"Where is she?" he asked.

It was a queer question, and Jethro's answer was quite as lacking in
convention.

"G-gone to Brampton--gone to Brampton."

"Gone to Brampton! Do you mean to say--? What is she doing there?" Bob
demanded.

"Teachin' school," said Jethro; "g-got Miss Goddard's place."

Bob did not reply for a moment. The little schoolhouse was the only
building in Brampton he had glanced at as he came through. Mrs. Merrill
had told him that she might take that place, but he had little imagined
she was already there on her platform facing the rows of shining little
faces at the desks. He had deemed it more than possible that he might see
Jethro at Coniston, but he had not taken into account that which he might
say to him. Bob had, indeed, thought of nothing but Cynthia, and of the
blow that had fallen upon her. He had tried to realize the, multiple
phases of the situation which confronted him. Here was the man who, by
the conduct of his life, had caused the blow; he, too, was her
benefactor; and again, this same man was engaged in the bitterest of
conflicts with his father, Isaac D. Worthington, and it was this conflict
which had precipitated that blow. Bob could not have guessed, by looking
at Jethro Bass, how great was the sorrow which had fallen upon him. But
Bob knew that Jethro hated his father, must hate him now, because of
Cynthia, with a hatred given to few men to feel. He thought that Jethro
would crush Mr. Worthington and ruin him if he could; and Bob believed he
could.