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Updated: June 7, 2025
Broxton Day sighed more often than had been his wont even during those hard, hard days immediately following the death of Janice's mother. His hearty laugh was not so spontaneous nor heard as often as before. Janice could not speak about this change in her father. She believed she knew why he was so grave and why some of his nights were sleepless.
Day knew how things was goin' she'd turn in her grave, I do believe," went on the neighbor, perhaps not wholly in bitterness. The man's face paled. Miss Peckham did not know how much she was adding to the burden of sorrow in the hearts of Broxton Day and his little daughter. Janice was sobbing now, with her face hidden.
Broxton Day had looked at her with his head held sideways and a quizzical smile in his eyes as well as on his lips. "Different? Do you want to know how to bring about a change? Do something. Don't just talk, or think, or wonder, or wish, or hope; but do! It is all right to say that good things become a reality because somebody has a good thought. Actually, thinking does not bring things about.
Irwine's sisters, as any person of family within ten miles of Broxton could have testified, were such stupid, uninteresting women! It was quite a pity handsome, clever Mrs. Irwine should have had such commonplace daughters.
And he is father's friend," sighed Janice, showing the letter to Nelson Saley. "Oh, dear! I wish daddy would leave that hateful old mine and come home." Nevertheless, daddy's return or his abandonment of the mine did not appear imminent. Good news indeed was in Mr. Broxton Day's most recent letters. The way to the border for ore trains was again open.
Well, what can you tell Mrs. Carringford?" "Nothing much about that Mullen Lane property, I fear, that she will want to hear." "Too bad, too bad," said Broxton Day. "I am sorry for her. She is a hard working woman and proud. No chance of helping her?" "I can settle the case for five hundred dollars. I cannot connect Abel Strout with this shake-down for that is what it is.
Only the evening before she had sat here and looked her treasures over. The diary which mother had kept when she was a little girl all the innocent little secrets she had written on the pages which Janice so delighted to read! And the lovely miniature, with mother in the very dress she wore the evening she and Broxton Day were betrothed. Janice knew all about that.
Not at all like that slouching Luke Britton, who, when she once walked with him all the way from Broxton to Hayslope, had only broken silence to remark that the grey goose had begun to lay. And as for Mr.
"I hope so," said Broxton Day, hurrying away to business. He got the shock mentioned at night when he came to the dinner table. The table was very neatly set; but there were three places. The meal was not elaborate but the food seemed to be cooked all right. Mrs. Watkins brought in the dishes and then sat down with Mr. Day and Janice to eat.
Day's request. And if Janice had been near enough to have heard the first words that passed between them, she would have suffered a great drop in the temperature of her excitement. "How's the leg, Broxton?" asked the visitor. "Coming on, Randolph. What's the news?" "Well, yes, I have news," said the lawyer, nodding. "I know it. Or you would not have found time to get up into this part of the town.
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