as I was then a regular old maid yes, that's ex- 
 actly what I was, and not a man I had ever known 
 had once looked at me, as as men do look at the 
 woman they are going to love." Mrs. Pettibone 
 glanced questioningly at Miss Cynthia, and Miss 
 Cynthia's blue eyes answered. 
 
 "I did long to have somebody love me like that. 
 And so I asked God for a husband; and I believed 
 he would send me one, and he did. How surprised I
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 177 
 
 was when I found out who it was. I had never once 
 thought of such a thing truly, I never had; he 
 seemed so wise and grand, so much above me! But 
 he began to love me then, and he has never stopped a 
 minute since. Oh, my dear, God is so kind, so gen- 
 erous! I wish you would just try him and see if he 
 won't give you everything you want." 
 
 " But I I am not good like you," faltered Miss 
 Cynthia. " I am not resigned, or willing to submit, 
 not one bit. I'm stiff-necked and rebellious. And 
 you know what it says in the Bible about such 
 people." 
 
 " You're rebellious just because you think God 
 doesn't want to give you what you want," Mrs. Petti- 
 bone said wisely. "And you're stiff-necked because 
 you're determined to have it. It's such hard work to 
 be stiff-necked, my dear; and didn't you know that 
 you never want a thing very much unless God wants 
 you to have it? I don't know what it is that you 
 want, and I am not going to ask. But don't read 
 your Bible and pray just because you think it's your 
 duty. I should never read another word of the Bible 
 till I was hungry for it."
 
 178 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 The little woman, having delivered herself of these 
 heterodox opinions, arose and kissed Miss Cynthia 
 on each cheek, after the fashion of women. " You've 
 grown pretty," she said softly, "and your house is 
 beautiful. I can see that you're all ready to be 
 happy. Now just be happy!" 
 
 Miss Cynthia's Breyfogle conscience, trained to 
 strenuous theological combat through successive gen- 
 erations of Puritan ancestors, advanced at once to the 
 fray, as the door closed upon the retreating form of 
 the minister's wife. 
 
 " That woman is anti-Christ. Don't you know that 
 * our God is a consuming fire ' ? " shouted the Brey- 
 fogle conscience, quoting Scripture with disconcert- 
 ing fluency. " It is a fearful thing to fall into the 
 hands of the living God ! " 
 
 "I am going to try wanting and expecting," said 
 Miss Cynthia obstinately. 
 
 "You'll be cast into outer darkness, if you do; 
 there will be wailing and gnashing of teeth ! " 
 
 " I intend to believe that God loves me." 
 
 "Remember that you are trembling on the verge of 
 the tomb ! "
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 179 
 
 " I shall try to have a good time while I do lite." 
 
 " She that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth," 
 quoted the Breyfogle conscience, which appeared to 
 have memorised most of the severe and threatening 
 texts of the Bible, and used them without regard for 
 the context. 
 
 "I don't believe it," contradicted Miss Cynthia 
 faintly. 
 
 "You should crucify your affections and desires, 
 not pamper them." 
 
 " I don't want to crucify them," murmured Miss 
 Cynthia doggedly. 
 
 When pretty Nellie Ryan called her mistress to 
 dinner, she was surprised to observe the change which 
 had taken place in her small, wistful face since break- 
 fast time. 
 
 It was indeed no longer wistful, but flushed and 
 expectant. 
 
 "Have you ever wanted things, Nellie, that you 
 thought you couldn't have?" asked Miss Cynthia, as 
 the girl filled her glass. She liked to have her pretty 
 young servant linger in the dining room while she ate, 
 and Nellie, perceiving this, had been pleasantly
 
 180 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 flattered by it, though it was not the fashion in 
 Innisfield. 
 
 "Have I ever wanted things that I couldn't have, 
 ma'am? " echoed Nellie. "Why, yes'm, I suppose I 
 have. But folks don't often get what they want in 
 this 'ere world, I've always heard tell; an' I guess 
 it's true enough." The girl's tone was unhappy, 
 and she winked fast as if to keep back the insurgent 
 tears. 
 
 " That's what I've always supposed, too," said Miss 
 Cynthia meditatively. "But suppose there was a 
 very simple reason why we don't get what we want. 
 And suppose I we should find out what the reason 
 was all of a sudden ? " The girl looked respectfully 
 inquiring. 
 
 " Suppose it should be because," pursued her mis- 
 tress, with a frightened joy shining palely in her 
 face, "just because we won't believe that God is 
 kind and generous and wants us to have things. 
 Just think of that, Nellie ! how different it would make 
 everything in the whole world if we only kiiew it was 
 true if instead of being stern and harsh and often 
 angry because we want foolish things. He was really
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 181 
 
 kind, and wanted us to have what we want every- 
 thing nice and pleasant and cheerful and pretty ! 
 Oh, I wish I was sure of it! I wish I'd found out 
 about it before ! I'm afraid it's too late now." 
 
 The girl expressed extreme astonishment, not un- 
 mingled with dismay in her round, solemn eyes and up- 
 lifted hands. "Aren't you feeling well, ma'am?" 
 she asked respectfully. " Perhaps I'd better get the 
 camphor." In Nellie's brief experience too much 
 " religion " au naturel was a decidedly unhealthy 
 symptom. 
 
 " I do feel well," declared Miss Cynthia stoutly. 
 " I feel better than I ever did in my life. I want to be 
 well, Nellie. Do you hear? And if God wants me 
 to be well, too, why shouldn't I be well? And it 
 wouldn't make a bit of difference what anybody else 
 thought, or said; would it? " 
 
 The girl regarded her mistress' agitated little face 
 with a suspicious interest. She had been warned by 
 numbers of well-intentioned persons that Miss Cyn- 
 thia was " growing awful queer." Heretofore, her 
 " queerness " had been of a sort entirely intelligible 
 to Nellie. But all this " religious business," as the girl
 
 182 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 termed it to herself, was an alarming indication of 
 intellectual decay. 
 
 "I haven't seen William Cartright about the place 
 lately," pursued Miss Cynthia unexpectedly. "Is 
 he out of town?" 
 
 The girl started, blushed violently, then her voice 
 broke in an uncontrollable little sob. " He he 
 doesn't come to to see me any more," she faltered. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " I don't know, ma'am, exactly. Him an' me had 
 some words one night a spell back. An' I suppose 
 he's mad about somethin'. I guess I c'n stan' it if 
 he can," she added defiantly. "He ain't the only 
 pebble on the beach ! " 
 
 Miss Cynthia gazed abstractedly into the depths of 
 her tea-cup. "You'd better try wanting him, 
 Nellie," she said gently. " It wouldn't do any harm 
 to try. I think he will come back, if you do." Her 
 voice grew stronger and more determined. "I 
 believe he will come back, if you do."
 
 XIII 
 
 Miss CYNTHIA'S fat, worn little Bible had lain 
 unopened upon her bedroom table for two whole days, 
 and for a like period Miss Cynthia had entirely 
 omitted to mention the state of her soul or the press- 
 ing needs of heathen nations before the Breyfogle 
 conception of deity. The vision of the great unwink- 
 ing, watchful Eye which she had found herself un- 
 able to supplant with the idea of the Encircling 
 Good had by now assumed a threatening expression, 
 difficult to support at the stated seasons for devotion. 
 Try as she would to dismiss the unpleasant convic- 
 tion, she felt that the owner of the large, attentive 
 ear was perfectly aware of the unseemly haste of her 
 toilet, conducted in the accusing presence of the un- 
 read book. 
 
 On the third morning, having pricked her fingers on 
 divers pins, torn her petticoat and broken a boot- 
 lace all of which the Eye appeared to note with 
 
 183
 
 184 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 a species of malicious enjoyment she ran downstairs 
 like a hunted thing, and out into the tranquil glories 
 of the June morning. Great white clouds like islands 
 of snow floated in the intense blue of the sky; the 
 trees, vividly green against the blue, swayed softly 
 in the warm wind ; a thousand odours of sweet, lush 
 grass, of ripening fruits and opening blossoms 
 breathed spirit-like in its subtle presence. 
 
 " Oh, I want to live to live! " she prayed passion- 
 ately, and knew not that she had prayed. 
 
 Someone was passing along the elm-shaded street, a 
 tall, athletic young figure in blue jeans. Miss Cyn- 
 thia darted forward with a little eager cry. 
 
 " Wait a minute," she called ; " I want to speak with 
 you." She met William Cartwright's surprised, in- 
 quiring gaze with an abashed sinking of her blue eyes. 
 " Could you could you spare me a few minutes 
 that is, if you are not in a great hurry? I haven't 
 seen you here lately. I was wondering " 
 
 The young workman scowled perplexedly. " If you 
 have any fault to find with the work," he said stiffly, 
 " you will please speak to Blossom, ma'am. I worked 
 under him, you understan'."
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 185 
 
 " Oh, no, no indeed ! I've no fault to find with 
 the work." Miss Cynthia determinedly suppressed 
 her growing embarrassment. "It was something 
 quite different. It was this. Why have you 
 quarrelled with Nellie? She is very unhappy " 
 
 The coldly inquiring expression in the eyes of the 
 man deepened into anger as she spoke. Miss Cyn- 
 thia winced under his steady, resentful stare. 
 
 " I can see," he began with bitter politeness, " that 
 she has asked you, ma'am, to interfere. But I guess 
 I'd best tell you first off that it won't do any good. 
 I'll not be takin' up with the likes of her again. Maw 
 always told me I was pickin' a wife beneath me, an' 
 I knew well enough I was, all along. But I wouldn't 
 
 ha' cared, if " His voice choked a little, but he 
 
 went on with dogged determination, " if she'd ha' 
 been all I thought she was. I've found she ain't ; an' 
 that ends it." 
 
 "Nellie didn't ask me to interfere," Miss Cynthia 
 said, gripping her little courage with both hands. 
 " It is I who am interfering. I want Nellie to be 
 happy. Could you tell me why you're angry? 
 Perhaps it's all a mistake. There are so many mis-
 
 186 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 takes, you know, and they make people just as 
 unhappy as as if they were true. I I made a mis- 
 take once, and I've always been sorry." 
 
 The young fellow's defiant eyes glistened wetly. 
 " I'm afraid it's no mistake about Nellie," he said in 
 
 a low, shaken voice. " She she They say she 
 
 isn't Good Lord! I can't talk about it? Why did 
 you ask me? I guess you think I'm made of stone! 
 Why, I've loved that girl since I was a kid in knee- 
 pants, an' we was both in district school together. 
 She was just like a little pink posy in them days." 
 
 "And you heard a mean thing about her and 
 believed it? " Miss Cynthia's eyes flashed blight- 
 ing scorn. " Oh, you make me angry yes, 
 
 angry 
 
 William Cartright stared in a sort of fearful 
 admiration at the little figure breathing fine contempt 
 and indignation in every tremulous line. " Jiminy 
 crickets ! " he breathed sincerely. 
 
 "Who said such a thing about Nellie?" demanded 
 his self -elected Nemesis sternly. 
 
 " Why, I I do' know as I can say, exactly, ma'am. 
 It was maw, in the first place. She said Mis' Peter-
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 187, 
 
 son told her she guessed Nellie was a pretty triflin', 
 ornery piece. She said she got it straight from Dea- 
 con Scrimger that Nellie wasn't no better than she'd 
 ought to be." 
 
 "I'd like to know who is," murmured Miss Cyn- 
 thia, ignoring the sinister meaning of the familiar 
 phrase. 
 
 "What do you mean, ma'am?" 
 
 "Are you better than you ought to be? Are you 
 even as good as you ought to be?" 
 
 "Well, if you put it that way, maybe not. But 
 when a man like Deacon Scrimger " 
 
 " Stop ! " ordered Miss Cynthia imperiously. " I 
 know what I shall do. You may go now. But I 
 want you to stop here and see me to-night as you go 
 home from work. Will you?" 
 
 The young fellow shook his head obstinately. 
 " The' ain't any use in talkin' 'bout it ; I've made up 
 my mind to give her up," he said sulkily. " It wasn't 
 easy, I c'n tell you, but I've gone an' done it now, an' 
 I ain't a-goin' to " 
 
 " That doesn't make any difference," Miss Cynthia 
 told him disdainfully. "I'm not at all sure that
 
 188 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Nellie would ever look at you again after the way 
 you've treated her. Really, I don't think she would. 
 But I shall not allow people to tell hateful lies about 
 her to me" 
 
 An hour later, Deacon Scrimger, piously chanting a 
 stanza of a well-known revival hymn to the rasping 
 accompaniment of his plane and saw, beheld Miss 
 Day standing in the door of his shop. 
 
 "Well, well, well!" he exclaimed briskly. "How- 
 de-do, Cynthy! Nice mornin'! Walk right in! 
 Glad to see ye ! What kin I do f er ye this mornin' ? " 
 
 Miss Cynthia's light-blue gingham skirts swept the 
 yellow shavings crisply as she advanced to a position 
 near the carpenter's bench. Her head was held at an 
 uncompromising altitude and she was wearing the 
 Breyf ogle expression. " I came to find out why you 
 said Nellie Ryan was no better than she should be," 
 she began, without apology or preamble. 
 
 The old man's jaw fell. He stared in a sort of dull 
 amazement at the cold-eyed, determined little figure. 
 " I I d'clare I don't know what on airth you're 
 drivin' at," he began. "I ain't never said nothin' 
 *bout nobody to hurt." He paused to give vent to a
 
 [The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 189 
 
 fit of senile coughing; then a malicious gleam twin- 
 kled in his wintry old eye. 
 
 "The gal's a good-fer-nothin' little piece, an' the' 
 ain't no denyin' o' that," he went on. " She ain't no 
 better 'an she'd ought to be ; I know she ain't. 'F I 
 said anythin' like that an', mind you, I don't remem- 
 ber 'at I said it but if I did, I ain't a-goin' to swal- 
 ler m' words fer you ner nobody. I wonder you'll 
 hev the critter in the house. The way she up an' 
 sassed me an elder in the church ! " 
 
 " Nellie told me what she said to you the day I 
 gave my furniture away," said Miss Cynthia. "I 
 think I should have said something of the sort my- 
 self, if But I didn't come to talk to you about 
 
 that. I only wanted to say that you must go to every 
 person that you've talked to about Nellie, and take 
 back what you have said. Especially to Mrs. Cart- 
 right." 
 
 Deacon Scrimger whirled about and picked up his 
 saw. "This is my busy day," he quoted suggest- 
 ively. " I ain't got no time to fool away." 
 
 " You'd better listen to what I say," said Miss Cyn- 
 thia distinctly. "At noon to-day, if you haven't
 
 190 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 done it I shall put the matter into the hands of Jabez 
 Tilman. I think he'll find there's damages to col- 
 lect. I shall tell him to collect them all, every 
 cent." 
 
 The old man bristled like a dangerous animal. 
 "Who air you to come here a-threatenin' me right 
 here on m' own premises?" he snarled. "I'll hev ye 
 
 to know 'at I'll git the law on ye f er f er Oh, 
 
 I'll git the law on ye f er somethin', see 'f I don't ! " 
 
 " You'd much better do as I say," advised Miss Cyn- 
 thia inexorably. "You can tell them you were jok- 
 ing. You won't mind putting it that way, I dare 
 say." 
 
 " Well, I wa'n't, so to say, reel serious. But I can 
 tell ye one thing. I ain't a mite o' use fer sassy 
 females ; never did hev, an' ain't now." The deacon 
 paused to glare malevolently at Miss Cynthia. " Fe- 
 males sh'd be kep' under subjection under rule, an* 
 if they ain't got no male pertecter to boss 'em, they 
 ain't no airthly use to nobody ! Th' 'Postle Paul says 
 ' let yer women-folks keep shet ' ; an' they'd ought to 
 all the endurin' while. Well, I s'pose I'll hev to 
 let on 'at I was funnin' 'bout that blamed "
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 191 
 
 "You'll have to make it perfectly clear and plain 
 that you didn't mean a word you said about Nellie 
 Ryan," Miss Cynthia told him positively. " I shall 
 call on Mrs. Peterson and Mrs. Cartright this after- 
 noon. They will tell me what you said." 
 
 With this, Miss Cynthia, still wearing the uncom- 
 promising expression of countenance peculiar to her 
 Revolutionary ancestors, turned and marched out of 
 the shop. 
 
 The deacon wagged his head threateningly after 
 her retreating figure. " She'll git the law on me, will 
 she?" he cackled, rubbing his dry old hands. "A 
 female woman '11 git the law on me! Huh ! " He 
 snatched up his plane and pounced agilely upon his 
 interrupted work, the while his cracked voice was 
 again uplifted in pious song: 
 
 " Re-vive us a-ginl 
 Fill each heart with thy love! 
 May each soul be re-kin-dulled 
 With fire fom &-bovel" 
 
 Miss Cynthia, halfway down the street, paused to 
 listen. " Sometimes," she murmured, with a deepen-
 
 192 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 ing of the Breyfogle expression, " I feel almost like 
 being an infidel! " 
 
 While Miss Cynthia was thus triumphantly follow- 
 ing the trail of the small but spiteful lie which had 
 wrecked Nellie Ryan's peace, that unfortunate young 
 person was undergoing divers peculiar trials of her 
 own. Miss Cynthia had conscientiously endeavoured 
 to induct Nellie into various frugal practices, calcu- 
 lated to increase the material comfort of a humble 
 home, among which was the "trying out" of 
 " drippings." 
 
 Quite naturally and inevitably Nellie turned up her 
 pretty nose at Miss Cynthia's housewifely customs. 
 But she docilely endured them, while resolving to do 
 as she wastefully pleased in her own small kitchen. 
 
 The memory of this futile resolution lent peculiar 
 poignancy to the operation of " trying out " on this 
 particular morning, and her eyes, blurred with unshed 
 tears, caused her to splash the smoking fat on her 
 round, white arms as she poured it into a small brown 
 jar of ancient Breyfogle date. The girl gave an 
 angry little shriek and dropped the fat-kettle, which
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 193 
 
 in its turn smashed the brown jar. Whereupon, the 
 " drippings," in simple obedience to the law of gravi- 
 tation, proceeded to drip all over the well-scoured 
 table, and down in deliberate oily little streams to the 
 floor. 
 
 Miss Cynthia had earnestly assured Nellie that 
 " drippings " would go a great way in a house. The 
 girl, observing this practical demonstration, was now 
 sure of it. 
 
 " I don't care ! " she cried, the vexed tears following 
 the example of the drippings. " I don't care one bit, 
 so there ! " 
 
 She sank down in a chair and apathetically watched 
 the slow meanderings of the cooling fat. She had 
 reached the point where misery becomes an absolute 
 luxury. " I suppose I sh'll always be drudgin' about 
 in somebody else's kitchen, just like this," she moaned, 
 and rocked herself back and forth, nursing her 
 burned arms. "Oh, dear! Oh, dear! What shall 
 I do!" 
 
 This piteous plaint was answered in unexpected 
 fashion from the back door which stood open onto 
 the sunny porch.
 
 194 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " Well! I want-torknow ! " exclaimed a voice. The 
 tentative inquiry was completed by a cogent, com- 
 prehensive sniff which appeared to arrest the attention 
 of even the wandering drippings. 
 
 Nellie Ryan looked up, her blue eyes still smarting 
 with half-shed tears. " No. We don't want to buy 
 anythin' this mornin'," she said tartly. "Miss Day 
 ain't to home." 
 
 The tall figure in the rusty alpaca dress and beaded 
 cape bore a large green pasteboard box firmly tied 
 with brown string, a circumstance which had sug- 
 gested the girl's words of dismissal. 
 
 " I sh'd hope so ! " commented the visitor, with dyna- 
 mic emphasis. " I sh'd cert'nly hope she ain't 
 r'sponsible fer what I'm a-lookin' at in this here 
 kitchen!" 
 
 The purple roses above the rim of the dusty black 
 hat vibrated with unspeakable emotion as their wearer 
 surveyed in turn the disordered cupboard; the sink, 
 brimming with half -washed dishes; the grease-be- 
 spattered table; the floor with its wandering rivulets 
 of hardening grease. 
 
