CHAPTER X. OTHER PEOPLE'S TROUBLE
Daddy, of course, laughed. If it had not been for his sanguine temperament, and his ability to see the funny side of life, Janice often wondered what they should do.
"They say," she thought, "that every cloud has a silver lining. But to dear daddy there is something better than silver linings to our clouds. Something to laugh at! I wonder if, after all, being able to see the fun in things isn't the biggest blessing in the world. I am sure Miss Peckham isn't happy, and she never sees anything funny at all! But daddy—"
When she told him at dinner time how Delia had departed on the rubbish wagon with her angry father, Broxton Day laughed so that he could scarcely eat.
"But what are we going to do?" cried Janice.
"Don't be a little Martha, honey, troubled with many things. I would have given a good deal to have seen that departure. 'Good riddance to bad rubbish,' is an old saying back in Vermont where I was brought up, Janice. And Delia going in the rubbish wagon seems fitting, doesn't it?"
"It was funny," admitted his little daughter. "But what shall we do?"
"Why, try the next applicant," said Broxton Day easily. "I will look in at the agencies again."
"I'm afraid that won't do any good, Daddy," sighed Janice.
"Delia came from the agency, and you see what she was like. And
Olga—"
"No," interrupted Mr. Day, "Olga came direct from Pickletown."
"Well, it doesn't matter. There were plenty of others from the agencies, all as bad or worse than Olga and Delia," and Janice looked much downcast.
"Oh, little daughter, little daughter!" admonished Mr. Day, "don't give way like that. Some time, out of the lot, we'll find the right person."
"Well, maybe," agreed Janice, cheerful once more. "I guess we've already had all the bad ones. Those that are left to come to us must be just ordinary human beings with some good and some sense mixed in with the bad."
It proved to be a very busy day, indeed, for Janice— that
Saturday. But she did not overlook her promise to Amy
Carringford. Yet it was mid-afternoon when she started for
Mullen Lane with the pink and white party dress in a neat package
over her arm.
Janice could not overlook the poverty-stricken appearance of the Carringford cottage. It could not, indeed, be ignored by even the casual glance. But its cleanliness, and everybody's neatness about the little dwelling, portrayed the fact that here was a family putting its best foot forward. Mrs. Carringford was proud. Janice Day knew that she must be very cautious indeed if she would see Amy adorned with her own finery.
"Dear Mrs. Carringford," she whispered to her friend's mother, "I've got a surprise for you. I want Amy to come upstairs with me, and by and by, when we call you up, please come and look into her room."
Amy, according to agreement, had said nothing about the dress to her mother. She was eager, but doubtful just the same.
"I don't think it is right, Janice," she declared, over and over. "I don't see how I can accept the dress from you, when I have nothing to give in return."
"Oh, that is a very niggardly way to receive," cried Janice, shaking her head. "If we can't accept a present save when we can return it—why, daddy says that is the most selfish thought in the world."
"Selfish!"
"For sure! We are too selfish to allow other people to enjoy giving. Don't you see? It's fun to give."
"But it is not fun to be the object charity," complained Amy, with some sullenness.
"Why, my dear," exclaimed Janice Day, "you are not always going to be poor. Of course not. Some day you will be lots better off. Gummy will grow up and go to work, and then you will all be well off. And, besides, this sort of giving, between friends, isn't charity."
"Gummy wishes to go to work now," sighed Amy. "But mother wants to keep him at school."
"He might work after school and on Saturdays."
"Oh, that would be fine! But who would give him such a job? You see, we do not trade much with the storekeepers, and mother isn't very well known—"
"You wait!" exclaimed Janice. "I believe I know somebody who needs a boy."
"Oh, I hope you do, Janice."
Meanwhile Amy was getting into that lovely, dainty dress again.
"You do look too sweet for anything in it," Janice declared. The latter ran out to the stairs and called to Mrs. Carringford. "Oh, do come up and look! Do, Mrs. Carringford!"
She kept Amy's bedroom door shut, and held Mrs. Carringford for a moment at the top of the stairs.
"Oh, Mrs. Carringford," she murmured, "don't you want to make two girls just awfully happy?"
