"Good-night!" exploded the school teacher, with a burst of laughter.
"My little homily is put out of business. A bluebird, indeed!"
"But the bluebird is so pretty—and so welcome in Spring. See! there he goes." Then she added softly, still clinging to Nelson's arm:
"'The bluebird—for happiness.'"
CHAPTER VI
THE TENTACLES OF THE MONSTER
The sweet south wind blew that night and helped warm to life the Winter-chilled breast of Mother Earth. Her pulses leaped, rejuvenated; the mellowing soil responded; bud and leaf put forth their effort to reach the sun and air.
At Janice Day's casement the odors of the freshly-turned earth and of the growing things whispered of the newly begun season. The ruins of the ancient fortress across the lake to the north still frowned in the mists of night when Janice left her bed and peered from the open window, looking westward.
Behind the mountain-top which towered over Polktown it was already broad day; but the sun would not appear, to gild the frowning fortress, or to touch the waters of the lake with its magic wand, for yet several minutes.
As the first red rays of the sun graced the rugged prospect across the lake, Janice went through the barnyard and climbed the uphill pasture lane. She was bound for the great "Overlook" rock in the second-growth, from which spot she never tired of looking out upon the landscape—and upon life itself.
Janice Day took many of her problems to the Overlook. There, alone with the wild things of the wood, with nothing but the prospect to tempt her thoughts, she was wont to decide those momentous questions that come into every young girl's life.
As she sped up the path past the sheep sheds on this morning, her feet were suddenly stayed by a most unexpected incident. Janice usually had the hillside to herself at this hour; but now she saw a dark figure huddled under the shelter, the open side of which faced her.
"A bear!" thought Janice. Yet there had not been such a creature seen in the vicinity of Polktown for years, she knew.
She hesitated. The "bear" rolled over, stretched himself, and yawned a most prodigious yawn.
"Goodness, mercy, me!" murmured Janice Day. "It's a man!"
But it was not. It was a boy. Janice popped down behind a boulder and watched, for at first she had no idea who he could be. Certainly he must have been up here in the sheepfold all night; and a person who would spend a night in the open, on the raw hillside at this time of year, must have something the matter with him, to be sure.
"Why—why, that's Jack Besmith! He worked for Mr. Massey all Winter.
What is he doing here?" murmured Janice.
She did not rise and expose herself to the fellow's gaze. For one thing, the ex-drug clerk looked very rough in both dress and person.
His uncombed hair was littered with straw and bits of corn-blades from the fodder on which he had lain. His clothing was stained. He wore no linen and the shoes on his feet were broken.
Never in her life had Janice Day seen a more desperate looking young fellow and she was actually afraid of him. Yet she knew he came of a respectable family, and that he had a decent lodging in town. What business had he up here at her uncle's sheepfold?
Janice continued her walk no farther. She remained in hiding until she saw Jack Besmith stumble out of the sheep pasture and down the hill behind the Day stables—taking a retired route toward the village.
Coming down into the barnyard once more, Janice met Marty with a foaming milk pail.
"Hullo, early bird!" he sang out. "Did you catch the worm this morning?"
Janice shuddered a trifle. "I believe I did, Marty," she confessed.
"At least, I saw some such crawling thing."
"Hi tunket! Not a snake so early in the year?"
"I don't know," and his cousin smiled, yet with gravity.
"Huh?" queried the boy, with curiosity, for he saw that something unusual had occurred.
Janice gravely told him whom she had seen in the sheepfold. "And, Marty, I believe he must have been up there all night—sleeping outdoors such weather as this. What for, do you suppose?"
Marty professed inability to explain; but after he had taken the milk in to his mother, he slipped away and ran up to the sheep pasture himself.
"I say, Janice," he said, grinning, when he came back. "I can solve the mystery, I can."
"What mystery?" asked his cousin, who was flushed now with helping her aunt get breakfast.
"The mystery of the 'early worm' that you saw this mornin'." He brought his hand from behind him and displayed an empty, amber-colored flask on which was a gaudy label announcing its contents to have been whiskey and sold by "L. Parraday, Polktown."
"Oh, dear! Is that the trouble with the Besmith boy?" murmured
Janice.
"That's how he came to lose his job with Massey."
"Poor fellow! He looked dreadful!"
"Oh, he's a bad egg," said her cousin, carelessly.
Janice hurried through breakfast, for the car was to be brought forth to-day. Marty had been fussing over it for almost a week. The wind was drying up the roads and it was possible for Janice to take a spin out into the open country.
Marty's prospects of enjoying the outing, however, were nipped before he could leave the table.
"Throw the chain harness on the colts, Marty," said his father. "The 'tater-patch is dry enough to put the plow in. And I'll want ye to help me."
"Oh—Dad! I got to help Janice get her car out. This ain't no time to plow for 'taters," declared Marty.
"Your mouth'll be open wider'n anybody else's in the house for the 'taters when they're grown," said Uncle Jason, calmly. "You got to do your share toward raisin' 'em."
"Oh, Dad!" ejaculated the boy again.
"Now, Marty, you stop talkin'!" cried his mother.
"Huh! you wanter make a feller dumb around here, too. S'pose Janice breaks down on the road?" he added, with reviving hope.
"I guess she'll find somebody that knows fully as much about them gasoline buggies as you do, Son," observed Uncle Jason, easily. "You an' me'll tackle the 'tater field."
When his father spoke so positively Marty knew there was no use trying to change him. He frowned, and muttered, and kicked the table leg as he got up, but to no avail.
Janice, later, got into her car and started for a ride. She put the Kremlin right at the hill and it climbed Hillside Avenue with wonderful ease. The engine purred prettily and not a thing went wrong.
"Poor Marty! It's too bad he couldn't go, too," she thought. "I'd gladly share this with somebody."
Nelson, she knew, was busy this forenoon. It took no little of his out-of-school time to prepare the outline for the ensuing week's work. Besides, on this Saturday morning, there was a special meeting of the School Committee, as he had told her the afternoon before. Something to do with the course of lectures before mentioned. And the young principal of Polktown's graded school was very faithful to his duties.
She thought of Mrs. Drugg and little Lottie; but there was trouble at the Drugg home. Somehow, on this bright, sweet-smelling morning, Janice shrank from touching anything unpleasant, or coming into communication with anybody who was not in attune with the day.
She was fated, however, to rub elbows with Trouble wherever she went and whatever she did. She ran the Kremlin past the rear of Walky Dexter's place and saw Walky himself currying Josephus and his mate on the stable floor. The man waved his currycomb at her and grinned. But his well-known grimace did not cheer Janice Day.
