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You must not take it so to heart. You will not bear it all alone, Nelson. Every friend you have in Polktown will help you." She had come close to him, her hands fluttering upon his breast and her eyes, sparkling with teardrops, raised to his face. "Oh, Janice!" he groaned, and swept her into his arms. That was a very serious Saturday night at the old Day house, as well as at the Beaseley cottage.
Janice ran rather than walked the whole way home, and, not stopping when she reached the house to tell her father of her successful mission, or even to remove her cloak and calash, she tripped upstairs to her room, went straight to her bureau, and, pulling open the bottom drawer, took from it the unset miniature, and scrutinised it closely for a moment.
Dad tried to trade her the other day for a stack of fodder, and the man wouldn't have her. He'll have ter trade her off 'sight unseen' if he ever gits rid of her. Ye see, we never do raise feed enough, an' she certainly come through the winter in bad shape; an' our paster fence is down in places so we can't let her get the grass." "Why, the poor creature!" murmured Janice.
Among those who thought it necessary to go was the lodging-house keeper; for, her husband being an officer of one of the row galleys in the river, she looked for nothing less than instant death at the hands of the British. With a plea to Janice, therefore, that she would care for the house and do what she could to save it from British plundering, the woman and her daughter departed.
"I know we live in Mullen Lane and it is not always possible for me to dress my children as nicely as I wish; but they shall not run barefoot like the little hoodlums that live about us. And Syd bothers me to death about it." But Janice could only laugh a bit at this.
Then the rain, in fitful gusts at first, pelted them so sharply that the girl cried out. "Oh, Nelson, it's like hail!" she gasped. A vivid flash of lightning cleaved the cloud; the thunder-peal drowned the schoolmaster's reply. But Janice felt herself fairly caught up in his arms and he mounted some steps quickly. A voice shouted: "Bring her right this way, school teacher! Right in here!"
Janice, of course, was perfectly innocent and quite unsuspicious of any attack, and Amy did not dream that Stella did not like her. Had not the farmer's daughter invited Amy to her party? In fact Amy was liked by almost everybody, teachers and pupils included. In arithmetic Stella always was dull, and on this particular morning she was more than ordinarily careless in recitation.
"Oh, prithee," broke in Janice, without a thought of anything but her father, "was he well, and where is he?" "He was smarting a bit when he wrote," Bagby remarked with evident enjoyment, "but he's got safe to his friends on Staten Island, so we are n't going to let you stay where you can be sneaking news to the British through him.
"Astonished, aren't you, Mr. Drugg? Don't you believe if both windows were like that, and the whole store cleaned up, folks would sit up and take notice?" "I I believe you," admitted the shopkeeper, still staring. "And wouldn't it pay?" "I I don't know. It might." "Isn't it worth trying?" demanded Janice, cheerily.
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.
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