"Why, my dear child—"
"You know, I have been growing just like a weed this past year. Daddy says so. I have outgrown all the pretty clothes my—my mother made me for last summer, and which of course I could not wear. Amy is just a wee bit smaller than I "
"My dear!"
"Wait!" gasped Janice, almost in tears she was so much in earnest. "Just wait and see her! And I want her to go to the party. And there are stockings, and pumps, and a hat, and everything! Look at her!"
She flung open the bedroom door. Amy stood across the room from them, flushing and paling by turns, and looking really frightened, but, oh! so pretty.
"Why, Amy!" murmured Mrs. Carringford, her own cheeks flushing.
What mother can look at her little daughter when she is charmingly dressed without being proud of her? She turned questioningly to Janice.
"Does your father know about this?"
"Daddy quite approves," said Janice demurely. "I never could get any wear out of them. You can see that, Mrs. Carringford.
"And if you let Amy wear them, we'll both be so happy!"
Mrs. Carringford kissed her. "You are a sweet, good child," she said rather brokenly. "I don't blame Amy for loving you."
So it was agreed that Amy should wear the party dress. Janice had errands to do at the store, and she begged for the company of Gummy Carringford to help her carry the things she bought.
"You know, I can't carry them all, and sometimes Harriman's delivery doesn't get around until midnight and we have to get up and take the things in."
"Come on," said Gummy, who knew about the dress for his sister,
"I'll carry anything you want."
But Janice really had another reason for getting Gummy
Carringford to Harriman's store. She maneuvered to get Mr.
Harriman himself to wait on her, and when Gummy was out of
ear-shot she began to confide in the proprietor.
"Do you see that boy who is with me, Mr. Harriman?" she asked.
"Oh, yes. I've seen him before I guess. One of your neighbors?"
"He goes to our school. And he is a very nice boy."
"What's his name?"
"His name is 'G. Carringford'," Janice told demurely.
"Oh! 'G?'" queried Mr. Harriman. "Is that all?"
"Well, you know, it isn't his fault if he has dreadful name," she said. "And it doesn't really hurt him. He can work just as hard—and he wants work."
"I thought you said he went to school?"
"After school and on Saturdays," she explained. "He doesn't know you, Mr. Harriman, so I suppose he is bashful about speaking to you. But you know him now, because I introduced G. Carringford. Won't you try him?"
The outcome of this attempt to help the Carringfords was one of the many things Janice had to confide to daddy that evening. As she told him, she had put little dependence upon the hope of finding another houseworker easily. And that was well, for Mr. Day had found nobody at the agencies. He would not trust engaging a girl again, unseen.
"Perhaps next week will bring us good fortune, my dear," he said. "How did you get on to-day, all alone? I see the silver has been polished."
"Only some of it, Daddy. And I have been a busy bee, now I tell you."
"Bravo, my dear! The busy bee makes the honey."
"And has a stinger, too," she replied roguishly. "I guess Arlo
Junior thinks so."
"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."
"Why, Janice! How was that?"
"Oh, he did the cleaning very well. As well as it could be done. That soft coal made marks on the walls that never will come off until they are painted again. It's awful smutchy—that coal."
"I know," agreed Broxton Day. "But about Arlo?"
"I'm coming to that," she said smiling. "You see, Arlo Junior was just about through when his mother come over looking for him. She wanted him to go on an errand. She saw what he had been doing for me, for he had an apron on and the broom in his hand."
"Caught with the goods, in other words?" chuckled Mr. Day.
"Yes. And we couldn't tell her why he was helping me. So she said right out:
"'Why, Arlo Junior! If you can help Janice like this— and you and she were fighting the other day—you can come right home and clean out the woodshed. It needs it.'
"And—and," laughed Janice, "he had to do it. He worked pretty near all day to-day. And he scowled at me dreadfully this afternoon."
"He will be playing other tricks on you," warned her father.
"Well, there will be no Olga to make them worse," she sighed. "That is one sure thing. Oh, dear, Daddy, I wonder where she is—and the treasure-box! It is too, too hateful for anything!"