"Dear me! Poor Walky is in danger, too," thought the young girl. "Why! the whole of Polktown is changing. In some form or other that liquor selling at the Inn touches all our lives. I wonder if other people see it as plainly as I do."
She ran up into the Upper Middletown Road, as far out as Elder Concannon's. The old gentleman—once Janice Day's very stern critic, but now her staunch friend—was in the yard when Janice approached in her car. He waved a cordial hand at her and turned away from the man he had been talking with.
"Well, there ye have it, Trimmins," the girl heard the elder say, as her engine stopped. "If you can find a man or two to help you, I'll let you have a team and you can go in there and haul them logs. There's a market for 'em, and the logs lie jest right for hauling. You and your partner can make a profit, and so can I."
Then he said to Janice: "Good morning, child! You're as fresh to look at as a morning-glory."
She had nodded and smiled at the patriarchal old gentleman; but her eyes were now on the long and lanky looking woodsman who stood by.
"Good day, Mr. Trimmins," she said, when she had returned Elder Concannon's greeting. "Is Mrs. Trimmins well? And my little Virginia and all the rest of them?"
"The fambly's right pert, Miss," Trimmins said.
Janice had a question or two to ask the elder regarding the use of the church vestry for some exercises by the Girl's Guild of which she had been the founder and was still the leading spirit.
"Goodness, yes!" agreed the elder. "Do anything you like, Janice, if you can keep those young ones interested in anything besides dancing and parties. Still, what can ye expect of the young gals when their mothers are given up to folly and dissipation?
"There's Mrs. Marvin Petrie and Mrs. Major Price want to be 'patronesses,' I believe they call themselves, of an Assembly Ball, an' want to hold the ball at Lem Parraday's hotel. It's bad enough to have them dances; but to have 'em at a place where liquor is sold, is a sin and a shame! I wish Lem Parraday had lost the hotel entirely, before he got a liquor license."
"Oh, Elder! It is dreadful that liquor should be sold in Polktown," Janice said, from the seat of the automobile. "I'm just beginning to see it."
"That's what it is," said the elder, sturdily.
"It's a shame Mr. Parraday was ever allowed to have a license at the
Lake View Inn."
"Wal—it does seem too bad," the elder agreed, but with less confidence in his tone.
"I know they say the Inn scarcely paid him and his wife, and he might have had to give it up this Spring," Janice said.
"Ahem! That would have been unfortunate for the mortgagee," slowly observed the old man.
"Mr. Cross Moore?" Janice quickly rejoined. "Well! he could afford to lose a little money if anybody could."
"Tut, tut!" exclaimed the elder, who had a vast respect for money.
"Don't say that, child. Nobody can afford to lose money."
Janice turned her car about soberly. She saw that the ramification of this liquor selling business was far-reaching, indeed. Elder Concannon spoke only too truly.
Where self-interest was concerned most people would lean toward the side of liquor selling.
"The tentacles of the monster have insinuated themselves into our social and business life, as well as into our homes," she thought. "Why—why, what can I do about it? Just me, a girl all alone."
CHAPTER VII
SWEPT ON BY THE CURRENT
Janice picked up Trimmins on the road to town. The lanky Southerner, who lived as a squatter with his ever-increasing family back in the woods, was a soft-spoken man with much innate politeness and a great distaste for regular work. He said the elder had just offered him a job in the woods that he was going to take if he could get a man to help him.
"I heard you talking about it, Mr. Trimmins," the young girl said, with her eyes on the road ahead and her foot on the gas pedal. "I hope you will make a good thing out of it."
"Not likely. The elder's too close for that," responded the man, with a twinkle in his eye.
"Yes. I suppose that Elder Concannon considers a small profit sufficient. He got his money that way—by 'littles and dribbles'—and I fancy he thinks small pay is all right."
"My glo-ree! You bet he does!" said Trimmins. "But the elder never had but one—leastways, two—chillen to raise. He wouldn't ha' got rich very fast with my family—no, sir!"
"Perhaps that is so," Janice admitted.
"Tell ye what, Miss," the woodsman went on to say, "a man ought to git paid accordin' to the mouths there is to home to feed. I was readin' in a paper t'other day that it took ten dollars a week to take proper care of a man and his wife, and there ought to be added to them ten dollars two dollars a week ev'ry time they got a baby."
"Why! wouldn't that be fine?" cried Janice, laughing.
"It sure would be a help," said Trimmins, the twinkle in his eye again.
"I reckon both me an' Narnay would 'preciate it."
"Oh! you mean Jim Narnay?" asked Janice, with sudden solemnity.
"Yes ma'am. I'm goin' to see him now. He's a grand feller with the axe and I want him to help me."
Janice wondered how much work would really be done by the two men if they were up in the woods together. Yet Mrs. Narnay and the children might get along better without Jim. Janice had made some inquiries and learned that Mrs. Narnay was an industrious woman, working steadily over her washtub, and keeping the children in comparative comfort when Jim was not at home to drink up a good share of her earnings.
"Are you going down to the cove to see Narnay now, Mr. Trimmins?"
Janice asked, as she turned the automobile into the head of High Street.
"Yes, ma'am. That is, if I don't find him at Lem Parraday's."
"Oh, Mr. Trimmins!" exclaimed Janice, earnestly. "Look for him at the house first. And don't you go near Lem Parraday's, either."
"Wal!" drawled the man. "I s'pose you air right, Miss."
"I'll drive you right down to the cove," Janice said. "I want to see little Sophie, and—and her mother."
"Whatever you say, Miss," agreed the woodsman.
They followed a rather rough street coveward, but arrived safely at the small collection of cottages, in one of which the Narnays lived. Jim Narnay was evidently without money, for he sat on the front stoop, sober and rather neater than Janice was used to seeing him. He was whittling a toy of some kind for the little boys, both of whom were hanging upon him.
Their attitude, as well as what Sophie Narnay had told her, assured Janice that the husband and father of the household was not a cruel man when he was sober. The children still loved him, and he evidently loved them.
"Got a job, Jim?" asked Trimmins, after thanking Janice for the ride, and getting out of the automobile.
"Not a smitch of work since I come out of the woods," admitted the bewhiskered man, rising quickly from the stoop to make way for Janice.
"Come on, old feller," said Trimmins. "I want to talk to you. If you are favorable inclined, I reckon I got jest the job you've been lookin' for."
The two went off behind the cottage. Janice did not know then that there was a short cut to High Street and the Lake View Inn.