 "I didn't ask you to come in here as I know of!"
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 195 
 
 snapped Nellie Ryan, gathering up the fragments of 
 the brown j ar and tossing them into the coal-hod with 
 a careless crash. " I've got to clean up this nasty 
 grease bad luck to it ! I've burnt me arm somethin' 
 fierce ! I guess I'll have to ask you to tell your busi- 
 ness an' go on. The' ain't no room in this kitchen 
 f er two." 
 
 "You ain't never spoke a truer word 'an that, an' 
 you never will ef you live to be a hunderd," the lady 
 with the purple roses enunciated deliberately. She 
 had set her green pasteboard box down on the floor 
 with a decisive thump, and unfastened the beaded cape 
 at her gaunt throat. " I s'pose you know who I be," 
 she continued, her eyes completing another searching 
 tour of the kitchen. " My ! It '11 take me a week of 
 stiddy work to git things to rights agin." 
 
 Nellie Ryan was down on her knees scraping up the 
 floor. Her pretty face was flushed, the tendrils of 
 her reddish hair curled about her white forehead like 
 little flames. " I don't know who you be, an' what's 
 more I don't care!" she said tartly. "I wouldn't 
 put up with Queen Victory a-loiterin' 'round my 
 kitchen to-day, let alone a trampin' pedler ! "
 
 196 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " Imperdunce! " intoned the lady in black, with an 
 upward glance of almost religious fervour. "My 
 kitchen! Did you ever! My kitchen! I'm Abby 
 Whiton! " she finished majestically. 
 
 " I suspicioned as much," said Nellie coolly. 
 
 "An* I'll let you know 'at I've come back to my 
 place to stay! " Miss Whiton continued, with a fine 
 disregard of the girl's scornful blue eyes. " If ever 
 I turned my back on my plain dooty, I done it the day 
 I left this 'ere kitchen. You've prob'ly done yer 
 best I c'n see with half an eye 'at ye'r young an' 
 foolish. But you might as well pick up yer traps 
 an' go now. I'll take a-holt here right off ; the' ain't 
 a minute to lose, I s'd say." 
 
 " Well, I never! " exclaimed Nellie Ryan. She had 
 hastily prepared a mixture of soda and boiling water 
 and was about to pour it upon the greasy floor, 
 when Abby Whiton's compelling hand gripped her 
 arm. 
 
 " Don't ye know no better 'an to pour hot water on 
 that fat, ye little idjit? It '11 drive it int' the grain 
 o' the wood so 't you'll never git it out t' yer dyin' 
 day! Where's the starch-box? You want to put
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 197 
 
 starch on it first off to draw the grease. An' my 
 goodness! I see you ain't put yer bread in yit. 
 'Taint fit to eat, anyhow ; I c'n see that ! I guess 
 Miss Cynthy '11 be mighty glad to git some o' my 
 good victuals agin after your messy ways of doin' 
 things ! " 
 
 Nellie's Irish temper flamed out of bounds at this 
 last insult. " I want you should clear out of this 
 kitchen, right now ! " she cried. " This is my place, 
 an' I'm hired to stay till fall, an' what's more I'm 
 a-goin' to do it f er all of you or anybody ! So there ! 
 I know all 'bout your wonderful cookin'. Miss Day 
 like to ha' died eatin' it. She likes my bread an' my 
 cake an' my pies an' the way I broil my meats an' 
 every thin' I do. She's said so more'n a hundred 
 times. She said she'd never eat a real tasty, relishin' 
 meal of victuals till I come here. So there ! " 
 
 Abby Whiton sank down in her chair, a curious 
 dusky pallour stealing over her gaunt old face. 
 "Did did Miss Cynthy say that?" she faltered. 
 " I thought I thought mebbe she was a-missin' me 
 like I'd missed her. I I got so I reelly couldn't 
 stan' it. Night an' day I was a-frettin' an'
 
 198 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 a-worryin' 'bout her. !An' now you say she didn't 
 relish my victuals." 
 
 " Of course she didn't," asseverated Nellie, with cruel 
 satisfaction in her enemy's manifest distress. " Why, 
 anybody could tell that by just lookin' at her. She's 
 been growin' fat sence I come." 
 
 "Fa*/ Miss Cynthy growin' fat!" 
 
 "Yes, an' she's took off her black clo'es, an* she's 
 got heaps an' heaps of lovely dresses up in her closet, 
 an' the house is all fixed up as han'some as a picture 
 an' every bit happened sence I come!" 
 
 " She didn't know where I was goin' " continued 
 Abby Whiton in a dreary monotone. " I didn't git 
 a chanct to see her when we come to part. An' thinks 
 s' I she'd prob'ly like to git me back fer I don't 
 see," her eyes wandered dully about the disordered 
 kitchen, "I don't see how she c'n git along with- 
 out me after thirty years, an' me a-lovin' her 
 a-lovin' her like " 
 
 The dry old voice broke into unmistakable sobs. The 
 gaunt shoulders heaved dreadfully under the rusty 
 cape with its arabesques of glittering black beads. 
 
 Nellie Ryan's scornful eyes melted into surprised
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 199 
 
 alarm, then into quick girlish compassion. "Why, 
 don't cry ! " she begged, " I guess Miss Day " 
 
 She stopped short, with a little embarrassed laugh, 
 for her mistress had opened the door, and stood look- 
 ing quietly at the scene. 
 
 Abby Whiton shook herself vigorously free from the 
 girl's light, pitying touch. "I 'xpect you'll think 
 I'm a reg'lar old fool ! " she exclaimed, with an effort 
 after one of her decisive sniffs which ended disas- 
 trously in a choking sob. " But I've walked more'n 
 fifteen miles this mornin' to git here, an* when it come 
 over me all of a suddent 'at Miss Cynthy didn't 
 want me no more, w'y I kind of " 
 
 "Abby!" It was Miss Cynthia's voice, and it was 
 a curious blend of tears and laughter. 
 
 The woman sprang to her feet, stared for one brief, 
 bewildered minute at the slender little figure in its 
 dainty summer gown. "Oh, Miss Cynthy!" she 
 cried. All the faithful love of thirty toilsome years, 
 the homesick longing of thirty lonely days vibrated 
 in the harsh old voice. Then Abby Whiton stiffened 
 herself inexorably. "She says you didn't relish my 
 cookin'."
 
 200 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Miss Cynthia put her arms about the unresponsive 
 figure. " I'm so glad to see you, Abby ! " she said 
 softly. Then she kissed Abby Whiton full on her 
 wrinkled cheek. "I never knew before that you - 
 loved me," she whispered.
 
 XIV 
 
 THE Puffer twins stood in their mother's presence 
 with a serious, almost solemn expression on their 
 round, freckled faces. 
 
 " I shan't be gone a minute longer than I'm 'bliged 
 to be," Mrs. Puffer was saying, as she hastily tied her 
 bonnet-strings and smoothed out the somewhat wrin- 
 kled skirt of her best summer dress. She was a 
 sufficiently comely figure of a woman, and despite the 
 fact that most of her gowns bore unmistakable evi- 
 dence of her chief occupation in the shape of dampish 
 spots in the front of the skirt and a generally re- 
 laxed appearance of the bodice, her children enthu- 
 siastically regarded her as not only the wisest, but 
 the most beautiful person in the world. 
 
 "Fve fed him up good," continued Mrs. Puffer 
 briskly, " and he won't be hungry for at least two 
 hours. Now, if you'll just roll him slowly up and 
 down the sidewalk in his carriage, an' don't get him 
 
 201
 
 202 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 all waked up an' fidgety playing with him, he'll 
 prob'ly drop right off to sleep an' stay asleep till I 
 come home. He's the best baby that ever lived so 
 he was ! " 
 
 Mrs. Puffer bestowed a parting cuddle and pat on 
 her youngest as she tucked him, all milky and com- 
 placent, into the nest of pillows in his peram- 
 bulator. 
 
 " I'm goin' to wheel him, 'cause I'm the oldest," an- 
 nounced Edwina importantly. 
 
 " You're only five minutes older 'an me, Ed Puffer, 
 an' I'm a lot taller," retorted Harriet indignantly. 
 " I shall wheel him. Mayn't I, ma ? " 
 
 "You may wheel him up the street as far as the 
 corner ; then Edwina can wheel him back," said Mrs. 
 Puffer, hunting absent-mindedly for her gloves, which 
 she seldom had use for. 
 
 " I shall turn the carriage 'round, anyway ; it's 
 awful hard to turn the carriage 'round; but I know 
 how," said Harriet firmly. 
 
 " We'll both of us turn it 'round," amended Edwina, 
 with equal firmness. " I'll take hold of the front when 
 you're wheeling, an' you c'n take hold of the back;
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 203 
 
 then I'll take hold of the back when I'm wheeling, an* 
 you c'n " 
 
 Mrs. Puffer, looking worried and anxious, inter- 
 rupted this careful plan of the coming campaign to 
 warn the children of the danger of tipping the car- 
 riage over into the gutter. " I shan't be easy a single 
 minute while I'm gone," she said plaintively. " If it 
 wasn't that my teeth are keeping me awake nights 
 with aching I shouldn't think of going. Dear me ! if 
 you should get to quarrelling over the carriage " 
 
 " We'll be careful, ma ! " repeated the twins in duti- 
 ful chorus. "We won't quarrel. We'll take awful 
 good care of the baby. We'll both of us wheel him, 
 an' both of us turn him 'round." 
 
 Mrs. Puffer hurried away down the street, after see- 
 ing the twins started at a snail's pace for the corner, 
 their four moist pink hands firmly grasping the 
 handle of the perambulator. 
 
 The baby was apparently sound asleep by the time 
 the corner was reached. Edwina peeped under the 
 canopy and announced the fact with maternal pride. 
 They turned the carriage around without accident 
 and paced solemnly back to their starting point.
 
 204 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 "It's lots of fun, don't you think so, Ed?" asked 
 Harriet at the end of the third round. 
 
 " Uh-huh," assented Edwina doubtfully. " It feels 
 kind of funny to walk so slow, though. I wonder if 
 it would wake him up if we played fire-engine, real 
 careful." 
 
 The baby made no sign when the carriage began to 
 move more rapidly. The twins were now trotting at 
 a good rate of speed, their stout little shoes clattering 
 briskly on the stone sidewalk. 
 
 " Sometimes fire-horses gallop," suggested Harriet. 
 " I'll gallop the carriage, an' you be the fire chief an' 
 run awful fast in front." 
 
 This suggestion was adopted with exhilarating re- 
 sults. The baby slept soundly, despite the jerky 
 motion imparted to his vehicle by the galloping steed 
 behind. 
 
 " Once a fire engine ran into a fence," said Edwina 
 solemnly, as they drew up panting and breathless 
 after ten minutes of this strenuous exercise. "You 
 pretty near did, too." 
 
 " Oh, well, 's long 's I didn't, what's the use in talkin' 
 about it," rejoined Harriet carelessly. "Anyway, I
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 205 
 
 guess we'd better change to a f un'ral till we get rested. 
 I'll run the hearse an' you be the mourners comin' 
 along behind." 
 
 This proved restful, but not exciting. " Now let's 
 play we're a milk-wagon," suggested Edwina. " I'll 
 be the milkman, an' yoiube the milkman's horse. We'll 
 stop at every house an' you c'n stamp your feet as 
 if the flies was bitin', an' I'll yell 'whoa' like Mr. 
 Potts does, while I p'tend to carry in the milk." 
 
 This proceeding was made strikingly realistic by 
 Harriet's later idea, which involved a removal of the 
 baby's socks to use for pint measures. 
 
 " I'm 'f raid he'll take cold with his b'essed little pink 
 tootsy-wootsies all bare," objected Edwina, with a 
 fine imitation of her mother's tone and manner. 
 
 " No, he won't, either," contradicted Harriet as she 
 pulled off the socks. " I'll cuddle 'em up so in his 
 pinning-blanket. He's all hot an' sticky anyway. 
 If he was my baby I'd let him cool off." 
 
 " He isn't your baby." 
 
 " Yes, he is, too. He's my brother, an' he's a baby, 
 so 'course he's my baby. I'm goin' to take off this 
 hot old blanket this minute an' make him comf'table."
 
 206 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " He's my brother jus' 's much as he is yours, an' I 
 say he's got to have that blanket on. I guess ma 
 knows how to fix him." 
 
 " Lots an' lots of times she takes off his blankets ; she 
 says ' b'ess his little heart, he's too warm, so him was ! ' 
 You know she does, Ed Puffer. Now I'll tell what 
 we'll do. I'll p'tend I'm the mother, an' you c'n 
 p'tend you're the father all the rest of the after- 
 noon, an'. then you'll have to do jus' 's I say." 
 
 " I don't want to be the father, 't isn't any fun," 
 said Edwina, sulkily kicking the wheel of the carriage. 
 "I'll tell you what I'll p'tend; I'll p'tend I'm the 
 gran'ma, an' I sh'll say, * I'm s'prised at you, daugh- 
 ter, for takin' off that blanket in this wind. I sh'll 
 put it right back,'. an' don't you say a word till I'm 
 gone home ma never does, when Gran'ma Puffer says 
 things like that." 
 
 " All right ; but when you goin' home ? " 
 
 " I ain't goin' at all. I'm goin' to make my home 
 with you, same 's Susie Winter's gran'ma does," said 
 Edwina sweetly. 
 
 "I shan't play mother an' gran'ma 'nother single 
 minute," declared Harriet crossly, after Edwina had
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 207 
 
 rigorously enforced her old-fashioned ideas of baby- 
 tending to the extent of putting on the socks again. 
 "You've gone and waked him up now, an' you'll 
 just see 'at he'll cry in about five minutes." 
 
 " No, he won't, b'ess him ! " giggled Edwina. " Just 
 look at him laugh, Harry ; ain't he too cunnin' ? " 
 
 The Puffer baby's blue eyes were very wide open by 
 this time, his pink fists struggled powerfully with his 
 blankets, while his small, indeterminate features 
 writhed and reddened ominously. 
 
 "Let's wheel him fast!" ordered Harriet, with an 
 apprehension born of experience. "There! What 
 did I tell you?" 
 
 The baby was growing suspicious and indignant, as 
 his wrathful roars plainly indicated. " Jounce him, 
 Ed, jounce him hard in front, an' pound his rattle- 
 box on the edge of the carriage; I'll run awful 
 fast!" 
 
 A slight cessation of the infantile disapproval evi- 
 denced the infantile surprise, but the slow process of 
 turning around intervened, with disastrous results. 
 Harriet's red lips set themselves in firm lines. "Are 
 your hands clean, Ed? " she demanded resourcefully.
 
 208 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 "Pretty clean, I guess." 
 
 "Put your finger in his mouth, then; maybe that 
 '11 stop him." 
 
 But it didn't. The situation was growing serious. 
 " If I could lift him out," murmured Harriet doubt- 
 fully, " maybe he'd stop." 
 
 " Don't you das' ! " cried Edwina. 
 
 "Do you das' me, Ed Puffer?" 
 
 " No, I don't das' you ; I shouldn't das' to das' you, 
 'cause you'd do it right off. But you mustn't! " 
 
 " Who said so? Ma didn't say I mustn't take him 
 out." 
 
 " She meant it ; you know she did." 
 
 " She thought he wouldn't cry, an' he's cryin'." 
 
 There was no denying this poignant fact. The two 
 little girls sang, jounced, coaxed, patted, and pleaded 
 in vain. The Puffer baby had mistaken the period 
 of his nap for a much longer one. He had appar- 
 ently quite forgotten his late milky and complacent 
 condition. 
 
 "Poor little sing, he finks he's hungry," said Ed- 
 wina pityingly. 
 
 " An' it's just exactly as bad for us as if he really
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 209 
 
 was," agreed Harriet gloomily. " He's getting pur- 
 ple in the face, now." 
 
 Edwina burst into discouraged tears. "I wish ma 
 would come," she wailed. " I'm awful scared when he 
 yells like that." 
 
 " I'm not scared," said Harriet stoutly, " but he's 
 makin' such a ter'ble noise that we've gotta do some- 
 thin'." They had reached the corner of maternal 
 designation once more, and instead of turning around 
 she pushed the carriage determinedly into the next 
 street. 
 
 " Where you goin' ? " demanded Edwina, with wide 
 eyes ; " ma said " 
 
 " I'm goin' to take him to Miss Cynthy's house," said 
 Harriet doggedly. " She likes dolls most as much 
 as we do, an' I guess she'll like babies, too. Anyway, 
 I'm goin'." 
 
 Miss Cynthia was sitting in the shade of the roses 
 on her front piazza. She was dressed in a crisp, lace- 
 trimmed muslin gown, and one of the newest maga- 
 zines lay open in her lap. She was experiencing the 
 exhilarating satisfaction peculiar to one who has ad- 
 ventured herself on a perilous enterprise and won out.
 
 210 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Nellie Ryan was again her smiling self, and the re- 
 pentant William, after a suitable period devoted to 
 the consumption of humble-pie, was frequenting the 
 back porch of the Breyfogle mansion as before. 
 
 Abby Whiton watched them there of an evening with 
 grim amusement. "No wonder her victuals air 
 tasty," she had commented; "they'd ought to be; ' 
 you could see the butter she dashes in. But if you 
 c'n stan' it I s'pose I kin. I'll bet I'll beat her at her 
 Own game before fall. She ain't willin' to whirl in 
 an' work the way I be. My las' sponge-cake beat 
 hers all holler. Anyway, it's lucky I come jus' as I 
 did; her min' 's so took up with sparkin' she ain't 
 good fer much; she f ergot to rense the dishes las' 
 night. I tell her she wants to keep a tight rein over 
 that young man of hern, an' not be too awful mushy 
 an' lovin'." 
 
 Miss Cynthia was dreamily comparing the facts of 
 this humble romance of real life with the highly col- 
 oured love-story in the magazine when the gate clicked 
 and a baby-carriage apparently propelled by unseen 
 hands bumped noisily in upon the freshly raked 
 jgravel. The occupant of the carriage had evidently
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 211 
 
 reached the point when the feelings become unutter- 
 able, for his strident roars were frequently inter- 
 rupted by ominous pauses. 
 
 " You'd better take him out, quick ! " advised Harriet 
 Puffer with a dramatic gesture of despair. " He's 
 pretty near choked with cryin', I guess." 
 
 "Yes, do please take him out!" wailed Edwina. 
 " He's got all mixed up in his clo'es, an' I can't unmix 
 him ; the more I try the worse he gets." 
 
 " Where is your mother? " asked Miss Cynthia, peep- 
 ing in at the wrathful infant with an air of eager 
 curiosity. 
 
 " She's gone to the dentist's," explained Harriet. 
 " She said he wouldn't wake up, an' I don't b'lieve he 
 would 've 'f Ed hadn't kep' a-coverin' him up every 
 time I uncovered him. She was the gran'ma an' I 
 was the mother." 
 
 Miss Cynthia timidly laid hold upon the writhing 
 mass of flannels and extricated it from the carriage. 
 The roars suddenly ceased. 
 
 "I guess he thinks your ma," observed Edwina in- 
 telligently. 
 
 " Then he'll yell again in a minute when he finds out
 
 212 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 you ain't," opined Harriet darkly. " He knows an 
 awful lot for three months old." 
 
 Miss Cynthia was untangling the small, fat body 
 from its encircling blankets. Her face was flushed; 
 her blue eyes shone ; she breathed quickly. " I 
 always wanted to take care of a baby when I was a 
 little girl," she said. 
 
 " You c'n have him all the rest of the afternoon just 
 as well as not," said Harriet generously. " We don't 
 care, do we, Ed? Let's us go an' play tag while she 
 takes care of him." 
 
 " Would you like to take care of him? " inquired Ed- 
 wina, with anxious politeness. " You c'n p'tend he's 
 your truly baby, if you want to." 
 
 " Go and play tag, if you like," Miss Cynthia told 
 them hastily. She was cuddling the small, warm body 
 in her thin arms, and the baby was blindly nosing her 
 soft neck with little whimpering cries. 
 
 " He isn't a bit hungry," called Harriet over her 
 shoulder, as she ran joyously away. "I guess you 
 c'n get him to sleep bimeby." 
 