"I called up the pickle factory where Willie Sangreen works. They had heard nothing from him. It looks as though Olga and he must have gone away together. Stole a march on all their friends and got married, maybe."
"But why should she take my treasure-box?" cried Janice. "Oh,
Daddy! I can never forgive myself for my carelessness."
"Don't worry, child. You could not really be blamed," he rejoined sadly.
"But that doesn't bring back mother's picture and the other things," murmured the anxious Janice, watching his clouding face.
As always when they were alone, daddy washed the supper dishes and Janice dried them. Daddy with an apron on and his sleeves rolled up, and a paper cap on his head (she made him wear that like a regular "chef"), made a picture that always pleased his daughter.
"I think you would make a very nice cook, Daddy dear? she often told him. "In fact, you seem to fit in almost anywhere. I guess it's because you are always ready to do something."
"Flattery! Flattery!" he returned, pinching her cheek.
"But it is so, you know, Daddy. You always know what to do—and you do it."
"That is what they tell me at the bank," said Mr. Day, with rather a rueful smile. "This Mexican mine business is developing some troubles, and they want me to go down there and straighten them out."
"Oh, Daddy!" she cried breathlessly.
"No," he said, shaking his head. "That is what I tell them. I cannot leave you alone."
"But take me!" she cried, almost dancing up and down.
"Can't be thought of, Janice. That is a rough country —and you've got to stick to school, besides. You know, my dear, we had already decided on that."
"Yes, I know," she sighed. "But of course you won't go away and leave me? We—we've never been separated since—since dear mamma died."
"True, my dear. And we will not contemplate such separation. I have told them at the bank it would be impossible." It was not of their own troubles that they talked mostly on this evening, however, but of some other people's troubles. After they were out of the kitchen and settled in the living-room, Janice began to tell him about the Carringfords. "They are just the nicest people you ever saw Daddy. Amy and Gummy are coming over here tomorrow after Sunday School so that you can meet them."
"'Gummy'!" ejaculated Mr. Day.
Janice told him all about that boy's unfortunate name.
"You see," she explained, "Mrs. Carringford told me herself this afternoon that his Uncle John Gumswith was a very nice man."
"Seems to me," said daddy, quite amused, "that doesn't make the boy's name any less unfortunate. And have they never even heard of the uncle since he went to Australia?"
"No, sir."
"Well," chuckled Mr. Day, "Gummy had better go to the Legislature and get his name changed. That's a handicap that no boy should have to shoulder."
"It is awful. And it makes Gummy shy, I think. He wanted to work after school hours and on Saturday. But he didn't seem to know how to get a job. So I," Janice proceeded quite in a matter-of-fact way, "got him one."
"You did!"
"Yes, Daddy. I went to Mr. Harriman, the grocer. You know we trade there. And I know that he can use a boy just as well as not. So I told him about Gummy—"
"Did you tell Harriman his name?" chuckled her father.
"I said he was 'G. Carringford,'" Janice replied, her eyes twinkling. "But you needn't laugh. Mr. Harriman did."
"Did what?"
"Laugh; I really wanted Gummy to take a nom de plume, or whatever it is they call 'em."
"An alias, I guess it would be, in Gummy's case," said her father. "And wouldn't he?"
"No," said Janice, shaking her head. "Gummy seems to think that he's in honor bound to stick up for his name. That is what he says."
"Amen! Some boy, that!"
"He's a nice boy," declared Janice. "You'll see. And he got the job."
"Oh, he did! So I see that my Janice is a real 'do something' girl."
"Why, yes, I hadn't thought of that," she agreed, all smiles at his praise. "I did do something, didn't I? Gummy is going to work for Mr. Harriman, and that'll help them. But it was about Amy and Stella Latham's party I wanted to tell you"
"Oh, was it, indeed?" her father murmured.
She related the circumstances attached to the coming party and
Amy Carringford's reason for not being able to go.
"And you ought to see Amy in that pink and white dress. She's just too sweet for anything!"
"All right, daughter. I agree to give your little friend the frock if her mother is willing."
"I just made Mrs. Carringford agree," said Janice, bobbing her head earnestly. "They are awfully proud folks."
