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Updated: June 7, 2025
Since Arnette worked at the "big house" there was no alternative, and it was believed that out of the union with her master, Henry was born. A young slave by the name of Broxton Kemp was given to the woman as husband at the time John Kemp was born, it is from this man that "Prophet" took his name. Life on the plantation held nothing but misery for the slaves of John Gay.
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 remember that I can't, and won't, pay for sweetbreads at a dollar and a half a pair." "Why, bless you!" said the butcher, grinning, "I've never seen the lady. She always telephones. She's some relative of yours, isn't she, Mr. Day? She certainly does order high-handed." "And she wanted to do the marketing herself," groaned Broxton Day, as he went away after paying the bill.
"So Junior came over according to promise?" said her father, interested. "Yes, indeed. And he did work, Daddy! You should have seen him." "The vision of Arlo Weeks, Junior, working really would be worth the price of admission," chuckled Broxton Day. "That isn't the worst of it for Arlo," said Janice gaily. "You see, his helping me clean up that back kitchen got him a bad reputation."
She was a person who was determined to take advantage if she could. In the parlance of the section of the country from which Broxton Day hailed, she was one of those persons who "if you give 'em an inch they take an ell." From the first she made a strong attempt to carry things with a high hand. Mr. Day was almost sorry he had allowed her to come into the house. Mrs.
There was daddy himself at least an hour and a half too early. "Well, well!" exclaimed Broxton Day, rather sternly, "what is the meaning of this?" "Dirt on the floor boards scrubbing brush elbow grease," retorted his daughter, making vigorous explanatory motions. "Didn't you ever see a 'scrub lady' before, Daddy?" "Humph! so there is a Cinderella in the house is there?" he said. Mrs.
It was on the day following the burial of the Narnay baby that the mystery surrounding Mr. Broxton Day's situation in Mexico was quite cleared up, and much to his daughter's satisfaction. Quite a packet of letters arrived for Janice several delayed epistles, indeed, coming in a single wrapper. With them was a letter in the exact script of Juan Dicampa that mysterious brigand chief who was Mr.
There had been an execution on the day John Makepiece had fled from the place; but the victims were some unfortunate Indians. The bandit had not dared kill the remaining American prisoner. Mr. Broxton Day had managed to get into a shaft of the mine and there had lain hidden until Raphele, and his gang, had departed.
Day had become serious again as they came in sight of the cottage in which so much of a disturbing nature had happened of late. For a few days, it was true, Broxton Day had hoped the new housekeeper would prove an efficient and trustworthy employee, but what he had seen on coming unexpectedly home this Saturday noon, had caused doubt to rise in his mind.
Daddy was writing to her regularly. The mine buildings were being re-erected. The old force had come back to work, and for the first time since Broxton Day had arrived in Mexico, the outlook for getting out ore and making regular "clean-ups" was bright. But trouble down there was not yet at an end, and that worried her greatly.
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