Sophie came running to the door to welcome the visitor, her thin little arms red and soapy from dish-water.
"I knowed 'twas you," she said, smiling happily. "They told me you was the only girl in town that owned one o' them cars. And I told mom that you must be awful rich and kind. Course, you must be, or you couldn't afford to give away ten cent pieces so easy."
Mrs. Narnay came to the door, too, her arms right out of the washtub; but Janice begged her not to inconvenience herself. "Keep right on with your work and I'll come around to the back and sit on that stoop," said the young girl.
"And you must see the baby," Sophie urged. "I can bring out the baby if I wrap her up good, can't I, Marm?"
"Have a care with the poor child, Sophie," said Mrs. Narnay, wearily.
"Where's your pop gone?"
"He's walked out with Mr. Trimmins," said the little girl.
The woman sighed, and Janice, all through her visit, could see that she was anxious about her absent husband. The baby was brought out—a pitifully thin, but pretty child—and Sophie nursed her little sister with much enjoyment.
"I wisht she was twins," confessed the little girl. "It must be awful jolly to have twins in the family."
"My soul, child!" groaned Mrs. Narnay. "Don't talk so reckless. One baby at a time is affliction enough—as ye'll find out for yourself some day."
Janice, leaving a little gift to be hidden from Jim Narnay and divided among the children, went away finally, with the determination that Dr. Poole should see the baby again and try to do something for the poor, little, weakly thing. Trimmins and Jim Narnay had disappeared, and Janice feared that, after all, they had drifted over to the Inn, there to celebrate the discovery of the job they both professed to need so badly.
"That awful bar!" Janice told herself. "If it were not here in Polktown those two ne'er-do-wells would have gone right about their work without any celebration at all. I guess Mrs. Scattergood is right—Mr. Lem Parraday ought to be tarred and feathered for ever taking out that license! And how about the councilmen who voted to let him have it?"
As she wheeled into High Street once more a tall, well groomed young man, with rosy cheeks and the bluest of blue eyes, hailed her from the sidewalk.
"Oh, Janice Day!" he cried. "How's the going?"
"Mr. Bowman! I didn't know you had returned," Janice said, smiling and stopping the car. "The going is pretty good."
"Have you been around by the Lower Road where my gang is working?"
"No," Janice replied. "But Marty says the turnout is being put in and that the bridge over the creek is almost done."
"Good! I'll get over there by and by to see for myself." He had set down a heavy suitcase and still held a traveling bag. "Just now," he added, "I am hunting a lodging."
"Hunting a lodging? Why! I thought you were a fixture with Marm
Parraday," Janice said.
"I thought so, too. But it's got too strong for me down there. Besides, it is a rule of the Railroad Company that we shall find board, if possible, where no liquor is sold. I had a room over the bar and it is too noisy for me at night."
"Marm Parraday will be sorry to lose you, Mr. Bowman," Janice said. "Isn't it dreadful that they should have taken up the selling of liquor there?"
"Bad thing," the young civil engineer replied, promptly. "I'm sorry for Marm Parraday. Lem ought to be kicked for ever getting the license," he added vigorously.
"Dear me, Mr. Bowman," sighed Janice. "I wish everybody thought as you do. Polktown needs reforming."
"What! Again?" cried the young man, laughing suddenly. Then he added:
"I expect, if that is so, you will have to start the reform, Miss
Janice. And—and you'd better start it with your friend, Hopewell
Drugg. Really, they are making a fool of him around the Inn—and he
doesn't even know it."
"Oh, Mr. Bowman! what do you mean?" called Janice after him; but the young man had picked up his bag and was marching away, so that he did not hear her question. Before she could start her engine he had turned into a side street.
She ran back up Hillside Avenue in good season for dinner. The potato patch was plowed and Marty had gone downtown on an errand. Janice backed the car into the garage and went upstairs to her room to change her dress for dinner. She was there when Marty came boisterously into the kitchen.
"My goodness! what's the matter with you, Marty Day?" asked his mother shrilly. "What's happened?"
"It's Nelson Haley," the boy said, and Janice heard him plainly, for the door at the foot of the stairs was ajar. "It's awful! They are going to arrest him!"
"What do you mean, Marty Day? Be you crazy?" Mrs. Day demanded.
"What's this? One o' your cheap jokes?" asked the boy's father, who chanced to be in the kitchen, too.
"Guess Nelson Haley don't think it's a joke," said the boy, his voice still shaking. "I just heard all about it. There ain't many folks know it yet——"
"Stop that!" cried his mother. "You tell us plain what Mr. Haley's done."
"Ain't done nothin', of course. But they say he has," Marty stoutly maintained.
"Then what do they accuse him of?" queried Mr. Day.
"They accuse him of stealin'! Hi tunket! ain't that the meanest thing ye ever heard?" cried the boy. "Nelson Haley, stealin'. It gets me for fair!"
"Why—why I can't believe it!" Aunt 'Mira gasped, and she sat down with a thud on one of the kitchen chairs.
"I got it straight," Marty went on to say. "The School Committee's all in a row over it. Ye see, they had the coins——"
"Who had what coins?" cried his mother.
"The School Committee. That collection of gold coins some rich feller lent the State Board of Education for exhibition at the lecture next Friday. They only come over from Middletown last night and Mr. Massey locked them in his safe."
"Wal!" murmured Uncle Jason.
"Massey brought 'em to the school this morning where the committee held a meeting. I hear the committee left the trays of coins in their room while they went downstairs to see something the matter with the heater. When they come up the trays had been skinned clean—'for a fac'!" exclaimed the excited Marty.
"What's that got to do with Mr. Haley?" demanded Uncle Jason, grimly.
"Why—he'd been in the room. I believe he don't deny he was there.
Nobody else was in the buildin' 'cept the janitor, and he was with
Massey and the others in the basement.
"Then coins jest disappeared—took wings and flewed away," declared
Marty with much earnestness.
"What was they wuth?" asked his father, practically.
"Dunno. A lot of money. Some says two thousand and some says five thousand. Whichever it is, they'll put him under big bail if they arrest him."
"Why, they wouldn't dare!" gasped Mrs. Day.
"Say! Massey and them others has got to save their own hides, ain't they?" demanded the suspicious Marty.
"Wal. 'Tain't common sense that any of the School Committee should have stolen the coins," Uncle Jason said slowly. "Mr. Massey, and Cross Moore, and Mr. Middler——"
"Mr. Middler warn't there," said Marty, quickly. "He'd gone to
Middletown."