 Left to herself, Miss Cynthia stared at her treasure- 
 trove with wide blue eyes. "Oh, you little duck,
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 213 
 
 you ! " she murmured delightedly, as she felt his round 
 arms through the thin muslin of his dress. The tiny 
 fluttering hands with a row of dimples across the back 
 next claimed her attention. Then with shame-faced 
 blushes she explored his flannel skirts in search of 
 two active pink feet. The mottled rose of his cheeks, 
 the fuzz of downy hair in his fat neck, the queer, un- 
 certain blue of his eyes she examined them all with 
 charmed incredulity. Never before had she had un- 
 disputed possession of a baby. It would probably 
 never happen again. She drew the blankets awk- 
 wardly about the soft little body and began to sway 
 gently back and forth in her chair, as she remembered 
 to have seen mothers do. After a while she even ven- 
 tured to pat the little back with light, caressing 
 strokes. 
 
 The green, shaded yard was very still. The sun- 
 shine sifted down through the tall elms with an oc- 
 casional drowsy note from a nesting phoebe bird. 
 Miss Cynthia glanced down at the baby held close 
 against her breast ; his eyes were closed, a faint smile 
 fluttered about his moist, pink mouth. 
 
 " Just suppose " whispered Miss Cynthia to herself.
 
 THE long, sweetly monotonous procession of summer 
 days were all folded softly into the past, and Miss 
 Cynthia, with a little shock of painful surprise, faced 
 autumn. It had been the pleasantest summer she 
 ever remembered, despite the hidden current of fear 
 which murmured hollowly beneath the shallow crust 
 of everyday living. There had been teas and picnics 
 and occasional drives behind George Blossom's big 
 brown horse, and the old house had echoed as never 
 before to the sound of young feet and young voices. 
 More than once, after the auspicious occasion of his 
 first visit, did Miss Cynthia cuddle and pet the Puffer 
 baby in motherful fashion, and the twins had estab- 
 lished a permanent playhouse under the apple tree 
 in the back yard. 
 
 Mrs. Pettibone had fallen into the pleasant habit 
 of bringing the minister's socks over onto Miss Cyn- 
 thia's piazza to mend, and the two women talked 
 freely of things seen and unseen in a way which might 
 
 214
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 215 
 
 have scandalised the orthodox pastor could he have 
 heard it. Still Miss Cynthia had not told the min- 
 ister's wife her terrible little secret. She had told 
 no one. Some fine instinct of life had laid the finger 
 of silence upon her lips. 
 
 On a certain chill morning in late September, when 
 the rain fell against the window panes with a hint of 
 approaching winter in its cold, slanting drizzle, she 
 opened her Bible to the ninety-first Psalm, and found 
 a tremulous comfort. Henceforth, she longed fever- 
 ishly to find "the secret place" of safety, and knew 
 not that it was already "nearer than breathing." 
 
 By the time the last leaf had fallen she had gotten 
 into the way of taking long, solitary walks which led 
 her out and away from the prying eyes behind the 
 village windows. Her own confused and struggling 
 thoughts were uneasy companions; yet it was some- 
 thing gained to be able to endure them in solitude. 
 Miss Cynthia was no longer afraid of her own think- 
 ing, and out from the hidden under-current of fear 
 a strong, brave hope lifted itself now and again. 
 She was wrestling, albeit weakly, with the angel of 
 deliverance; but as yet she had caught no glimpse of
 
 216 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 his veiled face. And the sentient body of her 
 changed subtly with the changing life, as it must, 
 always and inevitably. 
 
 Malvina Bennett, proud and busy with fashioning 
 new gowns of many colours for Miss Cynthia, de- 
 clared she could scarcely believe her eyes. " Every 
 one of your measures is changed f'om last spring," 
 announced the little dressmaker importantly. " 'Taint 
 as 'o you'd reely fleshed up, though I guess you hev 
 gained some; but it's a kind of a general diff'runce. 
 I never see nothin' like it in all my 'xperience 
 a-sewin'." 
 
 Miss Bennett had not frequently been called upon 
 to fit garments upon a growing soul; but she dimly 
 groped after the astonishing fact as she fashioned a 
 gown of glowing oak-leaf red, fur-bordered against 
 the cold, which Miss Cynthia had chosen for one of 
 her winter gowns. "A year ago," said Miss Bennett 
 meditatively, "I sh'd 'a' thought you was actually 
 a-takin' leave of your senses to git a dress like this ; 
 but now " she paused to survey the faintly smiling 
 face which was bent toward her "now it somehow 
 seems to be jest the thing."
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 217 
 
 Miss Cynthia, wearing the gown of oak-leaf red, and 
 seeming in it an integral part of the clear, frosty 
 October day, was walking briskly on an upland road, 
 when history repeated itself, as it is wont to do. The 
 intermittent creak and rattle of wagon wheels reached 
 her from beyond the crest of the hill. Later an in- 
 quisitive collie dashed forward to sniff at her daintily 
 gathered skirts ; then George Blossom, perched on the 
 high seat of his wagon, drew up his clumsy-footed 
 horse at sight of the little figure at the road-side. 
 His gloomy face brightened as he jumped down over 
 the muddy wheel. 
 
 "Nice day for a walk, isn't it, Miss Day?" he be- 
 gan. " What do you say to riding home with me, if 
 you're tired ? " Then he burst into a short laugh. 
 "Do you remember how I met you hereabouts last 
 spring? Gracious! it seems more like years than 
 months to me." 
 
 " It does seem a long while," agreed Miss Cynthia. 
 She paled a little as she met the young man's honest 
 gray eyes. " It really isn't very long, though only 
 half a year." 
 
 " A lot can happen in half a year," he said, scowling
 
 218 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 discontentedly. " A fellow can learn that he's a big 
 fool for his pains, for one thing. I've just con- 
 tracted to paint three barns for Mr. James Scott," 
 he went on, with a deepening of the wrinkle between 
 his young eyes. " I'm such a conscientious workman 
 that folks value my services highly when it comes 
 to painting a barn red." 
 
 Miss Cynthia listened with entire understanding. " I 
 wonder," she said thoughtfully, "if you would care 
 to borrow the money from me to go away for a year 
 of study. I have a a sum, which I ought to in- 
 vest. It is, in fact, lying idle. I should be glad 
 to " 
 
 "Should you?" cried George Blossom. His face 
 had become suddenly illuminated. "Oh, I do want 
 
 to go away. I want " He stopped short and 
 
 turned roughly to the brown horse, who was manifest- 
 ing certain crude signs of animal impatience with the 
 vagaries of his master. 
 
 "You'd better start at once, I should say," Miss 
 Cynthia went on, in a matter-of-fact tone. " If you 
 will decide just what course you would like to take 
 up, and "
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 219 
 
 " I know exactly what I want to do," said the young 
 fellow under his breath. " But " His face red- 
 dened slowly. " I can't give you any sort of security. 
 I just couldn't ask father to to mortgage the farm. 
 They have worked so hard, and " 
 
 "You will give me your personal note, of course," 
 Miss Cynthia said promptly. " It is quite customary, 
 you know, and I shall consider it ample security." 
 
 " I don't know much about that sort of business," 
 he confessed shyly. "But I know I can pay every 
 cent of it back. I know Thank you," he fin- 
 ished abruptly. "I will do it." He drew a deep 
 breath. " I can turn over the contract for those 
 barns to Bill Cartright; I guess he's going to need 
 all he c'n make." 
 
 Miss Cynthia laughed happily. " He and Nellie are 
 to be married next week," she said. " Abby Whiton 
 has pieced them two quilts already. She proposes 
 to do her full duty by Nellie." 
 
 " Bill had a fool notion at one time that he was a 
 notch above the girl!" observed George Blossom, 
 with a faint-hearted echo of Miss Cynthia's laugh. 
 " I told him he was an ass just a plain ass. In a
 
 220 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 country place like this it's too darned silly to be 
 always going on about position and and 'culture* 
 I've got so I hate that word * culture ' ! What's ' cul- 
 ture,'' I'd like to know, when it comes to " 
 
 The young fellow set his white teeth strongly; his 
 eyes glowed with love and fury. " I suppose you 
 think I'm a regular chump," he said roughly. 
 "She does, anyhow; she as much as told me so this 
 afternoon. Well, maybe I'll find I c'n afford to for- 
 get her." 
 
 Miss Cynthia watched him with a sigh as he rattled 
 away down the long slope, behind the pounding feet 
 of the clumsy brown horse. "He will forget," she 
 murmured ; " but she will remember." 
 
 She rested for a while beside the gray stone wall, her 
 richly coloured gown making a gorgeous splash of 
 colour, in deep accord with the browns and russets of 
 the sober landscape. It was very still on the lonely 
 hill-top ; all the chirping and singing of summer had 
 ceased; three or four silent crows wheeled sombrely 
 athwart the cold blue of the sky; the yellow leaves 
 dropped noiselessly one by one, from the wide- 
 branched butternuts that fringed the road.
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 221 
 
 Miss Cynthia had fallen into a reverie so absorbed 
 and engrossing that she did not hear the light foot- 
 falls of the girl who was coming down the road, a 
 scarlet tarn poised jauntily on her dark, curling hair, 
 her trim figure alert and self-conscious in its tightly- 
 fitting jacket. 
 
 She paused to greet Miss Cynthia with a little cry 
 of surprise and pleasure. The two had established 
 a friendship of a tentative, unsubstantial nature since 
 the day when Rosalie Scott discovered the neglected 
 Breyfogle mahogany in Miss Cynthia's attic. On 
 her part the girl had never ceased to derive a girl- 
 ishly arrogant amusement from her contemplation of 
 Miss Cynthia's elderly fads, as she chose to term them. 
 This attitude, while it put the older woman slightly 
 on the defensive, was not wholly without its reflection 
 in Miss Cynthia's mind. She was not, as has been 
 intimated, a very astute little person, yet she found 
 in Rosalie Scott's disdainful attitude toward the com- 
 munity at large and herself in particular, matter for 
 a kindly pity and regret which would have thoroughly 
 amazed the young person in question could she have 
 guessed it.
 
 222 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 "What a lovely dress!" began the girl, with a 
 pretty air of envy. "Do you know you looked ex- 
 actly like a spirit of autumn, with your pale, spirit- 
 uelle face and still eyes when I came upon you." 
 
 She blushed with pleasure at the sound of her own 
 words. " I have been reading Keats' ' Ode to Autumn ' 
 this afternoon," she went on, with a little self-con- 
 scious sigh. " One ought always to read it in Octo- 
 ber, I think; it is so exquisitely beautiful! You 
 know it, of course." 
 
 " No," said Miss Cynthia, " I never cared much for 
 poetry." 
 
 " You don't ? " exclaimed the girl ; " what a pity ! " 
 
 She moved her slim shoulders ever so slightly as she 
 continued her studiedly careless examination of Miss 
 Cynthia's red gown. "I have always loved poetry. 
 I write it myself sometimes. I simply can't help it." 
 
 "Do you?" said Miss Cynthia absent-mindedly. 
 , "How very nice." She was thinking of the look in 
 George Blossom's boyish eyes when he had said 
 "Maybe I c'n afford to forget her." 
 
 She turned to look carefully at the girl's pretty face, 
 the Breyfogle expression, with which Abby Whiton
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 223 
 
 was growing respectfully familiar, sharpening her 
 indeterminate little mouth and childish blue eyes. " It 
 must be very pleasant to be so different from ordi- 
 nary folks," she finished deliberately. 
 
 The girl bit her lip. "I believe you're trying to 
 snub me, too," she said sulkily. " Pa does, some- 
 times ; and to-day that impertinent workman I know 
 you like him; but he is impertinent he said horrid 
 
 things to me about poetry and and I can't 
 
 bear him anyhow. He hasn't a particle of real cul- 
 ture!" 
 
 "Perhaps he'll manage to acquire more than you 
 have, before you see him again," Miss Cynthia said 
 cruelly. "He's going away this week to study." 
 
 "Oh, I guess you're mistaken; he's just been hired 
 to paint father's barns. I'll be bored to death seeing 
 him around with his horrid sticky brushes and things. 
 I detest the smell of paint ! " And the girl laughed, 
 a thought too shrilly. 
 
 Miss Cynthia made no comment on this speech. She 
 was thinking that perhaps George Blossom was right 
 about affording to forget this girl. One could afford 
 to forget some people and some things. It was good
 
 224 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 to forget to be able to laugh at vague, haunting 
 memories. Her blue eyes shone suddenly keen and 
 cold as the autumn sky, athwart which the sombre 
 crows were flapping heavily. 
 
 "I can assure you that you will not be bothered 
 with seeing George Blossom around any more," she 
 said briskly. "I talked with him myself this after- 
 noon, and he has decided to go away at once. He 
 may never come back here to stay. I think the 
 chances are that he will not. There are other places 
 which will give him a better start in life than Innis- 
 field. I shall certainly advise him not to return." 
 
 She stopped short to observe the sudden eclipse which 
 had fallen on Rosalie's rich beauty. The girl's warm 
 colour had gradually receded, leaving her pallid and 
 pinched-looking. Her hands moved aimlessly at her 
 side; her great dark eyes fixed themselves with a 
 frightened, appealing look upon Miss Cynthia's 
 
 face. 
 
 
 
 "I know you don't like me," she faltered at last. 
 "You think I'm heartless and horrid, and that's why 
 you " She threw up her delicate head with a de- 
 fiant laugh, while the rich bloom flashed back into
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 225 
 
 lips and cheeks and shone in her angry eyes. " Do 
 you suppose I care what he does? Do you think for 
 a minute that I care? " 
 
 "You do care, child," said Miss Cynthia softly. 
 " Oh, my dear, my dear ! don't lie to your own heart. 
 Don't, I beg of you. Listen 
 
 The girl had turned her head aside, with an obstinate 
 lifting of her slim shoulders. 
 
 " Once I had a lover," Miss Cynthia went on hur- 
 riedly. " No, don't laugh at me, child ; he loved me 
 dearly. He was poorer than I, and lived in a shabby 
 little house at the edge of the village. It wasn't 
 altogether my fault, but I I told him I could never 
 marry him, that he must go away. And he did. 
 That was all." 
 
 "What do you mean?" The girl asked stupidly. 
 
 " I mean just that. He went away. He forgot. 
 But I didn't forget; and the years have been long 
 and empty; and now " 
 
 "And now?" 
 
 " And now it is growing late." Miss Cynthia's 
 pale lips just formed the words. Her hand stole un- 
 consciously to the breast of her crimson gown.
 
 226 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " I'm going home," said Rosalie Scott, after a long 
 silence. She stooped impulsively and kissed Miss 
 Cynthia's pale cheek. " If you will come home with 
 me I'll drive you into town. You look tired." 
 
 Miss Cynthia shook her head. " I am not tired," 
 she said. "Good-bye." 
 
 She wanted to be alone. To have unearthed this 
 mute, dead thing before the girl's curious eyes was a 
 task that she had hardly brought herself to. The 
 reburial at least must be private. It should also 
 be final, she told herself. 
 
 At an angle of the road, where the russet woods 
 merged into cultivated fields, a solitary figure was 
 standing, looking off over the village which dotted 
 the undulating meadows on either side of the narrow, 
 twisted river. Miss Cynthia, her short-sighted eyes 
 misty with pain, passed the wayfarer without a 
 glance. 
 
 The man turned sharply at the approach of the 
 little figure in its gay gown, followed it with a specu- 
 lative gleam of something like amusement in his 
 dark eyes, and finally overtook it with a few long 
 strides.
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 227 
 
 "You'll think I'm always turning up at odd mo- 
 ments, like a Jack-in-the-box," he said easily. 
 
 Miss Cynthia stared at him wordlessly. "Why 
 have you come? " she said at last. She did not smile 
 at him as before, and he was unreasonably hurt be- 
 cause she did not. 
 
 " I came to Innisfield to see you," he told her directly. 
 " It struck me that our talk together was well, it 
 was unsatisfactory to me, at least. I kept going 
 over what you had said after I went away I had 
 only a few minutes to spend that day, you remember, 
 and " 
 
 " I had forgotten," she said vaguely. " So many 
 things have happened since. But it was very good 
 of you, Mr. Blake, to come and see me. I am sorry 
 I was not at home." She was looking at him quietly 
 and observantly, as at a stranger. 
 
 
 
 " I had almost lost sight of the old days I believe 
 I told you so," he went on hurriedly ; " but seeing you 
 that day somehow brought it all back. I have 
 thought of it and of you a lot, since." His eyes, so 
 like those of the boy she remembered, were searching 
 her face.
 
 228 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 "And you found it very amusing you laughed at 
 it all, I hope? " Miss Cynthia hardly knew her own 
 voice. 
 
 " No, by George ! I did not," he exclaimed impetu- 
 ously. " For one thing, I remembered altogether too 
 well the day I left Innisfield. It was in the morning 
 at five o'clock a cold, drizzly beast of a day, and I 
 was just as cold and pinched and forlorn as the 
 weather. You never guessed it, but I stood under 
 your window and cried like a baby before I heard the 
 stage-horn tooting and knew that I must go." 
 
 " I'm sorry it happened so," Miss Cynthia said drear- 
 ily. " I thought I couldn't help it, then." 
 
 "After that," went on the man, with a reminiscent 
 shrug, "I determined to forget you. And I was so 
 busy finding enough to eat that I actually succeeded 
 after a while. It took a long time, though." 
 
 His last words deepened the look of determination 
 in Miss Cynthia's face. " I think," she said clearly, 
 '* that I should like to say two or three things ; then, 
 if you please, we'll not talk about it any more." 
 
 His eyes begged her to go on. 
 
 "It all happened so very long ago," Miss Cynthia
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 229 
 
 said, choosing her words deliberately, " that I agree 
 with you it ought to be forgotten. But I've always 
 wanted to tell you that I know I did wrong, and that 
 I am ashamed and sorry. I didn't understand 
 then, what I was doing. If you will forgive me 
 I shall be happier, I think. And yes, that is 
 all." 
 
 " You are not changed," he murmured wonderingly, 
 " you are not changed." 
 
 " You are mistaken," said Miss Cynthia, with an air 
 
 of gentle finality. "I am changed you are 
 changed everything is changed. It is quite im- 
 possible to go back to the old days." 
 
 Her blue eyes were calm and untroubled ; they wore 
 the curiously far-away look which he remembered to 
 have seen in them before. 
 
 His keen, clever face had grown grave and anxious. 
 " I never thought I should ask a woman for her friend- 
 ship," he said at last. "I've never cared much for 
 women. Perhaps I ought to say I've never been 
 thrown with them much, except in a professional way. 
 My mother died ten years ago. Since then I've been 
 too busy to go into society." He paused to smile
 
 230 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 doubtfully to himself. "But I should like it if you 
 will let me be your friend if you will be my friend. 
 I shan't be able to see you often ; but I can write if 
 you will allow me. Will you?" 
 
 Miss Cynthia hesitated in silence. 
 
 " I must go back to my work to-night," he went on., 
 his eyes upon her face. "I will write to you to- 
 morrow. My letters may not interest you, but I 
 will do my best." 
 
 Miss Cynthia looked up, her face touched with pa- 
 thetic youth and beauty in its sudden bloom of antici- 
 pation. " I think I should like to have letters," she 
 said simply. "I have never had many; there has 
 never been anybody to write to me. Sometimes I 
 watch the postman of a morning and wish he would 
 bring me a letter. But he scarcely ever does. Of 
 course there are the papers and magazines, but 
 they're not like letters." 
 
 " And you will write to me? " 
 
 Miss Cynthia shook her head. "Nothing happens 
 in Innisfield," she sighed. "There is just church 
 and prayer-meeting and the sewing-society. You 
 would not care to hear about such things."
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 231 
 
 " I should care to hear about anything that inter- 
 ests you," he said, in a low voice. " Tell me what you 
 are thinking of, too; we'll try and get acquainted 
 all over again, and perhaps by next summer " 
 
 " No no! " whispered Miss Cynthia, with a fright- 
 ened little shiver; "not next summer! I shall 
 not " 
 
 He waited patiently for her to finish her sentence. 
 Then he bade her a hasty good-bye at her own door 
 and hurried away in the gathering darkness. 
 
