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The armies both of them are now far away and if they leave us in peace for a few months, your Daddy will make so much money that you can have the desire of your heart, my dear." And the "desire of her heart" just then was and had been for months a little automobile in which she might ride over the roads about Poketown.
When I left Poketown twenty-five years ago I thought it had creeping paralysis! It must be worse by this time. "But you keep alive, Janice, my dear. Keep kicking like the frog in the milk-can. Do something. Don't let the poison of laziness develop in your blood. If they're in a slack way there at Jason's, help 'em out of it. Be your Daddy's own girl. Don't shirk a plain duty.
It's too horrible! I wouldn't want to know any more, child." "But I must know more if there's more to be known. I believe I can telegraph to Cida. At least, Mr. Buchanan at Juarez may know something more about this man's story. I wish there was either telegraph, or telephone, in Poketown." "Gee, Janice!" exclaimed Marty. "Nobody could git over to Middletown to-day. Not even Walky Dexter.
Certainly the outlook from her window was glorious; therefore her faith in life itself and in Poketown and her relatives was renewed as she gazed out upon the beautiful picture fresh-painted by the fingers of Dawn. All out-of-doors beckoned Janice. She hurriedly made her toilet, crept down the squeaking stairs, and softly let herself out, for nobody else was astir about the old Day house.
Day was not one given to idle chatter; but the girl did not notice his silence in her interest in all she saw. It was a beautiful, shady way, with the hill not too steep for comfort. And some of the dwellings set in the midst of their terraced old lawns, were so beautiful! It was the beauty of age, however; there did not seem to be a single new thing in Poketown.
Then you can tell me just what Poketown is like. I've got to stay there with my uncle while father is in Mexico " "Who's your uncle, child?" demanded the old lady, quickly. "And who's your father?" Janice naturally answered the last question first, for her heart was full of her father and her separation from him. "Mr. Broxton Day is my father, and he used to live in Poketown.
And on Washington's Birthday the Congressman himself visited the village and made an address when the flag was raised for the first time. Gradually, other improvements and changes had taken place in Poketown. There was the steamboat dock. It had been falling to pieces for years.
The state appropriation had been spent carefully, and the new, well-bound books looked "mighty handsome" when visitors came into the place. But the original intention for the place had never been lost sight of. It had been made for the boys and young men of Poketown.
You belong here in Poketown? There's Days live on Hillside Avenue." "Yes, Ma'am," confessed Janice. "Mr. Jason Day is my uncle. But I am Broxton Day's daughter." "Why, do tell!" cried the plump little old lady, who had pink cheeks and the very warmest of warm smiles, as she looked into the girl's hazel eyes. "See here, Pussy," she cried to her sister.
It was Law, not Love, that was preached at the Poketown Union Church; and although the dissertations may have been satisfactory to the older members, they did not attract the young people to service, or feed them when they did come! Janice often wondered if the loud "Amens!" of Elder Concannon, down in the corner, were worth as much to poor little Mr.
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