"Joe Pellet and Crawford there?" asked Uncle Jason.
"All the committee but the parson," his son admitted.
"And all good men," Uncle Jason said reflectively. "Schoolhouse locked?"
"So they say," Marty declared. "That's what set them on Nelson. Only him and the janitor carry keys to the building."
"Who's the janitor?" asked Uncle Jason.
"Benny Thread. You know, the little crooked-backed feller—lives on Paige Street. And, anyway, there wasn't a chance for him to get at the coins. He was with the committee all the time they was out of the room."
"And are they sure Mr. Haley was in there?" asked Aunt 'Mira.
"He admits it," Marty said gloomily. "I don't know what's going to come of it all——"
"Hush!" said Uncle Jason suddenly. "Shut that door."
But it was too late, Janice had heard all. She came down into the kitchen, pale-faced and with eyes that blazed with indignation. She had not removed her hat.
"Come, Uncle Jason," she said, brokenly. "I want you to go downtown with me. If Nelson is in trouble we must help him."
"Drat that boy!" growled Uncle Jason, scowling at Marty. "He's a reg'lar big mouth! He has to tell ev'rything he knows all over the shop."
CHAPTER VIII
REAL TROUBLE
It seemed to Janice Day as though the drift of trouble, which had set her way with the announcement by her father of his unfortunate situation among the Yaqui Indians, had now risen to an overwhelming height.
'Rill's secret misgivings regarding Hopewell Drugg, little Lottie's peril of blindness, the general tendency of Polktown as a whole to suffer the bad effects of liquor selling at the tavern—all these things had added to Janice's anxiety.
Now, on the crest of the threatening wave, rode this happening to
Nelson Haley, an account of which Marty had brought home.
"Come, Uncle Jason," she said again to Mr. Day. "You must come with me. If Nelson is arrested and taken before Justice Little, the justice will listen to you. You are a property owner. If they put Nelson under bail——"
"Hold your hosses," interrupted Uncle Jason, yet not unkindly. "Noah didn't build the ark in a day. We'd best go slow about this."
"Slow!" repeated Janice.
"I guess you wouldn't talk about bein' slow, Jason Day, if you was arrested," Aunt 'Mira interjected.
"Ma's right," said Marty. "Mebbe they'll put him in the cell under the
Town Hall 'fore you kin get downtown."
"There ain't no sech haste as all that," stated Uncle Jason. "What's the matter of you folks?"
He spoke rather testily, and Janice looked at him in surprise. "Why, Uncle!" she cried, "what do you mean? It's Nelson Haley who is in trouble."
"I mean to eat my dinner fust of all," said her uncle firmly. "And so had you better, my gal. A man can't be expected to go right away to court an' put up every dollar he's got in the world for bail, until he's thought it over a little, and knows something more about the trouble."
"Why, Jason!" exploded Aunt 'Mira. "Of course Mr. Haley is innocent and you will help him."
"Hi tunket, Dad!" cried Marty. "You ain't goin' back on Nelson?"
Janice was silent. Her uncle did not look at her, but drew his chair to the table. "I ain't goin' back on nobody," he said steadily. "But I can't do nothing to harm my own folks. If, as you say, Marty, them coins is so vallible, his bail'll be consider'ble—for a fac'. If I put up this here property that we got, an'—an' anything happens—not that I say anythin' will happen—where'd we be?"
"What ever do ye mean, Jason Day?" demanded his wife. "That Nelson
Haley would run away?"
"Ahem! We don't know how strongly the young man's been tempted," said
Mr. Day doggedly.
"Uncle!" cried Janice, aghast.
"Dad!" exclaimed Marty.
"Jase Day! For the land's sake!" concluded Aunt 'Mira.
"Sit down and eat your dinner, Janice," said Uncle Jason a second time, ignoring his wife and son. "Remember, I got a duty to perform to your father as well as to you. What would Broxton Day do in this case?"
"I—I don't know, Uncle Jason," Janice said faintly.
"Fust of all, he wouldn't let you git mixed up in nothin' that would make the neighbors talk about ye," Mr. Day said promptly. "Now, whether Nelson Haley is innercent or guilty, there is bound ter be slathers of talk about this thing and about ev'rybody connected with it."
"He is not guilty, Uncle," said Janice, quietly.
"That's my opinion, too," said Mr. Day, bluntly. "But I want the pertic'lars, jest the same. I want to know all about it. Where there's so much smoke there must be some fire."
"Not allus, Dad," growled Marty, in disgust. "Smoke comes from an oak-ball, but there ain't no fire."
"You air a smart young man," returned his father, coolly. "You'll grow
up to be the town smartie, like Walky Dexter, I shouldn't wonder.
Nelson must ha' done somethin' to put himself in bad in this thing, and
I want to know what it is he done."
"He went into the schoolhouse," grumbled Marty.
"Howsomever," pursued Mr. Day, "if they shut Nelson Haley up on this charge and he ain't guilty, we who know him best will git together and bail him out, if that seems best."
"'If that seems best!'" repeated Aunt 'Mira. "Jason Day! I'm glad the
Lord didn't make me such a moderate critter as you be."
"You're a great friend of Nelse Haley—I don't think!" muttered Marty.
But Janice said nothing more. That Uncle Jason did not rush to Nelson's relief as she would have done had it been in her power, was not so strange. Janice was a singularly just girl.
The hurt was there, nevertheless. She could not help feeling keenly the fact that everybody in Polktown did not respond at once to Nelson's need.
That he should be accused of stealing the collection of coins was preposterous indeed. Yet Janice was sensible enough to know that there would be those in the village only too ready and willing to believe ill of the young schoolmaster.
Nelson Haley's character was not wishy-washy. He had made everybody respect him. His position as principal of the school gave him almost as much importance in the community as the minister. But not all the Polktown folk loved Nelson Haley. He had made enemies as well as friends since coming to the lakeside town.
There were those who would seize upon this incident, no matter how slightly the evidence might point to Nelson, and make "a mountain of a molehill." Nelson was a poor young man. He had come to Polktown with college debts to pay off out of his salary. To those who were not intimately acquainted with the school-teacher's character, it would not seem such an impossibility that he should yield to temptation where money was concerned.
But to Janice the thought was not only abhorrent, it was ridiculous. She would have believed herself capable of stealing quite as soon as she would have believed the accusation against Nelson.
Yet she could not blame Uncle Jason for his calm attitude in this event. It was his nature to be moderate and careful. She did not scold like Aunt 'Mira, nor mutter and glare like Marty. She could not, however, eat any dinner.