 Miss Cynthia went in and closed the door definitely 
 behind her. She was glad to find Abby Whiton build- 
 ing a fire on the sitting-room hearth. She stood close 
 beside her without removing her hat or gloves. 
 
 " The' was a man come to the door to see you this 
 aft'noon," said Abby, bending to blow the reluctant 
 little flames into brisker life. " He left his card, an' 
 who d' ye s'pose it was? I studied over it quite a 
 spell before I remembered." 
 
 "It was James Blake," said Miss Cynthia, quietly. 
 " I met him on the way home." 
 
 "Fer goodness" sake! wha' 'd he want?" demanded 
 Abby Whiton. "An* where in creation did he come
 
 232 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 from? I wouldn't V knowed him from Adam! 
 would you?" 
 
 Miss Cynthia made no reply. She had dropped 
 into a chair and was staring thoughtfully at the 
 leaping flames. 
 
 " I guess mebbe you'd better take your things off 
 an' stay a spell," observed Abby Whiton, with a deli- 
 cately sarcastic sniff. She turned her back on the 
 small figure of her mistress and sought the seclusion 
 of her kitchen, where she grumbled suspiciously into 
 the depths of the coal-hod and exploited her disturbed 
 feelings through the safe medium of the iron tea^ 
 kettle. 
 
 "Ef she sh'd git to sparkin' (thump) at her age 
 (thump thump) the' ain't no tellin' how it 'ud come 
 out! (thump, thump, bang!)"
 
 XVI 
 
 ON the second morning after Miss Cynthia's meeting 
 with James Blake the postman delivered a letter into 
 the hand of Abby Whiton. Miss Whiton had been 
 engaged in strenuous conflict with the flying leaves, 
 which raced hither and yon in impish glee, as if defy- 
 ing her and her powerful implement of warfare. 
 
 " I d'clare the' ain't a season of the year when things 
 is reel neat outdoors," she complained to the post- 
 man. "What with snow an' slush in winter, an' 
 tree-blows all over ev'rythin' in the spring, an' cater- 
 pillars an' birds an' cherrystuns, an' goodness knows 
 what all a-messin' things up in summer, an' these 'ere 
 pesky leaves in th' fall it doos seem 's 'o the Creator 
 might ha' had more consid'ration for orderly folks ! " 
 
 She paused to finger the thick letter directed to her 
 mistress in a man's small, firm handwriting. "7 
 want-ta-know! " she muttered suspiciously. " Now, 
 I wonder ef he'd hev the gall after all these years. 
 Course, she's got money, an' the' ain't nobody, 'cept 
 me, to hender." 
 
 233
 
 234 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Abby Whiton's memory was of a superior quality 
 and texture, and she had recalled without effort the 
 single romance of Miss Cynthia's life. She had 
 thoroughly agreed with the late Mrs. Day and Grand- 
 mother Breyfogle in their strong disapproval of the 
 penniless young man. And on one occasion she had 
 experienced the peculiar satisfaction of intercepting 
 a note intended for the girl's private perusal. It had 
 been tucked under the doormat; Abby had found it 
 there, and had conveyed it without delay to her mis- 
 tress, with the remark 'that she hoped she knew her 
 duty. Mrs. Day had praised her warmly for this act 
 of service, Abby remembered. She also remembered 
 Miss Cynthia's pale face and reddened eyes, as they 
 appeared that morning at breakfast, and for many 
 mornings and evenings thereafter. 
 
 " I do' know as I'd better inte'f ere this time," the ex- 
 cellent woman cogitated, as she carried the letter up- 
 stairs. " She's gittin' old 'nough to know her own 
 mind, ef she's ever a-goin' to." 
 
 She knocked resoundingly at her mistress' door. 
 " Here's a letter," she announced. " An' I guess it's 
 from him,! "
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 235 
 
 She was vaguely disappointed in Miss Cynthia's 
 manner as she received the letter. She deposited it 
 quietly on the bureau, and immediately resumed the 
 bit of mending she had in hand. "Mebbe it ain't 
 from him, after all," reflected Abby Whiton. 
 " Seems 's 'o she'd ought to ha' perked up an' showed 
 a little more int'rest, if it was." 
 
 On the fourth morning thereafter she carried up a 
 second letter; and a week later a third. "If these 
 'ere letters ain't from him, I'd like to know who in 
 creation's a-writin' to her so frequent," Miss Whiton 
 remarked to herself. She watched her mistress closely, 
 and except that she now went out for her long walks 
 without regard for the weather, she could detect no 
 difference in her manner or conduct. 
 
 " I never heerd o' sech a thing es goin' out f er pleas- 
 ure on a day like this," she ventured, by way of ex- 
 postulation, when Miss Cynthia was about to sally 
 forth in the face of a cold, driving rain. " Seems 
 's 'o it wa'n't hardly respectable." 
 
 " It doesn't hurt me a bit," said Miss Cynthia absent- 
 mindedly. "I like it. Besides, I've got to go and 
 see old Mrs. Phillips; I promised her."
 
 236 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " You sent her beef -tea an' jell yist'd'y," sniffed 
 Abby. " Course, I b'lieve in doin' good ; but the's 
 sech a thing as carryin' it too fur." 
 
 " Not for me," Miss Cynthia murmured, with 
 clouded eyes. " I didn't do anything for years and 
 years. You know I didn't, Abby." 
 
 " I guess you done full es much es most folks," 
 grumbled Abby, "an' now you're a-doin' twict es 
 much es any other woman in this 'ere town. Folks '11 
 be sayin' you're reel bragity an' stuck-up, bein' so 
 awful good an' charit'ble all of a suddent." 
 
 " I don't care what people say about me," answered 
 Miss Cynthia, with a dispirited sigh. 
 
 The fourth letter arrived that afternoon. Abby 
 Whiton placed it on the sitting-room mantelpiece; 
 then stood back and regarded it thoughtfully, her 
 hands on her hips. "I'll bet a dollar she ain't an- 
 swered one of 'em!" she ejaculated. "I ain't seen 
 her a-doin' it, anyhow, an' I've kep' my eye on her 
 pretty constant. I d'clare it's 'nough to rile a saint ! " 
 
 After a further period of reflection she removed the 
 letter from its prominent position to a retired nook of 
 her pantry shelf. Here it reposed until Miss Cynthia
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 237 
 
 had returned from her walk and was well established 
 by the cheerful fire, which Abby had fully accepted as 
 one of the institutions of the newly-organised house- 
 hold. 
 
 " Here's another of them letters of hisn," Miss 
 Whiton announced, handling the missive as gingerly 
 as though it contained a charge of dynamite. "It 
 come this aft'noon while you was out, an' I saved it 
 fer you." 
 
 "Thank you, Abby," Miss Cynthia said, with an 
 entire absence of surprise or pleasure. She laid the 
 letter on the table at her side, and went on stroking 
 the big maltese cat which had climbed to her lap. 
 
 "Well, ain't you a-goin' to read it?" demanded 
 Abby sharply. Her flushed face exhibited undaunted 
 determination in every puckered line. 
 
 Miss Cynthia looked up and met the old woman's 
 shrewd, anxious eyes fastened expectantly upon her. 
 " Why yes," she said, smiling faintly. " I mean to 
 read it after a while ! " The big cat purred loudly 
 and arched his back under the steady motion of the 
 little hand. "Would you like to know who the 
 letters are from, Abby?"
 
 238 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 "I've b'en s'posin' all 'long they was from him," 
 replied Miss Whiton, with a firm tightening of her 
 lips. " 'Tain't 's 'o I disremembered what happened 
 a spell back. I've thought it all over sence them 
 letters has been comin', an' do' know but what we was 
 all mistook in that young feller when he first come 
 sparkin' ye. He looks reel well-to-do. I took per- 
 tic'lar notice of his clo'es the day he come t' the door. 
 But I guess 't wouldn't do no harm to be reel keerful. 
 Like es not he's got a wife and childern a-ready; 
 I've heerd o' such things before now." 
 
 Miss Cynthia sighed. " Sit down, Abby," she said 
 kindly. Then she was silent for a time, absent- 
 mindedly caressing the purring, fawning creature on 
 her knees. 
 
 "The letters are from James Blake," she said, at 
 last. "I meant to tell you. You are the only one 
 left to care much what happens to me. But it is 
 not as you think, Abby. I have no thought of 
 marrying." 
 
 "Well, I'd like to know why not!" snapped Abby 
 Whiton. " 'F he's respectable an' well-to-do an' he 
 cert'nly doos look so. An' even ef he ain't got much
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 239 
 
 prop'ty, 'tain't es if you hadn't got a-plenty. I do' 
 know why you shouldn't hev a home an' husban', 
 same's other folks. An' goodness knows the' ain't 
 no pickin' an' choosin' to be done in this 'ere town 
 with men as scurse es hen's teeth. It's prob'ly yer 
 las' chance." 
 
 Miss Cynthia was staring into the fire. "Abby," 
 she said at last, " I've never made any will. I must 
 do it soon. I can't think what to do with the 
 money. I wish I could leave it to help girls have 
 good times while they are young, and want good 
 times so much" There was a passionate wail in her 
 low voice. 
 
 Abby Whiton rose up with a smothered ejaculation 
 of wrath. " Anybody'd think you was a full hunderd 
 years old to hear you a-goin' on ! " she exclaimed. 
 " An' you a-growin' younger an' better-lookin' 'an 
 I've seed you in years not 'at I mean to flatter 
 yer vanity a mite. A flatterin' tongue's an 'bomina- 
 tion to the Lord, an' you favor the Breyfogles too 
 clost to be reelly han'some. But I'll say this much: 
 you "hev changed, an' not fer the worse. My! 
 You could 'a' knocked me down with a feather the
 
 240 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 day I come home, an* seen you a-standin' there in 
 that blue dress. I d'clare to goodness I thought I'd 
 seen a ghost!" 
 
 Miss Cynthia's face wore a piteous little smile. 
 " Oh, Abby," she breathed, " do you say your 
 prayers ? " 
 
 " Per the lan's sake! " Miss Whiton eyed her mis- 
 tress with horrified incredulity. "I sh'd say I did! 
 I say 'em jest es reg'lar es I scrub the kitchen floor. 
 Course I say 'em! Did you s'pose I'd fallen from 
 grace? Well, I'll bet I ain't ! " 
 
 " Do you ever pray for me? " 
 
 "Well, I just guess I do! Cert'nly, I do, Miss 
 Cynthy. I hope I know my dooty. I've remembered 
 you 'fore the throne of grace sence you was a baby. 
 Tell you was turned fifteen, I ast the Lord to make 
 you a good, 'bedient child an' you cert'nly did 
 mind me when you come in the kitchen. Then I 
 took to intercedin' 'at you mightn't be kerried away 
 with foolishness an' the pride o' the world, 'bout that 
 time you kind of took a notion of fixin' yer hair all 
 perky an' curly, an' I caught ye a-lookin' in the glass 
 too frequent. I kep' that up pretty constant till
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 241 
 
 you was twenty past, an' Jim Blake was out the way. 
 Of late years I've b'en wrestlin' in prayer to hev you 
 kep' in the straight an* narrer way tell you git 
 through this 'ere vale of tears an' safe to heaven. 
 I'm sure the' can't nobody ast no more 'an that fer 
 nobody ! " 
 
 Miss Cynthia pushed the big cat from her knees. 
 Her face had grown suddenly pale and pinched. 
 " Please don't pray that prayer for me any more ! " 
 she begged tremulously. "Don't, Abby! Please 
 don't! I don't want to go to heaven for a long, 
 long time. You don't want I should, do you, Abby ? " 
 
 " You don't s'pose I'm reelly yearnin' fer another 
 fun'ral, do ye? " demanded Abby, with a grim humour 
 which only partly concealed her real emotions. " I 
 ain't the soft-soap kind, an' never was, but I guess 
 you c'n make out what I think 'bout you without me 
 a-tellin' ye. All I've got to say is, ef that kind of 
 pray in' don't suit, I c'n change it to any thin' you 
 say." 
 
 Abby's unquestioning faith in the potency of her 
 petitions did not appeal to Miss Cynthia's sense of 
 humour. She raised witsful, imploring eyes to the
 
 242 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 puckered old face. " I wish," she began, slowly and 
 with long pauses, " that you would pray to have me 
 live a long time. I want to to live. And please 
 don't put in anything about this vale of tears when 
 you pray for me. I don't want to cry any more, 
 Abby. Seems to me I've hardly ever laughed. I 
 should like to laugh a good deal, and and be 
 happy. People do, you know good people. It 
 isn't wicked to be happy, do you think it is, Abby ? " 
 
 "Mebbe I've be'n a-doin' wrong by her all these 
 years without thinkin' a word about it!" muttered 
 Abby, in the privacy of her kitchen pantry. 
 " Prayers is awful powerful things. Most all of mine 
 hes b'en answered, first an' last." 
 
 Then she sank on her knees beside the flour barrel 
 and closed her eyes. 
 
 " O Lord ! " she petitioned devoutly, " I do' know 
 es I understan' .what Miss Cynthy 'd ought to hev es 
 well es I thought I done. I reelly ain't s' sure es I 
 was once what's good fer her. She's cert'nly got 
 some queer notion er other in her head 'at I can't 
 make out. But, O Lord! I do want she should be 
 happy jest es happy es she kin be. An', O Lord!
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 243 
 
 seem' es she's kind of set against goin' to heaven, 
 won't you let her live a consid'able spell. The's 
 times when I feel 's 'o I'd jest es soon pass over the 
 river es not, but Miss Cynthy, she don't seem to 
 hanker none fer the golden streets; so jest let her git 
 her fill of livin' good, happy, healthy livin' ! Amen ! " 
 
 She presently heard her mistress laugh, a little, low 
 laugh of pure enjoyment; and peeping in at a crack 
 of the door she beheld her deep in the perusal of the 
 letter. " That soun's more like it," said Abby 
 Whiton to herself, with real satisfaction. "Jim 
 Blake was bound an' determined to see the fun in 
 ev'rythin', I remember ; always a-laughin' an' carryin' 
 on. That was one reason the folks couldn't abide 
 him. Miss' Day us't to say he was light-minded an' 
 triflin', an' Gran'ma Breyfogle, she hadn't no airthly 
 use fer anybody without prop'ty." 
 
 Miss Cynthia had laughed more than once over 
 James Blake's thick letters. She had cried, too, 
 cold, reluctant drops which left her eyes tired and 
 smarting. 
 
 "Just to prove to you that I haven't really for- 
 gotten," he said, in his first letter, " and to make a
 
 244 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 good, square foundation for what I hope will come 
 afterward, I'm going to tell you of everything we 
 did fifteen years ago. If I get things mixed, you 
 must set me right." 
 
 There had followed curiously boyish accounts of the 
 old school days, when he had carried her books for 
 her to a certain corner, beyond which the sharp eyes 
 in the windows of the Breyfogle house made it unsafe 
 to go. 
 
 "There was a Sunday-school picnic in Bentley's 
 grove one year y " he wrote, " and, wonder of wonders, 
 you were allowed to come to it with your teacher. A 
 good soul was Mrs. Turner. What has become of 
 her; do you know? You wore a thin, black dress 
 with round, pink spots all over it, and a straw hat 
 with blue ribbons." 
 
 Miss Cynthia shook her head, with a little laugh. 
 "I wore a black muslin with little, white briar roses 
 running all over it," she said, and sighed. 
 
 Then she turned again to the letter. " We sat in 
 the edge of the meadow and told each other's fortunes 
 with daisies, and you stuck my hatband full of them. 
 I was ashamed of the hat because it was old and
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 245 
 
 shabby. I was often ashamed of my clothes in those 
 days. But you were always as fresh and neat as a 
 daisy that had opened over night. 
 
 " Once I wrote some verses about you, and that old 
 cat of an Abby Whiton found them and gave them 
 to your mother. I see old Abby is with you yet, 
 and looking more vinegary and nipped than ever. 
 She didn't know me when I called ; but I remembered 
 her all right." 
 
 There was not a word in these first letters about tHe 
 writer's present life, and Miss Cynthia wondered at 
 it shyly. They were written from a western city, 
 on big square sheets of paper which breathed a deli- 
 cate aroma of fine tobacco, so suggestively masculine 
 that Miss Cynthia shut the letters carefully into her 
 bureau drawer when she undressed at night. 
 
 She spoiled many sheets of her own small, violet- 
 tinted paper before she managed to say what she had 
 vaguely determined upon before the arrival of the 
 first letter. 
 
 "Friend James: (she wrote, in her fine, pointed 
 hand) I am very much obliged to you for writing to 
 me. It has seemed almost like being young again
 
 246 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 to read your letters. I never knew letters could be 
 like that. But I don't want you should write to me 
 any more. Once I was very unkind to you, and I am 
 sorry, as I told you. I am trying to be kind now, 
 so I must say, please don't write to me again. And 
 don't remember the old days, except to laugh at them, 
 as you did before." 
 
 She signed her name stiffly, as to a business letter. 
 Then she tried hard not to expect an answer. When 
 one came, very promptly, she was so glad she cried. 
 Afterward she shut the letter, unread, into her bureau 
 drawer for a whole day. 
 
 "I have no right to let him love me again," she 
 told herself passionately. "It would be more cruel 
 than it was before, and more deceitful. But oh, I 
 can't tell him I can't! " 
 
 It had occurred to her more than once that she might 
 go to Boston and consult the doctor. " If I should 
 be getting better!" she thought, with a strangling 
 heart-throb. "But if I am really worse and he 
 should tell me so right out, the way he did before, 
 I couldn't bear it now." 
 
 By slow degrees the autumn merged slowly into
 
 tThe Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 247 
 
 winter. Before Thanksgiving Day the streets of 
 Innisfield were piled high with snow, and jangling 
 sleighs passed back and forth before the old Brey- 
 f ogle house on Maple Street. 
 
 Abby Whiton petitioned the Lord night and morn- 
 ing, and at odd moments, behind the pantry door, 
 and down in the vegetable cellar, and sometimes with 
 merely the thin shelter of her checked gingham apron 
 between her closed eyes and the world. And the 
 burden of all these fervent prayers was for Miss Cyn- 
 thia that she might " live out her days, O Lord ! an' 
 be happy, an' laugh more'n she doos!"
 
 xvn 
 
 DEACON SCRIMGER stood on the bleak piazza of the 
 parsonage and laid hold upon the handle of the door- 
 bell with an energy which sent a jangling peal 
 through the silent house. It was Saturday morning 
 and the hour was half -past ten. Little Mrs. Petti- 
 bone came at once to the door; she looked worried 
 and anxious as she admitted the old man into the 
 narrow, sparsely furnished hall. 
 
 " I s'pose the dominie's to hum," began the deacon, 
 blowing his nose a resounding blast, as he deposited 
 his shabby old hat on the hall table. "My! the 
 pars'nage feels mighty warm an' comf'table this 
 mornin'. The' 's very few folks, Mis' Pettibone, 'at 
 c'n afford to burn so much fuel in these 'ere hard 
 times. It must cost the paster a good deal, I sh'd 
 say." 
 
 " We are obliged to keep the house warm on account 
 of Mr. Pettibone's weak throat," the minister's wife 
 made haste to explain. " We try to economise in 
 other ways," she added apologetically. 
 
 248
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 249 
 
 " H m ! " commented Deacon Scrimger, with an air 
 of cautious reserve. " I see you git time to fuss with 
 house-plants," he went on, rolling his rheumy eyes 
 about the little sitting room. "I hope the Lord's 
 business don't suffer none on account of 'em. A 
 paster's wife has a great r'sponsibility a-restin' on 
 her a great r'sponsibility. You'd ought to realise 
 that, Mis' Pettibone." 
 
 " I try to," murmured the little woman, with becom- 
 ing meekness. 
 
