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"I am not used to a poverty-stricken household, Mr. Day!" sneered Mrs. Watkins. "But you soon will be," Broxton Day told her grimly, "if I let you have a free hand in this way. I am not a rich man, and I soon will be a poor one at this rate." "I want you to understand, Mr. Day, that no lady can demean herself." "Wait a moment," said the man, still grimly. "I did not hire you to be a lady.
We must get to Broxton." "Oh, sure, it'll not take the likes of you long to be doin' that," complimented the man, with a trace of brogue in his voice. "You look equal to doin' twice as much." "Well, we don't want to be caught in the rain," spoke Mollie. "Ah, 'twill be nothin' more than a sun shower, it will make your complexions better not that you need it though," he hastened to add.
He had been shot three hours after his capture. It was an awful thing and awful to read about. The whole affair had happened a long way from that part of Chihuahua in which daddy's mine was situated; but Janice immediately realized that the "long arm" of Dicampa could no longer keep Mr. Broxton Day from disaster, or punish those who offended the American mining man.
"Why, Janice! How was that?" "Oh, he did the cleaning very well. As well as it could be done. That soft coal made marks on the walls that never will come off until they are painted again. It's awful smutchy that coal." "I know," agreed Broxton Day. "But about Arlo?" "I'm coming to that," she said smiling. "You see, Arlo Junior was just about through when his mother come over looking for him.
It was at these times, when they spoke of the lost treasures, that Janice was so heart-stricken because of daddy's expression of countenance. Those letters from her dear, dead mother, which her father prized so highly, were continually in Broxton Day's mind. She realized it was a loss that time would hardly mend. "And all my fault! All my fault!" she sobbed when she was alone in her bedroom.
BEFORE twelve o'clock there had been some heavy storms of rain, and the water lay in deep gutters on the sides of the gravel walks in the garden of Broxton Parsonage; the great Provence roses had been cruelly tossed by the wind and beaten by the rain, and all the delicate-stemmed border flowers had been dashed down and stained with the wet soil.
Adolphus Irwine, Rector of Broxton, Vicar of Hayslope, and Vicar of Blythe, a pluralist at whom the severest Church reformer would have found it difficult to look sour.
There they spent an enjoyable evening, meeting some friends who had been invited in. Amy said nothing about the disclosure to her of the strange incident in her life. Probably, she reflected, her relative already knew it. Morning saw them on the move again, with Broxton, where a married sister of Grace lived, as their objective point.
"I wonder if these cooks think that meat grows, all seasoned, on 'the critter'? They must believe that. However, does she do the other work well?" "I I don't know yet," murmured Janice. "I'll help her all I can, Daddy, and tell her how, if she'll let me." "Well, maybe we can make something of her," said Broxton Day, with his hearty and cheerful laugh.
Carringford firmly. "It seems to me I shall understand it better in front of him." "Daddy is waiting for you," said Janice urgently. "He has a broken leg so he can't come here to get you," she added looking at the lawyer significantly. Maybe the fact of this assurance that Broxton Day was practically helpless physically led the lawyer to take a chance in the living room.
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