It was nerve-racking to sit there, playing with her fork, awaiting Uncle Jason's pleasure. Janice's eyes were tearless. She had learned ere this, in the school of hard usage, to control her emotions. Not many girls of her age could have set off finally with Mr. Day for the town with so quiet a mien. For she insisted upon accompanying her uncle on this quest. She felt that she could not remain quietly at home and wait upon his leisurely report of the situation.
First of all they learned that no attempt had been made as yet to curtail the young schoolmaster's liberty; otherwise the situation was quite as bad as Marty had so eagerly reported.
The collection of gold coins, valued at fifteen hundred dollars, had been left in the committee room next to the principal's office in the new school building. It being Saturday, the outer doors of the building were locked—or supposedly so.
Benny Thread, the janitor, was with the four committeemen in the basement for a little more than half an hour. During that half-hour Nelson Haley had entered the school building, using his pass key, had been to his office, and entered the committee room, and from thence departed, all while the committee was below stairs.
He had been seen both going in and coming out by the neighbors. He carried his school bag in both instances. The collection of coins was of some weight; but Nelson could have carried that weight easily.
The committee, upon returning to the second floor and finding the trays empty, had at once sent for Nelson and questioned him. In their first excitement over the loss of the coins, they had been unwise enough to state the trouble and their suspicions to more than one person. In an hour the story, with many additions, had spread over Polktown. A fire before a high wind could have traveled no faster.
Uncle Jason listened, digested, and made up his mind. Although a moderate man, he thought to some purpose. He was soon satisfied that the four committeemen, having got over their first fright, would do nothing rash. And Janice had much to thank her uncle for in this emergency; for he was outspoken, once having formed an opinion in the matter.
Finding the four committeemen in the drugstore, Uncle Jason berated them soundly:
"I did think you four fellers was safe to be let toddle about alone. I swan I did! But here ye ac' jest like ye was nuthin' but babies!
"Jest because ye acted silly and left that money open for the fust comer to pocket, ye hafter run about an' squeal, layin' it all to the fust person that come that way. If Mr. Middler or Elder Concannon had come inter that school buildin', I s'pose it'd ha' been jest the same. You fellers would aimed ter put it on them—one or t'other. I'm ashamed of ye."
"Wal, Jase Day, you're so smart," drawled Cross Moore, "who d'ye reckon could ha' took the coins?"
"Most anybody could. Mr. Haley sartinly did not," Uncle Jason returned, briskly.
"How d'ye know so much?" demanded Massey, the druggist.
"'Cause I know him," rejoined Mr. Day, quite as promptly as before.
"Aw—that's only talk," said Joe Pellet, pulling his beard reflectively. "Mr. Haley's a nice young man——"
"I've knowed him since ever he come inter this town," Mr. Day interrupted, with energy. "He's too smart ter do sech a thing, even if he was so inclined. You fellers seem ter think he's an idiot. What! steal them coins when he's the only person 'cept the janitor that's knowed to have a key to the school building?
"Huh!" pursued Uncle Jason, with vast disgust. "You fellers must have a high opinion of your own judgment, when you choosed Mr. Haley to teach this school. Did ye hire a nincompoop, I wanter know? Why! if he'd wanted ever so much ter steal them coins, he'd hafter been a fule ter done it in this way."
"There's sense in what ye say, Jason," admitted Mr. Crawford.
"I sh'd hope so! But there ain't sense in what you fellers have done—for a fac! Lettin' sech a story as this git all over town. By jiminy! if I was Mr. Haley, I'd sue ye!"
"But what are we goin' ter do, Jason?" demanded Cross Moore. "Sit here an' twiddle our thumbs, and let that feller 't owns the coins come down on us for their value?"
"You'll have to make good to him anyway," said Mr. Day, bluntly. "You four air responserble."
"Hi tunket!" exploded Joe Pellet. "And let the thief git away with 'em?"
"Better git a detecertif, an' put him on the case," said Mr. Day. "Of course, you air all satisfied that nobody could ha' got into the schoolhouse but Mr. Haley?"
"He an' Benny is all that has keys," said Massey.
"Sure about this here janitor?" asked Uncle Jason, slowly.
"Why, he was with us all the time," said Crawford, in disgust.
"And he's a hardworkin' little feller, too," Massey added. "Not a thing wrong with Benny but his back. That is crooked; but he's as straight as a string."
"How's his fambly?" asked Uncle Jason.
"Ain't got none—but a wife. A decent, hard-working woman," proclaimed the druggist. "No children. Her brother boards with 'em. That's all."
"Well, sir!" said Uncle Jason, oracularly. "There air some things in this worl' ye kin be sure of, besides death and taxes. There's a few things connected with this case that ye kin pin down. F'r instance: The janitor didn't do it. Nelse Haley didn't do it. None o' you four fellers done it."
"Say! you goin' to drag us under suspicion, Jase?" drawled Cross Moore.
"If you keep on sputterin' about Nelse Haley—yes," snapped Mr. Day, nodding vigorously. "Howsomever, there's still another party ter which the finger of suspicion p'ints."
"Who's that?" was the chorus from the school committee.
"A party often heard of in similar cases," said Mr. Day, solemnly.
"His name is Unknown! Yes, sir! Some party unknown entered that
building while you fellers was down cellar, same as Nelson Haley did.
This party, Unknown, stole the coins."
"Aw, shucks, Jase!" grunted Mr. Cross Moore. "You got to give us
something more satisfactory than that if you want to shunt us off'n
Nelson Haley's trail," and the other three members of the School
Committee nodded.
CHAPTER IX
HOW NELSON TOOK IT
Something more than mere curiosity drew Janice Day's footsteps toward the new school building. There were other people drawn in the same direction; but their interest was not like hers.
Somehow, this newest bit of gossip in Polktown could be better discussed at the scene of the strange robbery itself. Icivilly Sprague and Mabel Woods walked there, arm in arm, passing Janice by with side glances and the tossing of heads.
Icivilly and Mabel had attended Nelson's school the first term after Miss 'Rill Scattergood gave up teaching; but finding the young schoolmaster impervious to their charms, they had declared themselves graduated.
They were not alone among the older girls who found Nelson provokingly adamant. He did not flirt. Of late it had become quite apparent that the schoolmaster had eyes only for Janice Day. Of course, that fact did not gain Nelson friends among girls like Icivilly and Mabel in this time of trial.