 " Folks is bound to look up to ye f er an example," 
 continued the deacon. " An' they'd ought to find ye 
 with yer lamp always trimmed an' burnin'. M' 
 wife was a-tellin' me this mornin' that you hadn't 
 called to see her fer quite a spell. N'glectin' past'ral 
 visitation 's a tumble mistake fer a minister's wife, 
 Mis' Pettibone ; you'd ought to be a-goin' to an' fro 
 on the walls of Zion purty constant. The fact is, 
 this 'ere commun'ty is gittin' alarmin'ly indiffer'nt 
 to holy things. Sev'ral prom'nent members of the 
 congregation hes spoke to me 'bout it of late. One 
 contrib'ter to the paster's salary says to me, * The 
 sermons don't seem to be a-takin* holt, somehow,' he
 
 250 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 says. 'The' ain't 'nough sound doctrine in 'em,' he 
 says." 
 
 The deacon paused to lace his horny fingers com- 
 fortably across the pit of his stomach. "I've be'n 
 noticin' fer some time back 'at sinners is 'lowed to 
 feel too easy in their lost condishun. What we reelly 
 need in this 'ere commun'ty is a sound revival of 
 religion ; an' I've come 'round this mornin' calc'latin* 
 to talk it over with the paster. I understan' the 
 Methodists is plannin' to git one up. I tell ye 
 they've got a man 'at's up an' a-doin' ! " 
 
 Two pink spots had appeared in Mrs. Pettibone's 
 cheeks ; her little hands were folded tightly in her lap. 
 " Could you would you mind waiting till till 
 some other time to talk this over with Mr. Pettibone? " 
 she asked, with a dogged timidity of manner. " Mr. 
 Pettibone is so very busy with his sermon this morning 
 I told him I wouldn't disturb him, except for some- 
 thing very important. If you would excuse him till 
 Monday, perhaps." 
 
 Deacon Scrimger's mouth had screwed itself into a 
 puckered knot during the progress of this speech ; his 
 eyes had narrowed into crafty slits. "What's the
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 251 
 
 paster be'n a-doin' with his time all the week till 
 now ? " he demanded sharply. " Seems 's 'o as long's 
 he's hed nothin' else to occ'py his time sence the Sab- 
 bath 'at his sermon'd ought to be pretty nigh drawed 
 to a close come Sat'day. As fer somethin' important, 
 what's more important 'an lost souls? I guess I'll 
 jes' step right int' the study, Mis' Pettibone, an' 
 put that question to the paster ; mebbe it '11 give his 
 sermon the snap 'at's be'n a-wantin' in 'em lately." 
 
 Mr. Pettibone laid down his pen with a patient sigh 
 as the loud creak of his study door apprised him of 
 the dreaded interruption. He was a pale, scholarly- 
 looking man, with a fine, grave face lined with the 
 severe doctrines of his creed and the manifold per- 
 plexities incident to his pastoral charge in Innisfield. 
 He greeted Deacon Scrimger with a cordial hand- 
 clasp, which conveyed no hint of the prayer for fresh 
 supplies of Christian charity which he had promptly 
 put up at sight of the old man's long-drawn face. 
 
 " Pve jest be'n a-havin' a few words of counsel with 
 Mis' Pettibone," observed the deacon, as he seated 
 himself with a deliberation which betokened a lengthy 
 visitation. " I was reelly s'prised to learn f 'om her
 
 252 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 thet you hadn't completed yer prep'rations fer the 
 comin' Lord's day." 
 
 " I seldom do until Saturday," said Mr. Pettibone, 
 with a determinedly pleasant smile. " I have always 
 considered it a wise practice to finish my sermon after 
 the pastoral work of the week is over. I find sug- 
 gestive material in the spiritual condition of the peo- 
 ple themselves, you understand." 
 
 " Wall, now, it don't 'pear to me that's any way to 
 write a sermon," replied the deacon, with a controver- 
 sial clearing of the throat. "It ain't the proper 
 way to persent the doctrines ; an' that, I take it, is 
 your business in the pulpit. You'd ought to git over 
 the field 'bout once a year. Say, take baptism an' 
 sich in the spring, an' mis'laneous doctrines in the 
 summer; but come this season o' the year sinners 
 need to hear about hell-fire an' everlastin' punish- 
 ment, an' the abidin' wrath o' the Almighty." 
 
 Mr. Pettibone smiled. He was tempted to tell a 
 harmless little ministerial joke concerning the advisa~ 
 bility of presenting the subject of the nether fires in 
 cold weather, but he discreetly refrained. 
 
 Deacon Scrimger took acrid notice of the smile, and
 
 tThe Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 253 
 
 it spurred him on to greater freedom of speech than 
 he had before ventured upon with his dignified pastor. 
 He leaned forward and planted his elbows on his knees, 
 the better to scan the minister's face. " D' you want 
 to know what some folks payin' contrib'ters, too 
 is sayin' 'bout you ? " he demanded. " They say 'at 
 they've heered on good 'thority 'at your wife don't 
 b'lieve in the devil." 
 
 The Reverend Pettibone drew himself up with a 
 portentous frown. " My wife's beliefs need not be 
 a matter of discussion between us, brother," he said 
 stiffly. " I think you have never found me lax when 
 it came to presenting the doctrines of the church." 
 
 " Yes, I hev," contradicted the deacon triumphantly, 
 " I ain't heerd a sermon on the subjec' of the devil 
 sence you was married to Philura Rice. Folks need 
 to be roused up on the subject, I tell ye. Ain't he 
 a roarin' lion, goin' about seekin' whom he may 
 devour, I'd like to know? An' I'll let you know 'at 
 th' adversary's a-gittin' in powerful work in this 'ere 
 commun'ty right now. We'd ought to be roused up." 
 
 " I agree with you, Brother Scrimger, that the work 
 seems to be languishing somewhat," said Mr. Petti-
 
 254 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 bone, with a worried sigh. " If our church-members 
 could only be made to realise the outflowing love and 
 power of God 
 
 Deacon Scrimger interrupted his pastor with a vio- 
 lent explosion of senile coughing. " Thet's jest it ! " 
 he complained ; " thet's the sort of talk you've be'n 
 a-givin' us f om the pulpit till we're all well-nigh sick 
 an' tired of it. The' ain't no snap in that kind of 
 preachin', I tell ye. 'Tain't the sort to 'rest the 
 'tention of lost souls an' keep 'em out o' hell. They 
 set back in their seats an' go to sleep on th' brink 
 o' torment, whilst you're a-moseyin' on 'bout what the 
 church-members had ought to be a-doin'. The' ain't 
 no airthly use of wastin' yer time on th' elect. We're 
 boun' f er the heavenly city, an' we don't need no such 
 preachin'." 
 
 Deacon Scrimger rolled up his eyes to the ceiling 
 with the air of a hoary old cherub. His pastor 
 regarded him with a perplexed frown. "What I 
 have preached regarding the lovingkindness and 
 mercy of God ought to appeal to saints and sinners 
 alike," he said, after a thoughtful pause. "It has 
 been so impressed upon my mind of late years that I
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 255 
 
 feel more and more impelled to give it to the world. 
 It seems to me that is what the world is hungering 
 and thirsting for." 
 
 "He he he!" giggled the deacon, with rasping 
 scorn. " That's be'n purty evident to the most of us ; 
 an' 'tain't hard to guess where you git your pecooliar 
 views. Wall, I called in to talk up the subjec' of a 
 revival this mornin'. I s'pose you've kep' yer eyes on 
 what the Methodists are a-doin'. That new man of 
 theirn is a hustler f'om wayback. He's a-givin' 'em 
 doctrine, hot an' heavy, right erlong, an' he's a paster 
 'at knows his biz f'om a to izzard. I heered he'd 
 got the Northrup fambly to hire a pew there, an' 
 Northrup 's a moneyed man. Did you an' Mis' 
 Pettibone git eround to see 'em? I heered you 
 didn't." 
 
 " I called upon the family soon after their arrival in 
 town," said Mr. Pettibone coldly. " They informed 
 me that they were in the habit of attending the 
 Methodist church, so I notified Mr. Smiley of the 
 fact." 
 
 "Huh ! " exploded the deacon wrathf ully, " that ain't 
 no way to build up Zion, an' I guess you'll fin' it out ;
 
 256 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 pew-rents ain't a-goin' to pay yer salary this year, 
 an' everythin' way up in gee. Money's closter 'an 
 it's be'n in years." 
 
 The minister was silent, his long, pale fingers 
 drumming absent-mindedly upon his desk. 
 
 " I do' know how in creation we c'n pay fer it," 
 pursued the deacon lugubriously, " but I'm in favour 
 of procurin' the services of a good, smart, godly 
 evangelist to come an' labour 'mongst us fer a spell. 
 Somepin's got to be done, or we'll hev to shet the 
 church doors." 
 
 Still the minister was silent. His face had assumed 
 a look of dignified composure under suffering, such as 
 a martyr might have worn with propriety. 
 
 " The' *s be'n consid'able dissatisfaction amongst 
 the payin' contrib'ters, off an' on," Deacon Scrimger 
 resumed with an inquisitorial air. "I felt 's 'o it 
 was my Christian dooty to mention it." 
 
 The Reverend Pettibone suddenly rose up to his full 
 height he was a tall man. " I think I fully appre- 
 ciate your motives, Brother Scrimger," he said dryly. 
 " I shall consult the Session of the church about these 
 and various matters at an early opportunity." He
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 257 
 
 glanced at his watch. " I am sorry to appear rude, 
 brother, but as I have a funeral service at half -past 
 eleven, I shall be obliged to suspend our conversation 
 for the present." 
 
 When the door had fairly closed on the lingering 
 visitor, little Mrs. Pettibone came flying into the 
 study. Her blue eyes were very bright, her cheeks 
 very pink, she was half laughing, half crying, as she 
 flung herself down on her husband's knee, and threw 
 her arms about his neck. " Oh, you poor dear, you ! " 
 she cooed, " I tried hard to keep him out, but he just 
 marched right in, in spite of me. Don't you mind a 
 thing he says, dearest." 
 
 The Reverend Pettibone rested his tired head upon 
 her little shoulder. "You are such a precious com- 
 fort," he breathed. "What should I do without 
 you?" 
 
 Mrs. Pettibone laughed joyously. "I don't know, 
 I'm sure," she said wisely. Then she kissed him twice 
 on the little bald spot which was beginning to appear 
 where the dark hair had once been thickest. " Every 
 single thing even our worries works together for 
 good to those that love good," she whispered. " Isn't
 
 258 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 it good to remember that ! Now, dear, come to lunch, 
 it's all ready and you haven't much time." 
 
 One of the results of the interview between the Rev. 
 Silas Pettibone and his solicitous parishioner became 
 evident during the first week of the new year y when 
 it was formally announced from the pulpit that a 
 series of revival services would be held in the Presby- 
 terian church, conducted by the pastor, who would be 
 ably assisted by the well-known evangelist, Rev. G. 
 'Algernon Guffey, and the sweet singer of Israel, 
 Filbert Swick. 
 
 It was observed (particularly by Mrs. Pettibone) 
 that the minister's earnest face appeared more pallid 
 and grave than usual as he read this important notice, 
 but there was no lack of unction in his carefully pre- 
 pared comments on the coming " season of grace." 
 The congregation understood vaguely that their 
 pastor had laid himself, a willing sacrifice, upon the 
 altar of the cause. 
 
 It was understood also that the Rev. G. Algernon 
 Guffey and his adjutant would make their head- 
 quarters at the parsonage while controlling the 
 campaign. This was felt to be quite as it should be,
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 259 
 
 more particularly as the slow-growing fund in the 
 hands of the finance committee would not be depleted 
 by bills for board and lodging for the temporary 
 labourers, whose services were otherwise rated very 
 high indeed. 
 
 Mrs. Buckthorn confided to Miss Pratt with an air 
 of hardly concealed pride, that the Rev. Guffey 
 wouldn't hear to coming to Innisfield till an agree- 
 ment guaranteeing him a hundred and fifty dollars 
 per week had been signed by ten financially responsi- 
 ble church-members, headed by the pastor ; while Mr. 
 Filbert Swick's services commanded the modest sum 
 of twenty-five dollars the week (payable strictly in 
 advance) . It was felt, however, to be well worth while 
 in a community in which society languished as the 
 snow deepened. The principal of the village school 
 was exhorted to shorten all school exercises and tasks 
 in order that the young people might be free to assist 
 in the singing under the leadership of Mr. Swick. 
 Incidentally, it was to be expected that these young 
 persons would be " saved." 
 
 Miss Cynthia Day expressed but a languid interest 
 in the proposed " revival." She subscribed, with her
 
 260 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 new-found liberality, to the fund which was being 
 raised for the purpose, but she told Mrs. Buckthorn, 
 who was actively engaged in canvassing the neigh- 
 bourhood, that she could not promise to attend the 
 meetings. 
 
 " I'm afraid you'll miss a blessin', Cynthia, if you 
 set idly by whilst the Spirit is bein' poured out," 
 sighed Mrs. Buckthorn. "You'd ought to come up 
 to the help of the Lord against the mighty! The' 's 
 goin' to be sunrise prayer-meetin's every motrnin', an 5 
 ten o'clock meetin's fer church-members, an' aft'noon 
 mass-meetin's, an' a five o'clock female prayer-meetin', 
 an' reg'lar preachin' services every evenin' with after 
 meetin's fer inquirers, besides experience meetin's fer 
 backsliders. It '11 be a glorious time! The Rev. 
 Guffey is a reel power in the pulpit; they do say 
 folks is comin' way f'om State Bridge an' Farmsley 
 to hear him." 
 
 " Did you say that both of those men were to stay 
 at the parsonage? " inquired Miss Cynthia. 
 
 " Cert'nly, where'd you s'pose they'd stay ? It '11 
 be a reel spiritual blessw' to be under the same roof 
 with 'em. I do hope our paster '11 get livened up,
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 261 
 
 an' stren'thened in the doctrines; an' as fer Philura 
 Pettibone, I'm a-prayin' that she'll git soundly con- 
 verted. She needs it! " 
 
 " I don't see how she'll find time to do anything 
 except cook for three hungry men," observed Miss 
 Cynthia thoughtfully. 
 
 " She'll be to every meetin'," said Mrs. Buckthorne 
 tranquilly. ** She wouldn't dare to stay away. Of 
 course some of us ladies '11 sen' her in a cake or a pie 
 now an' agin to help out ; I can't say 'at I think much 
 of Philura's cookin'. She never had much to do with 
 before she was married, an' they hev to cut an' trim 
 pretty close to git along on his salary, I shouldn't 
 wonder." 
 
 Mrs. Pettibone squeezed Miss Cynthia's little hands 
 very tight in both her own, when that lady called at 
 the parsonage for the express purpose of interfering 
 with the arrangements of the committee. " I can 
 entertain both of those men easier than you can," 
 insisted Miss Cynthia. "Abby is perfectly willing, 
 and I have plenty of room." 
 
 "I just love you for wanting to do it," exclaimed 
 Mrs. Pettibone impulsively; "but you mustn't think
 
 262 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 of it. We're obliged to have Mr. Guffey with us. 
 He says he must have Mr. Pettibone right at hand 
 every moment to tell him about people, and to do 
 things for him. Besides he can't eat the way other 
 people do. He wrote me that he always required two 
 soft eggs with toast for breakfast, and they must be 
 perfectly fresh. That's easy, of course, but he 
 wants his heartiest meal at ten o'clock in the evening, 
 right after service. He says a bit of tender steak or 
 a couple of lamb chops nicely broiled agrees with 
 him best. He has the most awful dyspepsia. I'm 
 to come home right after the preaching service and 
 get his supper, and that will keep me away from the 
 experience meeting. I do hope you won't think I'm 
 very wicked, but I'm glad I won't have to speak in 
 meeting. I never could bear to." 
 
 " I shall take the other man, anyway," said Miss 
 Cynthia decidedly. " Is there anything peculiar 
 about his diet that I ought to know?" 
 
 "Oh, no; all Mr. Swick wants in particular is a 
 piano in good tune. He's a real nice-looking young 
 man. Have you seen his picture? If you haven't 
 you will. They're to be all over town, in all the shop-
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 268 
 
 windows, and in the depot. Mr. Pettibone is out 
 seeing to that now. He's so worried." 
 
 * 4 Worried ! " echoed Miss Cynthia. 
 
 "There! I oughtn't to have said that. I am just 
 going to believe it will come out all right. And won't 
 you believe it, too? That '11 help. We've got to 
 believe, you know, that things are working for good, 
 every minute" 
 
 " I wish I could," sighed Miss Cynthia. 
 
 Miss Cynthia found herself actually glad of the 
 presence of Mr. Filbert Swick in her house. He was 
 a red-cheeked, broad-shouldered, complacent youth, 
 who had not yet assimilated the elation incident to 
 acquiring a good income in an astonishingly easy 
 manner. 
 
 " It was just this way," he confided to Miss Cynthia 
 during the second week of his stay. " I was clerk- 
 ing it in a shoe-store in Elmira when Mr. Guffey was 
 holding union meetings there. You never saw any- 
 thing like the time we had there. Great excitement, 
 everybody interested. I tell you, G. Algernon Guf- 
 fey knows how to get hold of folks every time. 
 But his singer was taken down with grippe right in
 
 284 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 the middle of it, and lost his voice. They was up 
 against it, for sure. 
 
 "Well, the Committee sent for me. I'd been sing- 
 ing in the church choir off an' on, and in Y. M. C. A 
 meetings an' that sort of thing, but I'd never got a 
 red cent for it. I'd no idea I could swing the j ob ; 
 but Guffey why, somehow, do ye know that man 
 c'n make anybody believe anything he wants 'em to 
 he wouldn't hear to anything else. So I went in 
 with him, then an' there, an' I've been at it ever since." 
 
 Mr. Swick's youthful satisfaction with himself and 
 his work was a pleasant thing to witness. He was 
 possessed of a robust baritone voice, and in the brief 
 intervals between services he lifted it up in Miss 
 Cynthia's parlour, in long-drawn solos, calculated to 
 melt the obdurate human heart as differentiated in 
 remote country districts. 
 
 Miss Cynthia listened musingly as he voiced a wail- 
 ful inquiry for a lost wanderer out on the hills of 
 time. The song made her feel vaguely uncomfort- 
 able, though she would have found difficulty in 
 explaining the reason for it. It might have been 
 merely because Mr. Swick's voice when adventured
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 265 
 
 upon the higher peaks of song was a thought flat and 
 nasal. 
 
 "That fetches 'em most every time," observed Mr. 
 Swick complacently, as he struck a few loud chords 
 with his blunt fingers. " I'm to give 'em that 
 to-night after the sermon. I wish you'd come and 
 hear me," he added, with a touch of boyish wistfulness. 
 " I wrote to mother and told her how good you are to 
 me, and she sent her love." 
 
 "Did she?" smiled Miss Cynthia. She hesitated a 
 little, then said quietly, "Well, I will come to the 
 meeting to-night just to hear you sing." 
 
 " You'll get a blessing," Mr. Swick assured her with 
 sincere, if stereotyped, enthusiasm. "Guffey is 
 going to give 'em one of his soul-winners. It's the 
 one about Dives an' Lazarus. I've seen it raise folks 
 right out of their seats that is, after I get through 
 singing my solo. Guffey always has me sing that 
 particular song just before he makes his final appeal 
 to sinners and backsliders. We expect to make a big 
 haul to-night. Everything's in train for it." 
 
 He glanced doubtfully at his hostess, then with a 
 fine imitation of the Rev. Mr. Guffey's authoritative
 
 266 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 manner he remarked, " I've been much concerned 
 about your spiritual welfare of late, sister. How is it 
 with your soul ? " 
 
 Miss Cynthia blushed. " I I don't know," she 
 faltered, taken quite unaware. " I hope I trust " 
 
 Mr. Swick shook his head. 
 
 " I fear that you have grown cold and indifferent 
 in the midst of your wealth and luxury," he said 
 gloomily. " I feel that it is my duty to deal with you 
 quite plainly in fact, Guffey urged me to do it. 
 You know you've been out every time he called," he 
 finished, in a burst of youthful candour. 
 
 Miss Cynthia was looking down at her little hands, 
 folded k)osely in her lap. She made no reply. 
 
