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Updated: June 18, 2025
The fences were on the line, had been braced, and there were no pickets missing. The gates hung true. The walks were neatly kept and there were brilliant flower beds in front, for flower seeds cost little. What the Carringford could do to make the place homelike without spending money, had certainly been done. "It's an awful place to live," ventured Amy, still gazing sidewise at Janice.
And, perhaps, she did not care to join the girls who brought nice lunches in pretty baskets. So Janice could not talk with her new friend until school was out. Janice had determined to make a friend of Amy Carringford. Oh, yes, when Janice Day made up her mind to a thing she usually did it. And she had conceived a great liking for Amy, as well as a deep interest in the whole Carringford family.
"I wish you were more like her." It was from this remark that Stella had derived the statement that Janice was "sly." That term, quite justly, might have been applied to Stella. For Stella would have cared very little if neither Janice nor Amy Carringford had come to the birthday party. Only Mr. Latham had insisted that his daughter should invite every girl in her grade at school.
"Yes," remarked the lawyer, "I sent both out as required." "Must say," continued Carringford, "I wasn't much surprised, because I always knew Uncle Joshua to be a queer old duck. Realizing that unless I got a move on me and beat Cousin Jack home I'd stand to lose out in the game I managed to get passage on the La Bretagne, of the French Line.
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.
Why people like the Carringford, manifestly well bred and intelligent, had chosen Mullen Lane to live in puzzled not only the busybodies, like Miss Peckham, of this part of Greensboro, but amazed other people as well. Wherever Mrs.
Down-stairs she stopped again in the spotless, shining kitchen, the clean odour where soft-soap is used always lingering. Alexina liked it; all her knowledge of the dear homely details of life she was familiar with, she had gotten here. "You remember the Leroys?" she asked Mrs. Carringford. "Why, yes; I sent them milk twice a day." "Did you know why they went away?"
Not if he could prove that he knew nothing about the flaw in the title. Or rather, not if Mrs. Carringford could not prove that Strout did know his title was fraudulent. Besides, the place might have been sold for taxes some time. That would invalidate the title in this state, unless the original owner, or his heirs, who owed the taxes, had quitclaimed."
"I have not yet finished," resumed the lawyer, with a queer smile. "The boy has been left two thousand pounds for his name. The father receives a thousand pounds, payable either to him, or, if he be dead, to his widow. So you see there will be another five thousand dollars coming to you, Mrs. Carringford." At that, Mrs. Carringford for the first time lost control of herself.
For some reason best known to himself he had first transferred the property to one John Jamison a farm hand of that section and had then had this Jamison transfer the property to Mrs. Carringford, he paying the difference represented by the mortgage he held. "He said Jamison had grown tired of his bargain a week after he bought it," Mrs. Carringford explained. "He wanted Mr.
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