Janice knew that they were whispering about her as she passed; but her real thought was given to more important matters. Uncle Jason had told her just how the affair of the robbery stood. There was a mystery—a deep, deep mystery about it.
In the group about the front gate of the school premises were Jim Narnay and Trimmins, the woodsmen. Both had been drinking and were rather hilarious and talkative. At least, Trimmins was so.
"Wish we'd knowed there was all that cash so free and open up here in the schoolhouse—heh, Jim?" Trimmins said, smiting his brother toper between the shoulders. "We wouldn't be diggin' out for no swamp to haul logs."
"You're mighty right, Trimmins! You're mighty right!" agreed the drunken Narnay. "Gotter leave m' fambly—hate ter do it!" and he became very lachrymose. "Ter'ble thing, Trimmins, f'r a man ter be sep'rated from his fambly jest so's ter airn his livin'."
"Right ye air, old feller," agreed the Southerner. "Hullo! here's the buddy we're waitin' for. How long d'ye s'pose he'll last, loggin?"
Janice saw the ex-drug clerk, Jack Besmith, mounting the hill with a pack on his back. Rough as the two lumbermen were, Besmith looked the more dissolute character, despite his youth.
The trio went away together, bound evidently for one of Elder
Concannon's pieces of woodland, over the mountain.
Benny Thread came out of the school building and locked the door importantly behind him. Several of the curious ones surrounded the little man and tried to get him into conversation upon the subject of the robbery.
"No, I can't talk," he said, shaking his head. "I can't, really. The gentlemen of the School Committee have forbidden me. Why—only think! It was more by good luck than good management that I wasn't placed in a position where I could be suspected of the robbery. Lucky I was with the committeemen every moment of the time they were down cellar. No, I am not suspected, thanks be! But I must not talk—I must not talk."
It was evident that he wanted to talk and he could be over-urged to talk if the right pressure was brought to bear. Janice came away, leaving the eagerly curious pecking at him—the one white blackbird in the flock.
Uncle Jason had given her some blunt words of encouragement. Janice felt that she must see Nelson personally and cheer him up, if that were possible. At least, she must tell him how she—and, indeed, all his friends—had every confidence in him.
Some people whom she met as she went up High Street looked at her curiously. Janice held her head at a prouder angle and marched up the hill toward Mrs. Beaseley's. She ignored these curious glances.
But there was no escaping Mrs. Scattergood. That lover of gossip must have been sitting behind her blind, peering down High Street, and waiting for Janice's appearance.
She hurried out of the house, beckoning to the girl eagerly. Janice could not very well refuse to approach, so she walked on up the hill beyond the side street on which Mrs. Beaseley's cottage stood, and met the birdlike little woman at her gate.
"For the good land's sake, Janice Day!" exploded Mrs. Scattergood. "I was wonderin' if you'd never git up here. Surely, you've heard abeout this drefful thing, ain't you?"
Janice knew there was no use in evasion with Mrs. Scattergood. She boldly confessed.
"Yes, Mrs. Scattergood, I have heard about it. And I think Mr. Cross Moore and those others ought to be ashamed of themselves—letting people think for a moment that Mr. Haley took those coins."
"Who did take 'em?" asked the woman, eagerly. "Have they found out?"
"Why, nobody but the person who really is the thief knows who stole the coins; but of course everybody who knows Nelson at all, is sure that it was not Mr. Haley."
"Wal—they gotter lay it to somebody," Mrs. Scattergood said, rather doubtfully. "That's the best them useless men could do," she added, with that birdlike toss of the head that was so familiar to Janice.
"If there'd been a woman around, they'd laid it on to her. Oh! I know 'em all—the hull kit an' bilin' of 'em."
Janice tried to smile at this; but the woman's beadlike eyes seemed to be boring with their glance right through the girl and this made her extremely uncomfortable.
"I expect you feel pretty bad, Janice Day," went on Mrs. Scattergood. "But it's allus the way. You'll find as you grow older that there ain't much in this world for females, young or old, but trouble."
"Why, Mrs. Scattergood!" cried the girl, and this time she did call up a merry look. "What have you to trouble you? You have the nicest time of any person I know—unless it is Mrs. Marvin Petrie. No family to trouble you; enough to live on comfortably; nothing to do but go visiting—or stay at home if you'd rather——"
"Tut, tut, tut, child! All is not gold that glitters," was the quick reply. "I ain't so happy as ye may think. I have my troubles. But, thanks be! they ain't abeout men. But you've begun yours, I kin see."
"Yes, I am troubled because Mr. Haley is falsely accused," admitted
Janice, stoutly.
"Wal—yes. I expect you air. And if it ain't no worse than you believe—Wal! I said you was a new-fashioned gal when I fust set eyes on you that day comin' up from the Landing in the old Constance Colfax; and you be."
"How am I different from other girls?" asked Janice, curiously.
"Wal! Most gals would wait till they was sure the young man wasn't goin' to be arrested before they ran right off to see him. But mebbe it's because you ain't got your own mother and father to tell ye diff'rent."
Janice flushed deeply at this and her eyes sparkled.
"I am sure Aunt 'Mira and Uncle Jason would have told me not to call on Nelson if they did not believe just as I do—that he is guiltless and that all his friends should show him at once that they believe in him."
"Hoity-toity! Mebbe so," said the woman, tartly. "Them Days never did have right good sense—yer uncle an' aunt, I mean. When I was a gal we wouldn't have been allowed to have so much freedom where the young fellers was consarned."
Janice was quite used to Mrs. Scattergood's sharp tongue; but it was hard to bear her strictures on this occasion.
"I hope it is not wrong for me to show my friend that I trust and believe in him," she said firmly, and nodding good-bye, turned abruptly away.
Of herself, or of what the neighbors thought of her conduct, Janice Day thought but little. She went on to Mrs. Beaseley's cottage, solely anxious on Nelson's account.
She found the widow in tears, for selfishly immured as Mrs. Beaseley was in her ten-year-old grief over the loss of her "sainted Charles," she was a dear, soft-hearted woman and had come to look upon Nelson Haley almost as her son.
"Oh, Janice Day! what ever are we going to do for him?" was her greeting, the moment the girl entered the kitchen. "If my poor, dear Charles were alive I know he would be furiously angry with Mr. Cross Moore and those other men. Oh! I cannot bear to think of how angry he would be, for Charles had a very stern temper.
