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'Rill would not go without Janice, and they usually stole in by the side door without saying a word to the storekeeper. He was grateful for their aid, and little Lottie was benefited by their ministrations. Then another letter came from Broxton Day.

Indeed, Mr. Broxton Day wrote just as though his own situation, at least, had not changed. And he seemed to have received most of her letters. What did it mean? If the guerrilla leader had been shot by the Federals, how was it possible for her father's letters to still come along, redirected in Juan Dicampa's hand? Doubt assailed her mind many doubts, indeed. Although Mr.

"Ah, yes; Ah got yo' letter long, long ago, Mistah Brocky. It nigh broke my heart. Ma lil' Miss Laura! But, glory!" and she turned suddenly to Janice, "here she is ober again!" "I know it," said Broxton Day, wiping his eyes. "Come in and sit down, Mammy. Janice does not remember you, I suppose. But I remember well enough that we never had any housekeeping troubles when Mammy Blanche was on hand."

"It doesn't seem to me as though I really wanted but one thing in all this big, beautiful world!" said his cousin, with longing in her voice. "What's that, child?" asked her aunt. "I want daddy to come home." Marty went off whistling. Aunt 'Mira rocked a while, "Ya-as," she finally said, "if Broxton Day would only let them Mexicaners alone an' come up here to Polktown "

"The companionship of a woman, Mr. Day," said Mrs. Carringford. "She should be more with some woman whom you can trust. Not the women you have had here to work for you." Janice had run away to bathe her eyes and make herself tidy. Broxton Day listened to this woman's advise with a serious countenance. "I was just suggesting her going to spend a part of the summer with her aunt in Vermont.

Broxton Day was held a virtual prisoner, by first one warring faction and then another. At one time, being friendly with a certain chief of the belligerents, Mr. Day had taken out ore and had had the mine in good running condition. Some money had flowed into the coffers of the mining company. Janice benefited in a way during this season of plenty.

Broxton Day was not exactly prepared for. Mrs. Watkins came to the house the next day for a late breakfast which she got herself, Janice and her father having already cooked their own and eaten it. "I haven't been used to getting up very early," confessed the woman, preening a bit. "But, of course, I shall change my breakfast hour to conform with yours."

Broxton Day seemed still in safety, the mystery surrounding his situation in Mexico grew mightily in Janice's mind. That evening Hopewell Drugg returned from Boston and reported that Lottie would have to remain under the doctors' care for a time. They, too, were in doubt. Nobody could yet say whether the child would lose her sight or not.

"I always feel the need of a hearty lunch Mr. Day," sniffed Mrs. Watkins. "I really need it after doing the morning's work. To keep one's self in condition is a duty we owe ourselves don't you think?" "You seem to have stocked up pretty well with canned goods, Mrs. Watkins," was Broxton Day's rejoinder, now scanning the long memorandum from Harriman's. "Dear, dear! French peas?

"That's what I tell her," snorted Miss Peckham. "Folks that have had the off-scourings of the earth, like you have had, Broxton Day, in your kitchen, ain't used to having lady-help about the house." "I hope Janice and I will appreciate Mrs. Watkins' efforts, if she wishes to try the place," Mr. Day said, in rather a bewildered tone.