 " If you should die to-night, sister," Mr. Swick 
 went on with A sudden resumption of his quasi-pro- 
 fessional manner, " how would it be with your soul ? " 
 
 He was astonished at Miss Cynthia's reception of 
 this pertinent inquiry. She had risen and was 
 regarding him with wet, indignant eyes. " You have 
 no right to ask me such a question," she said, in a 
 low, vibrant voice. " Do you hear me ? You have no 
 right?"
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 267 
 
 She turned and left the young man, sitting dazed 
 and irresolute upon the piano-stool. 
 
 Mr. Swick heard her hurrying feet upon the stairs. 
 "Gee!" he muttered involuntarily, "I wish Guffey 
 hadn't put me up against that job."
 
 XVIII 
 
 THE Rev. G. Algernon Guffey had preached his great 
 sermon on Dives and Lazarus to a crowded house. 
 Behind him rose the serried ranks of the choir, the 
 girls gay with ribbons and tossing feathers, the young 
 men stiff and uneasy under the curious eyes of the 
 congregation. At the evangelist's right hand sat 
 Mr. Pettibone, pale and worn with the fatigue of 
 his conflicting emotions. The hush that followed the 
 preacher's vivid portrayal of the serene bliss of Abra- 
 ham's bosom, as contrasted with the burning torments 
 of hell, was broken by Mr. Swick's youthful voice 
 upraised in long-drawn, sonorous cadences. The 
 singer had taken a position on the platform directly 
 in front of the evangelist, who was observed to direct 
 the crescendos and diminuendos of his song in low, 
 cogent whispers. 
 
 " Slower, now very soft! Loud ! Bring it out 
 strong!" as his trained eye studied the excited faces 
 bent forward to listen. 
 
 68
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 269 
 
 Most of the women were in tears, and many of the 
 men sat with white, strained faces when the last, 
 lingering inquiry for the lost wanderer died away 
 amid the crowded galleries. 
 
 A tense silence, prolonged to the verge of the 
 intolerable, followed, during which the pale eyes of 
 Mr. Guffey travelled slowly from pew to pew. 
 Heads were bent to avoid that inexorable gaze ; women 
 shivered and moaned ; children set their little teeth to 
 keep from crying aloud. A wave of irresistible 
 power was sweeping the plastic crowd. Did it 
 emanate from the small, slender man with the terrible, 
 accusing eyes? Or was it something more mysterious, 
 more terrible still? 
 
 He was speaking now, deliberately, quietly, but with 
 what seemed to the excited congregation an unearthly 
 comprehension of their weak, struggling desires. 
 To be " saved," it appeared, one must rise and come 
 forward to the front pews. There was no other way 
 no other time. He who hesitated now was lost 
 indeed "Forever Lost!" The final words rolled 
 out over the swaying throng like the tolling of a 
 funeral bell.
 
 270 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 A woman raised her voice in a faint shriek of 
 anguished despair. " Wait ! " she cried. " I am 
 coming!" and staggered down the aisle. Instantly 
 the choir broke forth into the triumphant swing of 
 a revival hymn, and the aisles were filled with hurry- 
 ing figures. The crest of the slow-gathering wave 
 was sweeping in. 
 
 In the farthest corner of the Breyfogle pew sat 
 Miss Cynthia Day. She had come to the meeting 
 as she had promised, after a faint-hearted apology 
 to Mr. Swick which that young man had received with 
 boyish embarrassment. 
 
 "You see, I'm studying between seasons to be an 
 evangelist myself," he explained to Miss Cynthia. 
 " But somehow I can't seem to get hold of the knack 
 of saying those things about dying and the state of 
 the soul that Guffey has. I don't believe anybody 
 could stan' up against Guffey ! He's got such a way 
 with him." 
 
 Miss Cynthia, sitting quietly in her own pew, had 
 been singularly unmoved by the sermon. It had 
 seemed to her forced, theatrical, insincere. And 
 because of this inevitable conclusion the Breyfogle
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 271 
 
 conscience was taking her severely to task. She 
 winced under the pale radiance of Mr. Guffey's eyes, 
 which seemed to focus directly upon her shrink- 
 ing little self. "How can I be so cold?" she 
 asked herself passionately. " Why do I not 
 respond? " 
 
 She wished, with a curious, detached longing which 
 seemed to lay hold upon her limp body like an invisible 
 hand, to rise and join the kneeling, weeping throng 
 which was gathering in the front pews. 
 
 "One more!" the Reverend Guffey was saying, in 
 low, urgent tones. "Two more! Won't you come 
 and be saved, brother? Won't you come, sister? 
 Come now, or it will be too late! The grave yawns 
 deep! Eternity opens before you!" 
 
 His strange, compelling eyes were riveted upon Miss 
 Cynthia. He was speaking directly to her, with 
 uncanny prescience. She was rising moving for- 
 ward! 
 
 " Thank the Lord fer that! " murmured a piously 
 nasal voice. " She's be'n an awful back-slider ! " 
 Mrs. Buckthorn had flung wide her bonnet-strings, 
 and was leaning back in her pew with the complacent
 
 272 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 unction which is assumed to be the peculiar portion 
 of the securely elect. 
 
 Deacon Scrimger, who sat across the aisle, was 
 swaying back and forth with automatic regularity, 
 emitting snorting ejaculations from time to time. 
 He greeted the tremulous little figure of Miss Cyn- 
 thia with a loud "Yes yes! Lord! Amen! Glory I" 
 
 Miss Cynthia heard and saw all with the confused 
 vision of a hypnotic. She was thinking of but one 
 thing, and that was how to gain the front pew in 
 the most expeditious manner possible. She knew that 
 she could find peace in no other way in no other 
 place. 
 
 Then her dazed eyes fell upon Harriet Puffer. The 
 child's pink mouth had fallen open; her little hands 
 clutched rigidly at the back of the pew. Edwina 
 standing at her side was bathed in tears. Both chil- 
 dren were pale and wild-eyed. Miss Cynthia stopped 
 short, the colour rushing back to lips and cheeks. 
 She smiled reassuringly at the twins. There was a 
 vacant place in the pew beside them. She slipped in 
 and sat down. The children cuddled close against her 
 encircling arm like frightened birds.
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 273 
 
 " Oh, Miss Cynthia ! " whispered Edwina, " do you 
 think we'll be lost ? We're awful 'f raid, but we don't 
 das' to go up in front." 
 
 " No, dear," she murmured. " There is nothing to 
 be afraid of." Of a sudden she seemed flooded with 
 an immense light and peace. She smiled radiantly 
 into the astonished face of Mr. Guffey. His pale 
 eyes no longer drew her toward the struggling, moan- 
 ing crowd in the front seats. 
 
 His lips formed a single word "Come!" He 
 beckoned her with an authoritative gesture. 
 
 She shook her head, still smiling. 
 
 The " experience meeting " had begun. Miss Cyn- 
 thia saw Mrs. Pettibone rise and slip away like a 
 patient, smiling little ghost to prepare the late supper 
 for the dyspeptic evangelist, and she heard Mrs. 
 Buckthorn's loud-whispered comment on her with- 
 drawal, " A-shirkin' her dooty, as usual! " 
 
 It was Mr. Pettibone's kind, tired voice which urged 
 everyone present to take some part in the meeting. 
 He reminded them of their obligations to their Maker 
 who was not ashamed to call them his sons and 
 daughters.
 
 274 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 "He ain't got no more snap 'an a tow string!" 
 complained Deacon Scrimger in the ear of his wife. 
 
 " I wisht he'd resign ! " she replied. 
 
 Miss Cynthia could never have told just how it 
 happened, but suddenly she stood up beside the Puffer 
 twins. " All this " she said, slowly, clearly " is 
 not finding God. It is not religion. To find 
 God is to find love and happiness and peace and life 
 within ourselves. We must love one another, and 
 be kind be kind." 
 
 Then she passed quickly down the crowded aisles, 
 and out under the quiet light of the stars. 
 
 It was bitterly cold, and the fresh-fallen snow 
 creaked under her light feet. She was happy even 
 joyous, in the deepest depths of her. 
 
 All the fear and doubt and rigid holding on to life in 
 the face of an awful, impending doom had left her. 
 
 "I am not afraid! I am not afraid!" she mur- 
 mured, and lifted up her face to the dark sky which 
 seemed to stoop warm and close, like the kind face of 
 an infinite and compassionate love.
 
 XIX 
 
 AT the close of the final service the Rev. G. Alger- 
 non Guffey found himself the centre of a stormy 
 group composed of the more prominent members of 
 the church. Among the indignant murmurs which 
 reached his ear the raucous voice of Deacon Scrimger 
 cut like a rusty sickle. 
 
 " Them words of Cynthia Day's was jest the out- 
 croppin' of the damnable heresies which hes be'n 
 a-growin' up in this 'ere community fer years," 
 declared the deacon, smiting his horny palms together 
 in a fine frenzy of righteous indignation. "I shell 
 insist on callin' a church meetin' an' gittin' right 
 down to the root of the hull business." He glared 
 malevolently at his pastor. "The' ain't no use in 
 tryin' to save the unconverted out o' hell when per- 
 fessin* Christians is 'lowed to talk like that in a 
 r'vival meetin'." 
 
 Mr. Guffey raised his eyebrows. "Let us not be 
 too hasty in condemning our sister," he said judi- 
 cially. " It is not given to every man to be so filled 
 with the consuming anxiety after righteousness which 
 
 275
 
 276 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 you manifest, Brother Scrimger. As it is written, 
 4 The zeal of thy house hath eaten me up'." 
 
 The deacon rolled his eyes proudly about the circle 
 of attentive faces. "That's right, dominie; I ain't 
 in favour of no halfway measures when it comes to 
 r'ligious dis'pline," he remarked with a gratified 
 chuckle. Then his lips tightened craftily. " I'd 
 like a word with you in private, Brother Guffey," he 
 whispered loudly, "concernin' the welfare of this 
 branch of the Lord's Zion." 
 
 The evangelist laid his hand on the old man's 
 shoulder. "Let us first sleep over the matter, 
 brother, and the Spirit may see fit to instruct us in 
 the night season," he murmured pacifically. "A 
 word to the wise is sufficient." 
 
 "Well, I sh'd say Cynthia Day had ought to be 
 dealt with im-me-diately" broke in Mrs. Buckthorn, 
 with a loud, discouraged sigh. " There's no knowin' 
 how many pr-reclous souls she's kep' out of the king- 
 dom to-night. / sh'll spen' the hours between now an' 
 midnight on my knees, an' go forth to wrestle with 
 her the first thing to-morrow mornin'. What do 
 vou perpose to do, Mr. Pettibone?"
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 277 
 
 Thus appealed to, the pastor of the church became 
 the target of a score of critical, expectant eyes. He 
 hesitated visibly. "We should remember first of all 
 the command of the Master and judge not," he said 
 at length. 
 
 Fragments of whispered conversation were buz- 
 zing about his ears like teasing gnats; they arose 
 from the circle of women that fringed the group. 
 " They do say she's awful intimate with his "wife 
 she's got the queerest ideas A terrible backslider, 
 if not "worse! " 
 
 Mr. Guffey terminated the conference with practiced 
 ease, somehow leaving the impression upon the minds 
 of the assemblage that he privately agreed with the 
 opinion of each one, and would shortly voice the 
 sentiments of the many in a cogent utterance which 
 would flatly crush the bold and presuming individual 
 who had ventured to dissent from Innisfield standards 
 of religious propriety. The evangelist adroitly con- 
 trived to detach Mr. Pettibone from his agitated 
 parishioners, and presently the two men were walking 
 alone on the frosty street. 
 
 " Tell me about that woman," said Mr. Guffey.
 
 278 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 "You mean Miss Day?" 
 
 " Of course, who else ? " 
 
 Mr. Pettibone was silent for a moment. "I fear 
 that I do not fully understand Miss Day's spiritual 
 state," he said slowly. " She has been a member of 
 this church in good and regular standing since early 
 childhood, and I have observed nothing uncommon in 
 her conduct until well, really, I could not say just 
 when the change took place; but she is certainly 
 remarkably different from what she was." 
 
 He added a few sparse details concerning Miss Cyn- 
 thia's more spectacular actions, to all of which the 
 evangelist listened with grave attention. 
 
 " Most extraordinary, I should say," commented Mr. 
 Guffey. " Did you preach her into all that, Petti- 
 bone?" 
 
 " I don't know," said the minister honestly. 
 
 Mr. Guffey's lips widened in his slow, inscrutable 
 smile. " They tell me you are especially strong in 
 urging the Sermon on the Mount upon your hearers. 
 It isn't popular doctrine, you know." 
 
 Mr. Pettibone turned upon the evangelist suddenly. 
 " It is the constitution of the Kingdom, as pro-
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 279 
 
 claimed by its founder," he cried, almost sharply. 
 " I must urge it / must! " 
 
 " And be crucified for it," said Mr. Guffey under his 
 breath. " The Pharisees are on your track now, 
 brother." 
 
 Mr. Pettibone lifted his worn face to the stars. 
 " Even so come quickly, Lord Jesus ! " he whis- 
 pered. 
 
 It was the day after this significant conversation 
 that Abby Whiton, energetically ridding the door- 
 steps of a crust of frozen sleet in the gray light of 
 the January morning, discovered the massive form of 
 Mrs. Buckthorn advancing toward the house. That 
 excellent woman was heavily swathed in shawls, and 
 the tip of her prominent nose, purpled with the cold, 
 protruded from the frosty folds of her blue veil like 
 the beak of a bird of prey. 
 
 Miss Whiton regarded this early visitor with an 
 acrimonious smile. " Seems to me you're out pretty 
 early this mornin', Mis' Buckthorn," she observed. 
 " Ain't you 'f raid of gittin' rheumatiz ? " 
 
 Mrs. Buckthorn groaned hollowly. " I'd reelly ought 
 to be in my bed this minute, Abby Whiton," she re-
 
 280 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 plied. " But when dooty calls I'm ever to be found 
 in the front ranks." 
 
 "What pertic'ler dooty 's ketched a-holt of you 
 now?" demanded Miss Whiton tartly, as she applied 
 her broom to the large, rubber-clad feet which 
 Mrs. Buckthorn deliberately presented for cleans- 
 ing. " The's times when folks gits their idees 
 of dooty kind o' mixed up with other folks' 
 bus'ness." 
 
 "Was you at the meetin' last night, Abby?" de- 
 manded Mrs. Buckthorn sternly. 
 
 "I hed m' bread to set," Miss Whiton replied 
 evasively. " But if it's me you've come to talk to this 
 mornin', I might 's well tell ye right off 'at I've got 
 r'ligion a-plenty. I c'n tell the truth, 'most every 
 time, an' I min' m' own business the endurin' while. 
 Ef everybody done that right along I guess most 
 folks 'ud think the m'lennium had struck 'em." 
 
 "My business here is no concern of yours, Abby," 
 Mrs. Buckthorn said, compressing her lips with an 
 air of pious endurance. " I've come to talk care- 
 fully an* prayerfully with Cynthia Day about the 
 state of her immortal soul. You will let her know
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 281 
 
 that I am waitin' to see her. My time is val-u-dble! " 
 The final words were spoken in a loud, melancholy 
 tone of voice calculated to penetrate careless ears in 
 almost any part of the house. 
 
 "Hern is too," retorted Abby Whiton, with a 
 defiant toss of her head. " I wouldn't wait ef I was 
 you. Miss Cynthy don't need no talkin' to. She's 
 jest a-gittin' so she's cheerful an' happy, an' 1 
 ain't a-goin' to hev her bothered 'bout her soul, so 
 there!" 
 
 "Well, of all thwgs!" Mrs. Buckthorn intoned, 
 with deep-throated indignation. "You will call her 
 at once, or I shall ! " 
 
 The two women stared truculently at each other for 
 a full minute ; then, as the visitor made a determined 
 movement toward the door, Abby Whiton threw it 
 dramatically wide, disclosing her mistress in a rose- 
 coloured morning-gown smiling over one of James 
 Blake's voluminous letters. 
 
 " Here's Mis' Buckthorn come to talk Tier kind of 
 religion with ye," she announced, with a trenchant 
 sniff, and withdrew to the kitchen, whence the mun- 
 dane clash of stove-lids and poker in active conflict
 
 282 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 was presently heard blending with the warlike strains 
 of the Crusader's hymn. 
 
 Mrs. Buckthorn had divested herself of the outer 
 sheath of veils and shawls, and stood wrapped, as it 
 were, in the voluminous garments of her righteous- 
 ness in the presence of the small rose-clad person who 
 started to her feet in haste from a deep wicker chair 
 by the fireside. 
 
 Miss Cynthia's face was fresh and smiling ; her blue 
 eyes shone with the violet light of immortal life. 
 
 " Good-morning," she said simply, but an unmistak- 
 able paean of love and joy sounded in her low voice. 
 She motioned her visitor to a seat with a gracious 
 gesture, which somehow brimmed over the deep cup of 
 that worthy matron's wrath and indignation. 
 
 " I do grieve to see you in this ungodly frame this 
 morning, Cynthia," Mrs. Buckthorn began in a 
 hollow, majestic bass. " I had hoped to find you with 
 your hands on your mouth and your mouth in the 
 dust crying 4 unclean ! unclean ! ' But I see only too 
 plain that you've hardened your heart like 
 Pha-rarohP" 
 
 Miss Cynthia hastily gathered the scattered pages
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 283 
 
 of her letter with trembling hands. " I don't know 
 what you mean," she said. " I was feeling very 
 happy this morning very happy. I hope : 
 
 "Happy!" ejaculated Mrs. Buckthorn, sinking 
 heavily into a chair. "Happy!* 9 Her eyes roved 
 inquisitively over Miss Cynthia's gown. " It 's been 
 on my heart for a long time to deal plainly with you, 
 Cynthia ; an' now I'm here to do it. I fear that all 
 is not right with your immortal soul judgin' from 
 what I see an' hear." 
 
 Her curious eyes again busied themselves with the 
 tips of Miss Cynthia's little slippers, ascending by 
 slow degrees up the lace-trimmed front of the pink 
 morning-gown and coming to a full stop upon the 
 modest brooch which fastened the lace at her throat. 
 
 "Di'monds, I do believe!" she whispered, with a 
 heartrending sigh. " Cynthia, I'm a-goin' to put a 
 solemn question, an' I want you should answer it as 
 if you was on your dyiri* bed. What do you think 
 your sainted ma would say to all this, if she was 
 here?" An inclusive hand-sweep indicated Miss 
 Cynthia's immediate environment, including the rose- 
 coloured gown and the appurtenances thereof.
 
 284 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 "I don't know," answered Miss Cynthia in a low 
 voice. She had grown very pale and her hand stole 
 unconsciously to the laces on her breast. 
 
 "And what," pursued her inquisitor mercilessly, 
 "do you think your dear, departed grandfather 
 who was a pillar in Zion if anybody ever was 
 would say to the terrible setback you give our blessed 
 r'vival las' night ? Wait before you ans-wer me, Cyn- 
 thia ! for I see you don't realise what you done. Do 
 you know I counted at least six sinners an' back- 
 sliders a-settlin' back in their seats as contented as 
 could be after you spoke. They would have gone 
 forward to the front pews an' been saved; but now 
 they're lost forever ! An' the terrible responsibility's 
 a-layin' at your door! I don't see how you can 
 set there in my presence, dressed up like the scarlet 
 woman, with your di'monds a-glitterin' like sparks of 
 hell-fire." 
 
 Mrs. Buckthorn closed her eyes after this burst of 
 fervid eloquence and rocked back and forth in word- 
 less anguish of spirit. 
 
 She opened them suddenly at sound of a harsh ex- 
 clamation. Abby Whiton stood over her mistress
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 285 
 
 white with fury. " I hope you're satisfied now ! " 
 she said in a hissing whisper. " The' don't anybody 
 need to talk to me 'bout r'vivals ! The's folks in this 
 'ere town 'at need to git manners more'n they do 
 r'ligion, an 1 they ain't fur off, neither! " 
 
 She was plying the camphor bottle as she talked. 
 Miss Cynthia struggled weakly to her feet to avoid a 
 second blinding dash of the pungent fluid. 
 
 " That will do, Abby," she said with dignity. " I 
 I was so surprised at what Mrs. Buckthorn 
 said that I hardly knew for a minute what I was 
 doing." 
 