"And Mr. Haley is such a pleasant young man. As I tell 'em all, a nicer and quieter person never lived in any lone female's house. And to think of their saying such dreadful things about him! I am sure I never thought of locking anything away from Mr. Haley in this house—and there's the 'leven sterling silver teaspoons that belonged to poor, dear Charles' mother, and the gold-lined sugar-basin that was my Aunt Abby's, and the sugar tongs—although they're bent some.
"Why! Mr. Haley is jest one of the nicest young gentlemen that ever was. And here he comes home, pale as death, and won't eat no dinner. Janice, think of it! I allus have said, and I stick to it, that if one can eat they'll be all right. My sainted Charles," she added, stating for the thousandth time an uncontrovertible fact, "would be alive to this day if he had continued to eat his victuals!"
"I'd like to speak to Mr. Haley," Janice said, finally "getting a word in edgewise."
"Of course. Maybe he'll let you in," said the widow. "He won't me, but I think he favors you, Janice," she added innocently, shaking her head with a continued mournful air. "He come right in and said: 'Mother Beaseley, I don't believe I can eat any dinner to-day,' and then shut and locked his door. I didn't know what had happened till 'Rene Hopper, she that works for Mrs. Cross Moore, run in to borry my heavy flat-iron, an' she tol' me about the stolen money. Ain't it awful?"
"I—I hope Nelson will let me speak to him, Mrs. Beaseley," stammered
Janice, finding it very difficult now to keep her tears back.
"You go right along the hall and knock at his door," whispered Mrs. Beaseley, hoarsely. "An' you tell him I've got his dinner down on the stove-hearth, 'twixt plates, a-keepin' it hot for him."
Janice did as she was bidden as far as knocking at the door of the front room was concerned. There was no answer at first—not a sound from within. She rapped a second time.
"I am sorry, Mrs. Beaseley; I could not possibly eat any dinner to-day," Nelson's voice finally replied.
There was no tremor in the tone of it. Janice knew just how proud the young man was, and no matter how bitterly he was hurt by this trouble that had fallen upon him, he would not easily reveal his feelings.
She put her lips close to the crack of the door. "Nelson!" she whispered. "Nelson!" a little louder.
She heard him spring to his feet and overturn the chair in which he had been sitting.
"Nelson! it's only me," Janice quavered, the pulse beating painfully in her throat. "Let me in—do!"
He came across the room slowly. She heard him fumble at the key and knob. Then the door opened.
"Oh, Nelson!" she repeated, when she saw him in the darkened parlor.
The pallor of his face went to her heart. His hair was disheveled; his eyes red from weeping. After all, he was just a big boy in trouble, and with no mother to comfort him.
All the maternal instincts of Janice Day's nature went out to the young fellow. "Nelson! Nelson!" she cried, under her breath. "You poor, poor boy! I'm so sorry for you."
"Janice—you——" He stammered, and could not finish the phrase.
She cried, emphatically: "Of course I believe in you, Nelson. We all do! 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.
CHAPTER X
HOW POLKTOWN TOOK IT
That was a very serious Saturday night at the old Day house, as well as at the Beaseley cottage. Aunt 'Mira had whispered to Janice before the girl had set forth with her uncle in the afternoon:
"Bring him home to supper with ye, child—the poor young man! We got to cheer him up, betwixt us. I'm goin' to have raised biscuits and honey. He does dote on light bread."
But Nelson would not come. Janice had succeeded in encouraging him to a degree; but the young schoolmaster was too seriously wounded, both in his self-respect and at heart, to wish to mingle on this evening with any of his fellow-townsmen—even those who were his declared friends and supporters.
"Don't look for me at church to-morrow, either, Janice," the young man said. "It may seem cowardly; but I cannot face all these people and ignore this disgrace."
"It is not disgrace, Nelson!" Janice cried hotly.
"It is, my dear girl. One does not have to be guilty to be disgraced by such an accusation. I may be a coward; I don't know. At least, I feel it too keenly to march into church to-morrow and know that everybody is whispering about me. Why, Janice, I might break down and make a complete fool of myself."
"Oh, no, Nelson!"
"I might. Even the children will know all about it and will stare at me. I have to face them on Monday morning, and by that time I may have recovered sufficient self-possession to ignore their glances and whispers."
And with that decision Janice was obliged to leave him.
"The poor, foolish boy!" Aunt 'Mira said. "Don't he know we all air sufferin' with him?"
But Uncle Jason seemed better to appreciate the schoolmaster's attitude.
"I don't blame him none. He's jest like a dog with a hurt paw—wants ter crawl inter his kennel and lick his wounds. It's a tough propersition, for a fac'."
"He needn't be afraid that the fellers will guy him," growled Marty.
"If they do, I'll lick 'em!"
"Oh, Marty! All of them?" cried Janice, laughing at his vehemence, yet tearful, too.
"Well—all I can," declared her cousin. "And there ain't many I can't, you bet."
"If you was as fond of work as ye be of fightin', Marty," returned Mr.
Day, drily, "you sartin sure'd be a wonderful feller."
"Ya-as," drawled his son but in a very low tone, "maw says I'm growin' more'n more like you, every day."
"Marty," Janice put in quickly, before the bickering could go any further, "did you see little Lottie? It was so late when I came out of Mrs. Beaseley's, I ran right home."
"I seed her," her cousin said gloomily.
"How air her poor eyes?" asked Aunt 'Mira.
"They're not poor eyes. They're as good as anybody's eyes," Marty cried, with exasperation.
"Wal—they say she's' goin' blind again," said tactless Aunt 'Mira.
"I say she ain't! She ain't!" ejaculated Marty. "All foolishness. I don't believe a thing them doctors say. She's got just as nice eyes as anybody'd want."
"That is true, Marty," Janice said soothingly; but she sighed.
The door was open, for the evening was mild. On the damp Spring breeze the sound of a husky voice was wafted up the street and into the old Day house.
"Hello!" grunted Uncle Jason, "who's this singin' bird a-comin' up the hill? Tain't never Walky a-singin' like that, is it?"
"It's Walky; but it ain't him singin'," chuckled Marty.
"Huh?" queried Uncle Jason.
"It's Lem Parraday's whiskey that's doin' the singin'," explained the boy. "Hi tunket! Listen to that ditty, will ye?"
"'I wish't I was a rock
A-settin' on a hill,
A-doin' nothin' all day long
But jest a-settin' still,'"
roared Walky, who was letting the patient Josephus take his own gait up Hillside Avenue.
"For the Good Land o' Goshen!" cried Aunt 'Mira. "What's the matter o' that feller? Has he taken leave of his senses, a-makin' of the night higeous in that-a-way? Who ever told Walky Dexter 't he could sing?"
