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"Why, try the next applicant," said Broxton Day easily. "I will look in at the agencies again." "I'm afraid that won't do any good, Daddy," sighed Janice. "Delia came from the agency, and you see what she was like. And Olga " "No," interrupted Mr. Day, "Olga came direct from Pickletown." "Well, it doesn't matter.
Britton's at Broxton wake, the beaux that she would say "No" to for a long while, and the prospect of the wedding that was to come at last when she would have a silk gown and a great many clothes all at once. These things were all flat and dreary to her now; everything would be a weariness, and she would carry about for ever a hopeless thirst and longing.
When people asked Adam whose little lad he was, he had a sense of distinction as he answered, "I'm Thias Bede's lad." He was quite sure everybody knew Thias Bede didn't he make the wonderful pigeon-house at Broxton parsonage? Those were happy days, especially when Seth, who was three years the younger, began to go out working too, and Adam began to be a teacher as well as a learner.
She ran in at the side door, and as she did so she heard voices in the kitchen. She halted, listening; for one of the voices she recognized as Miss Peckham's and it was high-pitched and angry. "I wash my hands of you both I can tell you that? exclaimed the spinster from next door. "I don't know why I should have put myself out to help you, Broxton Day, in any case."
Occasionally Arlo Junior would shake something out of a paper to the ground and the cats would immediately roll and frolic and slap playfully at one another, acting as the girl had never seen cats act before. The pleasantly situated cottage belonging to Mr. Broxton Day stood almost directly across the way from the Arlo Weeks' place on Knight Street.
"Where is your father, Bella?" Tom asked. "I don't know. Last I saw of him he came through here with a medicine show. I didn't tell Aunt Suse, but I ran away at night and went to Broxton to see him. But he said business was poor. He got paid so much a bottle commission on the sales of Chief Henry Red-dog's Bitters. He didn't think the show would keep going much longer." "Oh!"
But there is one thing I will have, Mrs. Watkins," he said sternly. "I will have you attend to your work, and not put it on Janice, while you remain here!" "I do not understand you, sir," said the woman, her nose in the air. "Let me make myself plain then," said Broxton Day. "I will not pay you wages to shift such work as this," pointing to the scrub-pail, "upon my daughter.
The article she feared to see was upon the first page of the paper. A Fugitive's Story of the Christmas-Week Execution in Granadas District John Makepiece Tells His Story in Cida; His Fellow-Prisoner, Broxton Day, Fills One of Raphele's "Christmas Graves" Janice Day could never have told how long she sat there, elbows on the bureau, eyes glued to those black lines on the newspaper page.
When she awoke and lit her lamp in the early morning, there he was looking at her from the bureau; and when she retired she kissed the picture in lieu of having his real presence to bid good-night. Those gray eyes of Broxton Day reminded her always of his oft-spoken motto: "Do something!"
"Yes, you are getting the best grade of everything we carry, Mr. Day. That lady at your house evidently knows what she wants." "Look here!" exclaimed Broxton Day, with some heat. "I haven't suddenly become a millionaire. I can't stand these prices. When she comes in here to buy, give her the grade of meat we have always had.
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