 " I'm glad to see you ain't calloused, Cynthia," 
 observed that lady in her deepest bass. " The Spirit's 
 quick an' powerful as a two-edged sword, you know. 
 It's be'n known to kill sinners right in their tracks 
 before now." 
 
 " Don't you das' to call her no sech names," snapped 
 Abby Whiton. " She ain't no more of a sinner 'an 
 you be. The simple idee of your a-settin' up to be a 
 pattern to her! " 
 
 "Abby!" Miss Cynthia spoke very quietly; but 
 Miss Whiton retreated kitchenward, after depositing
 
 286 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 the camphor bottle in a defiantly prominent position 
 on the mantel-shelf. 
 
 " I declare, that woman's got the worst tongue in 
 this town," observed Mrs. Buckthorn feelingly. "I 
 wonder you'll keep her in your house." 
 
 " She loves me," Miss Cynthia answered gently. 
 
 Mrs. Buckthorn arose stiffly. "I've got to go 
 now," she sighed. " I've got pie an' cake to bake an' 
 m' dishes to wash up. I felt as though I couldn't 
 get here too soon. I want you should spend the hours 
 between now an' the evenin' meetin' on your knees, 
 Cynthia. Then come to that blessed meetin' prepared 
 to do your Christian dooty. You'd ought to take 
 back every word of what you said las' night. If you 
 humble your proud heart in the dust maybe the 
 Lord '11 fergive you. An' I want you should know 
 'at / shall address the throne of grace in your behalf 
 myself" 
 
 "Thank you," said Miss Cynthia, looking down at 
 the toes of her slippers. 
 
 "An' will you promise me to do what I ask, my 
 dear child? " gurgled Mrs. Buckthorn, with water- 
 ing eyes. "I sh'll feel that I've accomplished my
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 287 
 
 wlwle dooty if you only will." She possessed herself 
 of one of Miss Cynthia's reluctant hands and fondled 
 it damply in both her own; then stooping suddenly 
 kissed her full upon the mouth. " I sh'll be s' thank- 
 ful an' happy to see you a-kneelin' in the front pews, 
 like a brand plucked from the burnin', an' to feel that 
 my hand was counted worthy to " 
 
 " But I haven't promised," said Miss Cynthia 
 doggedly. She shrank away from the woman's large 
 body with an almost overpowering sense of physical 
 aversion. " I shall not come to the service this even- 
 ing, nor any evening," she finished positively. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because I believe that what I said last night is 
 true." 
 
 A red fury blazed evilly in Mrs. Buckthorn's dull, 
 flaccid face. She turned away without another word, 
 and Miss Cynthia, standing mute and motionless, 
 heard two successive slams of two distant doors which 
 announced her hasty exit. 
 
 Could she have followed the wrathful progress of 
 her departing guest she might have witnessed a brief 
 interview with the Rev. G. Algernon Guffey which
 
 288 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 took place at the corner of the street. Mr. Guffey 
 was striding briskly through the snow with a cheer- 
 ful, not to say jovial, expression of countenance which 
 still further incensed the irate lady. 
 
 " I've just come from labourin' with that poor, 
 sinful, misguided soul, Cynthia Day her that spoke 
 those wicked words in our blessed meetin' last night," 
 began Mrs. Buckthorn, with a hollow intonation of 
 despair. " I couldn't rest ner sleep till I'd gone forth 
 to deal with her, heart to heart. I fear we sh'll have 
 to leave her to perish in her sins. She wouldn't 
 listen to me. But I feel I've done my full dooty. 
 I've throwed out the life-line, as the beautiful hymn 
 says, and if she won't take a hold of it, it can't be 
 laid at my door." 
 
 A glance of something like amusement shone for an 
 instant in Mr. Guffey's gray eyes, but he answered 
 seriously, " I was just going to see Miss Day." 
 
 "Well, I don't think you're called upon to waste 
 your precious moments with Tier," said Mrs. Buck- 
 thorn acrimoniously. " 7 said all that anybody could 
 say. I found her sitting there all dressed up in pink 
 flounces, trimmed with lace aw' diamonds, entirely
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 289 
 
 dead in trespasses an' sins. I declare, I'm fairly 
 boilin' over with Godly wrath. If you will insist 
 on goin' I hope an" trust you'll rebuke her sharply. 
 She needs it! " 
 
 Mr. Guff ey smiled understandingly. " I shall 
 remember what you have told me," he said pleasantly. 
 " By the way, Sister Buckthorn, will you do some- 
 thing for the cause? I am asking you because there 
 is no one else to whom I can turn with confidence 
 at the moment." 
 
 Mrs. Buckthorn's fat face creased itself into a 
 dubious smile. " I'm generally to be found waitin' 
 in the front ranks, ready an' willin' for the call of 
 dooty," she remarked, with a tentative cough. 
 " What was it you wanted I should do ? " 
 
 " It occurred to me that if a lady of your standing 
 in the community should personally visit the outlying 
 houses in the neighbourhood of the tin-can factory 
 and invite the operatives, their wives and children to 
 attend the meetings, great good might be done." 
 
 "What! Go into all those dirty houses and talk 
 with those shiftless women? No, Mr. Guffey, I don't 
 feel that dooty calls me that way. My health is
 
 290 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 delicate, you know very delicate. I have to be very 
 cautious. But I can tell you who ought to be doin* 
 that blessed work, an' that's our paster's wife. 
 That's what they're paid for. An' while we're speak- 
 ing of Mis' Pettibone, I feel as though I'd ought to 
 tell you that she needs a serious talkin' to on the 
 subjec' of her dooty to this church. I've had it on 
 my heart for a long time to mention it. She's very 
 far from bein' the kind of a paster's wife we need in 
 this community. I do grieve to say it, but her in- 
 fluence on the paster is very bad. He ain't the same 
 man 'at he was before he married Philura Rice." 
 
 " I can well believe it," Mr. Guff ey said gravely. 
 "Mrs. Pettibone is a remarkable woman, in many 
 ways." 
 
 Mrs. Buckthorn compressed her lips. "You can't 
 tell me anything I don't know about Philura Rice," 
 she syllabled conclusively. "No stranger is capable 
 of understanding her as I do. There's a great deal 
 of dissatisfaction. Perhaps you've heard of it?" 
 
 Mr. Guffey looked steadily at Mrs. Buckthorn, and 
 the lady's lids presently fell before the direct gaze of 
 the evangelist's greenish-gray orbs. " I make it a
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 291 
 
 point never to hear anything of the sort while em- 
 ployed in my special work," he remarked, in a gentle 
 but particularly distinct tone of voice. 
 
 Mr. Guffey actually laughed aloud to himself and 
 the surrounding silence as he opened the gate of the 
 old Breyfogle place, and the light of his inward 
 cogitations still shone pleasantly on his grave, com- 
 posed face when Abby Whiton admitted him to Miss 
 Cynthia's parlour. 
 
 Miss Cynthia, in quite a flutter of apprehension and 
 rose-coloured flounces, came in to greet him. Mr. 
 Guffey's experienced eyes noted the half-shed tears 
 which sparkled on her lashes, and the agitated blushes 
 fluttering over the delicate oval of her cheek. 
 
 "A bruised reed," he thought to himself, and 
 wondered. 
 
 "You you must have been very much dis- 
 pleased and and shocked at what I did last night," 
 began Miss Cynthia, with a desperate effort to appear 
 quite composed and dignified. " I was thinking of 
 the children, you know; they seemed so so 
 frightened." 
 
 Mr. Guffey was looking at her very kindly indeed.
 
 292 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " I am always sorry to see young children at our even- 
 ing meetings," he said, in his low, sympathetic voice. 
 "Little children need loving into the kingdom; but 
 for the careless, stupid, hardened grown-ups one must 
 sometimes use spiritual dynamite. It does frighten 
 the children and such as you. I am sorry." 
 
 Miss Cynthia's eyes brightened. "Oh how kind 
 you are ! " she exclaimed. " I was so so " 
 
 " You didn't want to see me," suggested Mr. Guff ey, 
 showing his white, even teeth in an amused smile. 
 "Well, I am not always preaching, you see. And 
 now won't you tell me how you came to find the heart 
 of Christ's religion? for you have found it. It is 
 to find love and happiness and peace and life, and, 
 having found it, to love one another and be kind. 
 How did you discover this ? " 
 
 " The doctor told me that I am going to die soon 
 next April." Miss Cynthia spoke in a hushed 
 voice, which yet sounded like a cry in her listener's 
 ears. " I had to find something / had to! I found 
 that." 
 
 Then, having uncovered her terrible little secret be- 
 fore this stranger, who was still regarding her more
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 293 
 
 kindly and tranquilly than ever, Miss Cynthia burst 
 into tears. " I don't know why I have told you this," 
 she faltered. " I had told no one I meant to tell no 
 one." 
 
 Mr. Guffey made no attempt to stay her weeping. 
 He was wonted to woman's tears. But something in 
 his strong silence presently quieted Miss Cynthia's 
 low sobbing. 
 
 She looked up with a wistful smile. " What do you 
 want me to do? " she asked him like a child. 
 
 "Would you like to visit the families on the east 
 side of the river, and tell them what you have found 
 and ask them to come to the meetings? They will 
 need, perhaps, to kneel in those front pews, and do 
 those simple, concrete things which help to wake a 
 soul out of its deadening lethargy. Mind you, I do 
 not think these things are religion in themselves ; but 
 they sometimes help dull souls to awaken out of 
 sleep. And anything to wake them up, even if it be 
 the brazen blast of a sermon like the one I preached 
 last night. Do you understand me?" 
 
 Miss Cynthia was looking sweetly mystified. "I'm 
 afraid I don't altogether," she said. "But I'm so
 
 294 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 glad you came to see me. I know most of the women 
 in those houses already. I will go to them right 
 away." 
 
 She was searching the evangelist's worn face with 
 anxious eyes. "Do you think do you believe God 
 will let me live if I want to very much? Mrs. 
 Pettibone told me " She stopped short in word- 
 less confusion. 
 
 " Christ was the Healer. He is with us always, and 
 always the same, yesterday, to-day, and forever," 
 said the man. "I know this much. I can say no 
 
 more. I wish " He paused abruptly, his strong 
 
 features working with some unexplained emotion. 
 " Good-bye," he said gently ; " I shall, perhaps, not 
 see you again."
 
 XX 
 
 " WELL, an' what 'd that man hev to offer ? " de- 
 manded Abby Whiton, hastily selecting a hot flatiron 
 from among the huddled group over the range fire. 
 She faced about with dramatic suddenness and fixed 
 searching eyes upon her mistress. 
 
 Miss Cynthia had appeared in the door of the 
 kitchen, dressed for walking. She was paler than her 
 wont, but Abby could detect no evidence of her late 
 disquieting interview with Mr. Guffey upon her 
 placid face. 
 
 " I mus' say, I kind of liked his looks," Miss Whiton 
 added grudgingly. " But you can't never tell about 
 a man, minister er no minister. They're all alike to 
 me, anyhow!" She clashed her iron defiantly, as 
 she eyed the small figure in the doorway. 
 
 " He wanted I should go and see the people down by 
 the river," said Miss Cynthia. " I am going now. 
 I came to tell you that I may be late to dinner." 
 
 295
 
 296 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " I heerd him a-tellin' ye that much," Miss Whiton 
 said unblushingly. " I couldn't reelly make out all 
 that was goin' on betwixt you ; you didn't speak loud 
 enough fer me to gether it all. I do b'lieve I'm 
 gittin' deef in m' right ear." 
 
 "Oh, Abby, were you listening?" 
 
 "Well, I guess! D'ye s'pose I'm a-goin' to let a 
 strange man int' the house to pester ye, like es not 
 an' me out in the kitchen? I'll bet I know which way 
 my dooty lays, es Mis' Buckthorn says. Where'd 
 yoM fetched up, I'd like to know, 'f I hadn't a-be'n 
 right on hand with the camphire when she was lettin' 
 out her spite an' meanness on ye. She calls it the 
 work of the sperit ! It's more like bein' possessed with 
 th' devil, 7 sh'd say." 
 
 Miss Whiton was evidently labouring under some 
 strong mental excitement, for she set down the over- 
 heated iron in the middle of a damask napkin with 
 an emphasis which left a faint, brown print on its 
 snowy surface. 
 
 " Well, I guess mebbe it '11 do ye good to git out in 
 th' air," she went on; "it 's come off a nice day in 
 spite of everythin'." She proceeded to fold and
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 297 
 
 crease the napkin with scrupulous care, leaving a 
 brown mark on every burnished square. The smell 
 of scorching linen pervaded the room. 
 
 "Did you hear everything that I said to Mr. 
 Guff ey ? " asked Miss Cynthia, with an involuntary 
 shiver of apprehension. " Did you? " 
 
 " I didn't hear nothin' 'cept what I told ye jus* 
 now," said Abby gruffly. " I mus' say I think 't 
 was kind of nervy of him to expect you to go trampin' 
 'round in the slush after them poor folks. Why in 
 creation don't he go himself, I'd like to know?" 
 
 Miss Cynthia drew a deep sigh of relief. " Seems to 
 me I smell something burning," she said, gazing 
 short-sightedly at the strenuous motions of the iron. 
 " Perhaps your flat is too hot. I must hurry right 
 along now. Have dinner at two, please. I shan't be 
 hungry before then. Good-bye, Abby." 
 
 Abby Whiton continued her work in stony silence 
 till she heard the front door close after her mistress. 
 Then she sank into a chair and threw her apron over 
 her head. " Oh Lord ! " she groaned, " I told her a 
 wicked lie right out. I hed to. I did hear what she 
 told him 'bout dyin' in April. Oh Lord! what shell
 
 298 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 I do. Seems 's 'o I couldn't stan' it nohow! 'Tain't 
 right to let her die right now, jes' when every thin' 's 
 comin' her way, an' Jim Blake ready an' anxious to 
 keep stidy comp'ny. What 's the use of it, Oh 
 Lord? " 
 
 She sprang up and replenished her fire with a sort 
 of frantic energy. "I've jes' gotta do somethin' ! " 
 she cried aloud. " I ain't a-goin' to hev it so. Seems 
 's 'o there ought to be some way out of it. The' 's 
 th' promises, an' they're plain readin' right out an* 
 out, with no ifs ner buts about 'em." She snatched 
 a worn Bible from its nook on the top pantry shelf 
 and hastily turned over the leaves with moistened 
 thumb. 
 
 " There! I don't see how the's any gittin' out o' 
 this. ' Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my 
 name, he will give it you. Hitherto have ye asked 
 nothing in my name; ask and receive that your joy 
 may be full.' " 
 
 She sank on her knees beside the flour barrel, 
 spreading the open Bible on top of the pastry-board 
 which covered it. " Now, here I be, an' I'm a-goin' to 
 take ye at your own word, O Lord 'jes' as I see it set
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 299 
 
 down in this 'ere Bible, right in these two verses of the 
 gospil 'cordin' to John. I ain't been in the habit of 
 pesterin' ye much fer myself. I c'n gen'lly git what 
 I want, 'f I work hard 'nuff; but here 's somethin' I 
 can't do, not ef I was to work my fingers to the bone. 
 I want you should let Miss Cynthy live. I've spoke 
 'bout it before ; but I didn't know then as the' was any 
 danger of her goin' immej'ate. Lord, let her live! 
 I ask it in the name of Jesus Christ. I want you 
 should notice I'm a-leanin' hard on this p'tic'lar prom- 
 ise. 7 sh'll expect It to be jest as I've said. I don't 
 see any way of gittin' out of it. I've done percisely 
 what I was told to do in this 'ere Bible, an' now I've 
 got a right to expect that she'll live. I c'n see it 
 wouldn't be right fer me to fret an' worry 'bout her 
 after this, an' I ain't a-goin' to not a minute. I'm 
 a-goin' to begin to fill up on joy. Amen ! " 
 
 And Miss Cynthia, picking her way daintily along 
 the wet and icy street, felt the mighty lift and impulse 
 of this rude petition in an unreasoning gladness 
 which seemed to enfold her like the warm, sweet breath 
 of summer. She even found herself humming a gay 
 little tune as she knocked at the door of one of the
 
 300 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 shabby little houses which huddled squalidly about the 
 ugly structure known as the tin-can factory. 
 
 A sullen-faced woman with a crying baby in her 
 arms opened to her summons. Miss Cynthia, obeying 
 her ungracious gesture of invitation, entered the 
 room ; a damp, evil-smelling atmosphere, charged with 
 boiling soap-suds and sodden food, greeting her on 
 the threshold like the spirit of poverty. 
 
 " We're all about done fer here," droned the woman, 
 jerking forward a rickety wooden chair with her 
 one free hand. " This 'ere pesky young'n' 's cried 
 every minute fer a week ; I can't git no rest with him 
 night er day. An' Tim, he 's be'n on one of 'is sprees 
 an' guzzled down every cent of 'is wages, an' the rent 
 due an' everythin' goin to the bad. I wish 't I was 
 dead an' done with it." 
 
 The words flowed from the woman's mouth in a 
 turgid torrent, like the utterance of an insane person. 
 Her thin, bent figure wavered weakly and her knotted 
 fingers clutched despairingly at the wailing child's 
 dingy clothing. 
 
 " Let me take the baby," entreated Miss Cynthia. 
 
 The woman dropped her burden with a long breath
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 301 
 
 of relief. " I don' know why he was ever born to be 
 the plague of my life an' 'is own," she muttered. 
 " / didn't want 'im. The's five more of 'em to feed." 
 
 Her glassy eyes filled with sudden tears at sight of 
 Miss Cynthia as she smoothed down the huddled 
 flannels about the infant's red neck. The little 
 creature's wailing cries softened to a fretful murmur 
 under the awkward touch of the gentle hand. 
 
 " He's just tired, I guess," cooed Miss Cynthia, 
 stroking the downy head. " Poor baby, and you're 
 tired, too, Mrs. Flannery. I'm so sorry." 
 
 The woman drew a long, sobbing breath. " I never 
 expect to be anythin' else but tired," she said. 
 " Never anythin' else till I'm a-layin' in m' coffin. 
 That's the on'y place I know of to fin' rest. I wish 
 t' G od I was there now ! " 
 
 " There's one other," Miss Cynthia breathed. " I 
 I've found it. I had to find it. Will you let me 
 tell you?" 
 
 " The's no use in talkin' r'ligion to me if that's 
 what you mean," the woman said sullenly. " I hate 
 an' d'spise all that pious rot rich folks talk when they 
 come to see folks in my fix. It makes 'em feel so
 
 302 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 mighty snug an' comf 'table to set in their silk clo'es 
 an' jaw 'bout church-goin' an' prayin'. It makes me 
 sick, I tell ye! Kin God make my husban' quit 
 drinkin', I'd like to know? Kin he give me a decent 
 place to live in, an' decent victuals to eat, an' any 
 peace to m' life? You know r'ligion ain't any good 
 fer real trouble like mine! It's jest damned lies!' 9 
 
 The woman's voice rose to a frenzied shriek with the 
 last words. She shook her thin hands above her head 
 with a hoarse, inarticulate cry like that of a suffer- 
 ing animal. 
 
 " Could you give me a cup of tea, Mrs. Flannery ? " 
 asked Miss Cynthia unexpectedly. " I should like it 
 very much, if it isn't too much trouble. I've had a 
 long walk, and I didn't eat much breakfast." 
 
 The woman stared at her in puzzled silence for an 
 instant. Then she rose stiffly and set the kettle over 
 the fire. Two or three untidy children scattered in 
 obvious fright at her approach. 
 
 " I don' know as you'll like the kin' of tea I hev to 
 put up with," said the woman, as she set a cracked 
 cup full of steaming liquid on the table. "I ain't 
 got no sugar."
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 303 
 
 " Thank you, it's very nice," Miss Cynthia told her, 
 as she began sipping the hot tea from the discoloured 
 spoon. "Won't you have some, too? I shall enjoy 
 mine better, if you will." 
 
 The tired baby had fallen asleep, and Miss Cynthia 
 had laid him in his cradle. Seeing this a faint 
 glimmer of something like a smile flitted over the 
 woman's worn face, as she poured a second cup of 
 tea. 
 