"It's what he's been drinking that's doing the singing, I tell ye," said her son.
"Poor Walky!" sighed Janice.
The expressman's complaint of his hard lot continued to rise in song:
"'I wouldn't eat, I wouldn't sleep,
I wouldn't even wash;
I'd jest set still a thousand years,
And rest myself, b'gosh!'"
"Whoa, Josephus!"
He had pulled the willing Josephus (willing at all times to stop) into the open gateway of the old Day place. Marty went out on the porch to hail him.
"'I wish I was a bump
A-settin' on a log,
Baitin' m' hook with a flannel shirt
For to ketch a frog!
"And when I'd ketched m' frog,
I'd rescue of m' bait—
An' what a mess of frog's hind laigs
I wouldn't have ter ate!'"
"Come on in, Walky, and rest your voice."
"You be gittin' to be a smart young chap, Marty," proclaimed Walky, coming slowly up the steps with a package for Mrs. Day and his book to be signed.
The odor of spirits was wafted before him. Walky's face was as round and red as an August full moon.
"How-do, Janice," he said. "What d'yeou think of them fule committeemen startin' this yarn abeout Nelson Haley?"
"What do folks say about it, Walky?" cut in Mr. Day, to save his niece the trouble of answering.
"Jest erbeout what you'd think they would," the philosophical expressman said, shaking his head. "Them that's got venom under their tongues, must spit it aout if they open their lips at all. Polktown's jest erbeout divided—the gossips in one camp and the kindly talkin' people in t'other. One crowd says Mr. Haley would steal candy from a blind baby, an' t'other says his overcoat fits him so tight across't the shoulders 'cause his wings is sproutin'. Haw! haw! haw!"
"And what d' ye say, Mr. Dexter?" asked Aunt 'Mira, bluntly.
The expressman puckered his lips into a curious expression. "I tell ye what," he said. "Knowin' Mr. Haley as I do, I'm right sure he's innercent as the babe unborn. But, jefers-pelters! who could ha' done it?"
"Why, Walky!" gasped Janice.
"I know. It sounds awful, don't it?" said the expressman. "I don't whisper a word of this to other folks. But considerin' that the schoolhouse doors was locked and Mr. Haley had the only other key besides the janitor, who air Massey and them others goin' to blame for the robbery?"
"They air detarmined to save their own hides if possible," Uncle Jason grumbled.
"Natcherly—natcherly," returned Walky. "We know well enough none o' them four men of the School Committee took the coins, nor Benny Thread, neither. They kin all swear alibi for each other and sartain sure they didn't all conspire ter steal the money and split it up 'twixt 'em. Haw! haw! haw! 'Twouldn't hardly been wuth dividin' into five parts," he added, his red face all of a grin.
"That sounds horrid, Mr. Dexter," said Aunt 'Mira.
"Wal, it's practical sense," the expressman said, wagging his head. "It's a problem for one o' them smart detecatifs ye read abeout in the magazines—one o' them like they have in stories. I read abeout one of 'em in a story. Yeou leave him smell the puffumery on a gal's handkerchief and he'll tell right away whether she was a blonde or a brunette, an' what size glove she wore! Haw! haw! haw!
"This ain't no laughing matter, Walky," Mr. Day said, with a side glance at Janice.
"Better laff than cry," declared Walky. "Howsomever, folks seed Mr.
Haley go into the schoolhouse and come out ag'in——"
"He told the committee he had been there," Janice interrupted.
"That's right, too. Mebbe not so many folks would ha' knowed they'd seen him there if he hadn't up and said so. Proberbly there was ha'f a dozen other folks hangin' abeout the schoolhouse, too, at jest the time the coin collection was stole; but they ain't remembered 'cause they didn't up and tell on themselves."
"Oh, Walky!" gasped the girl, startled by the suggestion.
"Wal," drawled the expressman, in continuation, "that ain't no good to us, for nobody had a key to the door but him and Benny Thread."
"I wonder——" murmured Janice; but said no more.
"It's a scanderlous thing," Walky pursued, receiving his book back and preparing to join Josephus at the gate. "Goin' ter split things wide open in Polktown, I reckon. 'Twill be wuss'n a church row 'fore it finishes. Already there's them that says we'd oughter have another teacher in Mr. Haley's place."
"Oh, my!" cried Aunt 'Mira.
"Ain't willin' ter give the young feller a chance't at all, heh?" said
Mr. Day, puffing hard at his pipe. "Wall! we'll see abeout that."
"We'd never have a better teacher, I tell 'em," Walky flung back over his shoulder. "But Mr. Haley's drawin' a good salary and there's them that think it oughter go ter somebody that belongs here in Polktown, not to an outsider like him."
"Hi tunket!" cried Marty, after Walky had gone. "There ye have it. Miss Pearly Breeze, that used ter substi-toot for 'Rill Scattergood, has wanted the school ever since Mr. Haley come. She'd do fine tryin' to be principal of a graded school—I don't think!"
"Oh, don't talk so, I beg of you," Janice said. "Of course Nelson won't lose his school. If he did, under these circumstances, he could never go to Millhampton College to teach. Why! perhaps his career as a teacher would be irrevocably ruined."
"Now, don't ye take on so, Janice," cried Aunt 'Mira, with her arm about the girl. "It won't be like that. It can't be so bad—can it, Jason?"
"We mustn't let it go that fur," declared her spouse, fully aroused now. "Consarn Walky Dexter, anyway! I guess, as Marty says, what he puts in his mouth talks as well as sings for him.
"I snum!" added the farmer, shaking his head. "I dunno which is the biggest nuisance, an ill-natered gossip or a good-natered one. Walky claims ter feel friendly to Mr. Haley, and then comes here with all the unfriendly gossip he kin fetch. Huh! I ain't got a mite o' use fer sech folks."
Uncle Jason was up, pacing the kitchen back and forth in his stocking feet. He was much stirred over Janice's grief. Aunt 'Mira was in tears, too. Marty went out on the porch, ostensibly for a pail of fresh water, but really to cover his emotion.
None of them could comfortably bear the sight of Janice's tears. As
Marty started the pump a boy ran into the yard and up the steps.
"Hullo, Jimmy Gallagher, what you want?" demanded Marty.
"I'm after Janice Day. Got a note for her," said the urchin.
"Hey, Janice!" called her cousin; but the young girl was already out on the porch.
"What is it, Jimmy? Has Nelson——"
"Here's a note from Miz' Drugg. Said for me to give it to ye," said the boy, as he clattered down the steps again.