CHAPTER EIGHT
Henry G. Woodhouse stood alone at the apex of Rainbow’s social pyramid. Not even Jethro Canfield occupied such a position in the estimation of the village. He was a gentleman possessed of broad culture and of personality—and when one added his remarkable distinction of appearance and very considerable wealth, it is not to be wondered at that little men regarded him with awe and were humble in his presence. Good men are by no means so rare as we, seeing with the eye of modern cynicism, are accustomed to declare, and Henry G. Woodhouse was a good man. It was the boast, not of Henry G. himself, but of Rainbow, that no man could point to him and say, “He has wronged me.”
His dignity and reserve made it difficult for most folks to approach him—qualities which had been more pronounced during the past dozen years since the finger of grief and disgrace had touched and hurt him sorely. First, his only daughter Kate, a beauty, willful, overindulged,
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