 " I declare to goodness, you'd ought to be merried 
 an' hev young'n's of yer own ; you've got sech a way 
 with 'em." 
 
 " I I hope I believe God will give me a 
 baby to take care of some day. I should dearly 
 love it." 
 
 Miss Cynthia's face burned with desperate blushes, 
 but she looked bravely into the startled eyes which 
 stared into hers. 
 
 " You Vlieve God "II give it to ye? " 
 
 "Yes," said Miss Cynthia firmly. "God wants to 
 give us what we want He wants to ! " 
 
 "He don't want to give me nothin'. I don't git 
 nothin', anyhow."
 
 304 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 "Did you ever ask God for anything, and and 
 expect it ? " 
 
 The woman was silent for a full minute. "I don' 
 know as I ever did," she admitted sullenly. " But if I 
 was God I wouldn't wait fer folks to ask. I'd give 
 'em what I see they needed an* a-plenty of it." 
 
 " I asked you for the tea ; should you have given it 
 to me, if I hadn't asked you ? " 
 
 The woman threw up her hands. " God ain't like 
 me! " she shrilled. 
 
 "What is he like?* 
 
 "I don' know. I never thought anythin' 'bout it, 
 nohow." 
 
 " God wants you to think about him, and to ask him 
 for what you want," said Miss Cynthia, in a tone of 
 joyful assurance. "He is our Father, and he loves 
 us. Did you never think of that? Please think of 
 it all the rest of to-day, and to-morrow, and ask him 
 for something you want." 
 
 " If I c'd on'y b'lieve the* was any use of it," 
 groaned the woman, dropping her rough head upon 
 the table. " I want s' many things w'y, I can't 
 begin to tell ye ! "
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 305 
 
 " Don't tell me! " whispered Miss Cynthia. 
 
 She stooped and laid her arm timidly about the 
 woman's shaking shoulders. "Just try and see," she 
 urged, and was gone before the woman had done 
 sobbing out her full heart before the Father-God, 
 who spoke to her in the silence whicn followed the 
 quiet closing of the door. 
 
 " I forgot to ask her to come to the meetings," 
 reflected Miss Cynthia, as she tapped at another 
 door; "but I don't believe she needs any spiritual 
 dynamite." 
 
 Mrs. Schultz was vigorously scrubbing her small 
 kitchen on hands and knees ; but she stopped to wel- 
 come her visitor with a broad smile of welcome 
 which brightened her round, red face into positive 
 comeliness. 
 
 " I guess it's kind of damp in here," she said 
 briskly, "but if you'll set on this square of carpet, 
 Miss Day, the rest the floor '11 be dry in no time." 
 
 " I came to ask you if you will come to the meetings 
 in the Presbyterian church," Miss Cynthia told her, 
 with a growing sense of her mission weighing some- 
 what heavily upon her.
 
 306 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Mrs. Schultz giggled childishly. " Land ! Miss 
 Day, I've be'n a'ready, an' I've be'n converted agin," 
 she said complacently. " You don't ketch me stayin' 
 away from no meetin's. Las' winter me an' Dave 
 went 'way over t' Spratt's Corners t' the Methodist 
 r'vival. I've got r'ligion most ev'ry winter since I 
 was fifteen." 
 
 Miss Cynthia's blue eyes opened wide. "What 
 becomes of it in the summer? " she asked. 
 
 " Blest if I know," responded Mrs. Schultz cheer- 
 fully. " It seems to kind of peter out, come spring ; 
 I can't keep it a-goin', somehow ; but it's awful com- 
 fortin' while it lasts." 
 
 Miss Cynthia turned this difficult matter over in her 
 mind for some minutes. Then she relinquished it with 
 a sigh. 
 
 "Have you been in to see Mrs. Flannery lately?" 
 she asked. 
 
 Mrs. Schultz shook her head with tightly compressed 
 lips. " She 's the dirtiest critter 'bout her house I 
 ever see," she said, smoothing down her clean calico 
 dress with conscious pride. " I wish 't they 'd move 
 away ; that's what I wish. I was tellin' Dave Schultz
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 307 
 
 this mornin', ' them Flannerys,' I says, ' is a disgrace 
 to this neighbourhood.' An' he says he c'n fix it so 't 
 Tim Flannery '11 git knocked out his job at the 
 factory. He ain't no good of a hand cause he's 
 drunk most th' time; but she 's 'nough to drive most 
 any man to drink. She jaws so 't you c'n hear her a 
 mile ev'ry time he comes in the house, an' this mornin' 
 she pitched a stove-lid at 'im. *F Tim hadn't a be'n 
 so drunk I guess 't he'd a-killed her right in her 
 tracks. I sh'll be mighty glad when we've got shet of 
 'em. All of us neighbours feels the same way. Mis' 
 Pell an' Sarah Brown an' Delia Burke, they'll tell you 
 so if you ask 'em. An' her young'ns is the plague o' 
 the place, always a-snoopin' 'round under foot." 
 
 "What if you tried to help her?" asked Miss 
 Cynthia. 
 
 " Help her! " Mrs. Schultz bristled with righteous 
 indignation. "I guess I have helped her. She 's 
 always wantin' somepin off the neighbours. I've got 
 so 't I hate the sight of her comin' in 't the yard. I 
 shet down on her borrowin' fer good last week." 
 
 " It's religion to help people that need helping," 
 said Miss Cynthia distinctly.
 
 308 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Her slow thoughts had finally marshalled the 
 woman's correlated statements into their correct rela- 
 tion, and the solution was suddenly made plain to her. 
 " If you won't do that, I'm afraid you'll have to keep 
 on getting converted every winter," she added. 
 
 Mrs. Schultz stared. "What's Mis' Flannery got 
 to do with my r'ligion ? " she demanded. " She ain't 
 
 got no more idee o' r'ligion 'an 'an " Her eyes 
 
 wandered vacantly in search of a simile. " She ain't 
 got no r'ligion 't all," she concluded doggedly. 
 " My ! I was on m' knees 'most an hour in the 
 anxious seats th' other night. You'd ought t' ha' 
 seen me ; an' I've be'n hollerin' halleloolya ever since." 
 
 Miss Cynthia's eyes were fixed unseeingly upon the 
 row of thrifty geraniums in Mrs. Schultz's one win- 
 dow, which shone clear and bright in the winter 
 sunshine. 
 
 " I don't know how to say it as I ought," she 
 said finally, " but I feel sure that if you would be kind 
 to Mrs. Flannery and help her with the baby when 
 she is tired, and and not feel as if you hated her 
 all the while if you would love her- -if you only 
 could that would be religion. And and God
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 309 
 
 would like it better than to have you sing any sort of 
 a hymn." 
 
 " It is so clean and pleasant here," she went on, 
 after a pause. "And you are so strong and com- 
 fortable looking. If she could learn to keep her 
 house the way you do if you could teach her ; don't 
 you think she " 
 
 Something in these halting words touched a spring 
 of truth in Mrs. Schultz's ample bosom. " Well, I 
 c'n try, anyhow," she said heartily. "I guess she 
 doos git 'bout beat out with all those young'ns of 
 hern. I r'member mine us't t' pester the life out me 
 when they was little. You're mighty good to come 
 an' see me," she finished. 
 
 Miss Cynthia had risen. " I have done very little 
 for other people," she faltered. " I didn't under- 
 stand that we must love one another and be kind. I 
 am just learning." 
 
 Mrs. Schultz drew in her breath. " An' you've 
 be'n a perfesser fer years, ain't you?" she asked 
 wonderingly. 
 
 "Yes," acknowledged Miss Cynthia, reddening 
 under the woman's candid eyes with a very real sense
 
 310 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 of shame. " That was all I was a professing 
 Christian." 
 
 " Land ! " marvelled Mrs. Schultz, as she stared 
 after her departing guest, " I guess most folks think 
 that's 'nough to keep 'em out o' hell."
 
 XXI 
 
 SPEING came early that year, first with rushing tor- 
 rents of rain which swept the desolate earth bare of 
 snow and ice, then with the brave voices of robins 
 calling aloud in the frosty mornings. 
 
 Cynthia Day heard the voices as one wrapped in a 
 dream of hard-won peace, and kneeling before her 
 window in the pink light of dawn, smiled into the 
 veiled face of her future. She knew at last that life 
 is; that to live is not merely a matter of bodies, or of 
 houses, or of money; and knowing this she waited 
 tranquilly while the slow days rounded out the year of 
 her allotted time. Not yet did she understand the 
 greater truth of the resurrection. 
 
 Abby Whiton, hanging out freshly washed clotHes 
 of immaculate whiteness amid the rigours of a March 
 morning, heard the adventurous robins coaxing reluc- 
 tant Spring across the borderland of Winter. She 
 came in with nipped fingers to lay one of James 
 Blake's thick letters beside the coffee-urn at Miss 
 Cynthia's place. 
 
 311
 
 312 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " I guess we're a-goin' to hev a reel early spring this 
 year," she observed, gazing at her mistress with the 
 keen eyes of a lover. 
 
 Miss Cynthia's small face in the bright light of 
 morning, which streamed unhindered through the 
 clear windows, shone with the radiant whiteness of a 
 white flower in the sun. " I hope it will be an early 
 spring," she said. " I should like " 
 
 She stopped to look down at the letter, and her 
 mouth quivered. 
 
 Abby Whiton jerked her elbows with an impatient 
 sigh. Later she slammed the dish-pan down on the 
 kitchen table with stony composure. " Ef that Jim 
 Blake had a mite of the gumption he us't to hev, he'd 
 a be'n on here to see her 'fore this time," she muttered. 
 " I'll bet I'd be up-an'-a-doin' ef / was sparkin'. 
 Serve him right ef somebody else was to git her. I 
 wonder what in creation he fin's to say in all them 
 letters of hisn." She opened the door cautiously and 
 peeped in. 
 
 Miss Cynthia was sitting idly by the hearth, her 
 little feet on the fender, her blue eyes fixed upon the 
 smouldering logs with a far-away smile. The large
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 313 
 
 pages of James Blake's letter had fallen to the floor, 
 and the big maltese cat was patting them experi- 
 mentally in a staid, elderly fashion, faintly rem- 
 iniscent of her remote kittenhood. 
 
 "Well, I mus' say!" snorted Abby, dealing the 
 innocent cat a sound cuff, while she rescued the rust- 
 ling pages. " You don't seem to keer much ef the cat 
 doos git 'em ! An' I'm sure I don' know why in crea- 
 tion I sh'd. I s'pose I'm a meddlesome ol' fool, 
 anyhow." 
 
 Miss Cynthia laid hold of Abby Whiton's immacu- 
 late gingham apron. " Oh, Abby ! " she said. Then 
 she hid her face in the checked apron, as a child 
 would hide its face on its mother's shoulder. 
 
 " Fer the lan's sake, Miss Cynthy ! " expostulated 
 Abby, in wild-eyed consternation; "don't ye git to 
 takin' on now, er I shell hev to dash upstairs fer the 
 camphire." 
 
 " He wants to come and see me the last week in 
 April," murmured Miss Cynthia from the depths of 
 the checked apron, " and I I don't know what to say 
 to him." 
 
 "Well, I want-ta-know ! " intoned Abby strongly.
 
 314 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 " I sh'd say that was easy es rollin' off" a log. You 
 either want t' see him, er ye don't. Come right down 
 to it, I'll bet the' ain't anythin' you want more. Ef 
 I was you I sh'd write an' tell him 'at I'd be pleased 
 to see him at m' res'dunce any day he'll name." 
 
 Miss Cynthia breathed a long sigh. " Perhaps that 
 would be best," she said faintly. " I can't tell him 
 anything different." 
 
 "I sh'd say not!" chimed in Miss Whiton tri- 
 umphantly. " Well " She stopped short and 
 
 eyed the small figure in the chair with critical eyes. 
 " Ef I was you, I sh'd git some new dresses made up, 
 right off. The' ain't much time to lose. You want to 
 look es well es ye kin when he comes. I'd git a-holt 
 of Malvina Bennett first off, fore anybody else cuts 
 in ahead of ye." 
 
 " I don't think I shall need any new dresses this 
 spring," said Miss Cynthia. 
 
 One of the adventurous robins had settled in the old 
 apple tree just outside the window and was carolling 
 a lusty defiance to the large, wet snow-flakes which 
 were falling from the gray heavens like the soft folds 
 of a bridal veil.
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 315 
 
 Miss Cynihia arose and walked over to the window. 
 The robin darted away through the snow with a 
 jubilant cry of courage. 
 
 " That's an awful good sign," said Abby Whiton, 
 looking over her mistress' shoulder. " Not 'at I b'lieve 
 in signs; I never think nothin' 'bout seem' the moon 
 over my* lef ' shoulder, the way some foolish folks do. 
 But I do like to see m' first robin high up, fer luck. 
 An' e^ he flies whilst you're a-lookin' at him, he'd 
 ought to fly high. But ef you see him down on the 
 ground, er ef he flies down, it's a sure sign of a come- 
 down in the world. I never knew it t' fail. I guess 
 you're a-goin' higher this year. I hope to goodness 
 you be, anyhow." 
 
 Miss Cynthia turned suddenly and looked the old 
 woman full in the face. " Am I too old to wear a 
 white dress, Abby ? " she asked. 
 
 " Not a mite ! " cried Abby. " I like 'em myself fer 
 'most anybody. W'y land! Mis' Buckthorn had 
 one made up las' summer an' wore it constant. I 
 guess ef she c'n " 
 
 "I want a real pretty one," Miss Cynthia went on 
 thoughtfully. " It must be made of something soft
 
 316 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 and shining, with lovely lace ; not stiff or ugly, like 
 Oh, I do want to look pretty when when he sees 
 me. I want him to remember me that way." 
 
 " I'll bet he'll remember the way you look well 
 'nough," said Abby, intent upon her own joyous, if 
 unaccustomed, thoughts. " Don't you worry a mite 
 'bout that!" 
 
 So it came to pass that Malvina Bennett almost 
 prayerfully cut into shining breadths of silvery, 
 silken tissue. And Abby Whiton scrubbed the floors 
 and shelves of her kitchen to a bridal whiteness, and 
 examined her stores of pickles and preserves with a 
 provident eye. 
 
 " I d'clare, tnis 'ere goods looks 'most like a weddin - 
 dress, come to make it up," ventured Miss Bennett 
 in a timid whisper ; this, while she reverently applied 
 a warm iron to the long seams of the skirt. 
 
 "It doos look consid'able lib? it," admitted Abby 
 Whiton dryly. " But I guess it ain't fer you ner 
 me t' say what 'tis for." 
 
 But there were no other dresses made, and the white 
 gown when completed was quietly folded away in the 
 spare-room closet.
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 317 
 
 One day, when a warm, caressing wind was coaxing 
 the last dead leaves from the old apple tree in the 
 garden, the Puffer twins brought Miss Cynthia a tiny 
 bunch of arbutus buds, pink as a baby's palm and 
 fragrant with the ineffable incense of resurrection. 
 " We found 'em way up in the woods, all covered up 
 with dead leaves an' pine needles," exclaimed Edwina, 
 " an' we brought 'em to you because we love you." 
 
 And Miss Cynthia, stooping to kiss their round, 
 freckled faces with heartfelt gratitude was glad of 
 all that happened in her past. It had been a 
 strangely quiet, uneventful life, frozen and pinched 
 and colourless in its earlier years, but crowned with 
 innocent love and happiness at the last, and passing 
 sweet like the wild fragrance of the arbutus. 
 
 "I have had everything to make me happy this 
 year," she whispered to herself, " everything, and 
 I am not afraid!" 
 
 The still undercurrent of her thoughts lent a touch- 
 ing dignity and peace to her gentle presence. The 
 poor and sick in Innisfield and they were many 
 touched her small hand with longing, and blessed her 
 with dimmed eyes.
 
 318 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 The teasing, persistent little pain had left her long 
 since. But of this she thought but seldom. She 
 thought only that it was April, and she was not 
 afraid. 
 
 The frogs were peeping loud in the distant marshes 
 and the willows wove golden arabesques against the 
 warm blue of the sky the day that Rosalie Scott 
 found Miss Cynthia once more walking on the upland 
 road. The girl's face shone with a great and satis- 
 fying joy which added the last charm to her vivid 
 beauty. 
 
 "I have been lonely this winter," she confessed; 
 "but I have learned my lesson, and it is not too 
 late. I want to thank you for telling me what you 
 did, Miss Cynthia." 
 
 "Has George Blossom come home?" asked Miss 
 Cynthia directly, and read the answer to her question 
 in the girl's happy eyes. 
 
 " It will be a long time, of course," Rosalie told her 
 shyly. " But we shan't mind that now that we know 
 we love each other. Mother didn't like it very well 
 at first. But father says George is just the sort of 
 a man he likes. Of course mother always thinks
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 319 
 
 just as father does, and now she we all are very 
 happy." The girl stooped to kiss Miss Cynthia, 
 with all the warmth of her newly learned lessons in 
 loving. 
 
 The long, soft twilight of April had settled like 
 gray, brooding wings over the village by the time 
 Miss Cynthia entered her own door. 
 
 Someone was waiting for her in the cheerful circle 
 of the firelight. He turned at her approach and 
 looked at her with his kind, boyish, brown eyes. 
 "Will you be angry with me because I came sooner 
 than I said? " he asked. " I couldn't wait, dear." 
 
 " I I am not angry," faltered Miss Cynthia. " I 
 think I am glad." But she shrank away from his 
 eager arms in piteous, white alarm. " I ought to 
 have told you before ! " she cried out. " I have been 
 cruel unkind!" Her voice broke into a tremulous 
 wail of pain and longing. 
 
 " You must tell me now," he said in a low, determined 
 voice. He took her cold hands in both his own and 
 held them in a firm, warm clasp. " You will tell me 
 at once."
 
 320 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 
 
 Then she told him, in short, disjointed sentences. 
 " It was only one year," she finished, " and the year 
 is almost over. I am not afraid I am not afraid. 
 But oh, / want to live! " 
 
 He asked her one brief question the name of the 
 Boston physician in a strangely altered voice. His 
 face had grown stern and quiet. He bent his tall 
 head and listened to her heart-beats, checking her 
 startled exclamation with an authoritative word and 
 gesture. 
 
 Then he drew her strongly to him. " Thank God ! " 
 he breathed. She felt a man's awful tears upon her 
 upturned face. His lips brushed them away. 
 
 " You will not die," he said. " My little June Day 
 mine at last ! " 
 
 Abby Whiton explained matters to Mrs. Nellie Ryan 
 Cartright with joyous garrulity in the kitchen that 
 same evening. " Yes, they're a-goin' to git married 
 right off. The' ain't an airthly thing to hender. 
 ' My ! ' I says to her, ' ain't it lucky you've got that 
 han'some white dress all made up. I was thinkin' to 
 m'self all along it was jest the thing fer a weddin'-
 
 The Resurrection of Miss Cynthia 321 
 
 dress.' But Miss Cynthy, she says she's goin' to be 
 married in her trav'lin'-dress. It doos beat all! But 
 I don't s'pose the doctor'd care ef she stood up in a 
 gingham apern. 
 
 " What ! didn't I tell ye that Jim Blake's a doctor? 
 Well, he is, an' makin' money han' over fist out west. 
 I guess she'll git took keer of f'om now on. I never 
 see anythin' like the way he looks at her. You'd 
 think she was made out o' di'mun's. Of course I'm 
 goin' west with 'em. Miss Cynthy says she couldn't 
 git 'long without me, nohow." 
 
 In the privacy of the kitchen pantry, by the flour 
 barrel which had served as an effectual altar for her 
 many fervent petitions, Abby Whiton returned thanks 
 in a jubilant whisper. " She's in there a-laughin' 
 with him this minute, O, Lord ! I kin hear 'em, an' it 
 doos soun' happy an' contented clear through. I'm s' 
 glad an' s' thankful I don' know what t' do, ner what 
 t' say. But, O Lord, I guess mebbe, seem' 'at you 
 understood all along how it was with Miss Cynthy, 
 you'll understan' me now, without my sayin' no 
 more. Amen ! "
 
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