"With a proper pride, perhaps."
"I guess so. They are real nice anyway—even if Gummy does wear patched pants."
"And does he?" asked daddy, seriously. "Perhaps we had better look through my Wardrobe in his behest."
"But, Daddy! he can't wear your clothes. He'd be lost in them,"
Janice giggled.
"True. But his mother may know how to cut the garments down and make them over for the boy? You ask her, Janice. I will lay out a couple of suits that I will never be able to wear again."
And so they forgot their own troubles, for the time being, in seeking to relieve those of some other people.
CHAPTER XI. MRS. WATKINS
Although it was probable that most of the Day's neighbors felt more or less curiosity, if not interest, in their domestic misfortunes, it was only Miss Peckham who seemed to keep really close observation, in season and out, of all that went on in and about the Day house.
Janice could have wished that the spinster would give more of her attention to her cats and Ambrose, the parrot, and less to neighborhood affairs. For the child knew that not even a peddler came to the door that the sharp-visaged woman behind her bowed blinds did watch to see what Janice did.
"She watches every move I make, Daddy," complained the girl one day. "I don't see why she cares who comes to see me. She's the meanest thing—"
"Now, Janice, dear!"
"I don't care, Daddy, just this once! Why, this afternoon three of the girls were here, and after they left Miss Peckham called me over to the fence and asked me when the Beemans were going to Canada.
"The Beemans talk of going there before long, but are not certain about it; and Annette told the rest of us girls all about it as a great secret. Miss Peckham
deliberately listened at her window, and then, because she couldn't hear all we said, she tried to make me tell her the whole story. Now, isn't that mean?"
"Oh, well, Janice—"
"You wouldn't listen like that, Daddy Day, and you wouldn't let me, so there!"
"Maybe not, Janice. But then, you know, we do many things that Miss Peckham does not approve of—many things that she would not think of doing."
"Now, Daddy, you are joking! You know you are!"
"Maybe so—half way. But then we are responsible for ourselves, and not for Miss Peckham. But I am sorry, daughter, that she troubles you. Perhaps," he added more lightly, "we shall get things on a more satisfactory basis here before long, and then Miss Peckham will not think it necessary to look after us so much."
"You know better than that, Daddy Day. Miss Peckham will look after us till we are hundreds of years old," answered Janice. But now she spoke with a smile on her lips.
The disappointment of the coming and going of Bridget Burns made both father and daughter shrink from trying another houseworker unless she appeared more than ordinarily promising. So for a day or two daddy went personally to the agencies and looked the prospective workers over. His reports to Janice were not hopeful.
"Oh, dear me, Daddy!" Janice sighed, "I do wish I could do it all. Maybe I ought only to go to school part time—"
"No, my dear. We will scrabble along as best we can. You must not neglect the studies."
"At any rate," she exclaimed, "it will soon be vacation time. I can do ever so much more in the house then."
"Nor do I believe that is a good plan," her father said, shaking his head. "The best thing that could happen to you would be for you to go away for a change. I have a good mind to send you back East. Your Aunt Almira—"
"Oh, Daddy! Never! You don't mean it?" cried the girl.
"Why, you'll like your Aunt Almira. Of course, Jase Day is not such an up-and-coming chap as one might wish; but he is a good sort, at that. And there is your cousin, Marty."
"But I don't know any of them," sighed Janice. "And I don't want to leave you."
"But if we cannot get any help—"
"I'll get along. What would you do in this house alone if I went away?" she demanded.
"I'd shut it up and go down to the Laurel House to board."
"Oh, that's awful!"
"No. I get my lunch there now. It's not very bad," said Broxton
Day, smiling.
"I mean it's awful to think of shutting up our home for the summer. You haven't got to go away to Mexico, have you, Daddy?" she queried with sudden suspicion.
"Well, my dear, it may be necessary," he confessed.
"And you'd send me away to Vermont while you were gone?"
"I don't know what else to do—if the necessity arises. Jase Day is my half-brother—the only living relative I have. Your mother's people are all scattered. I wouldn't know what else to do with you, my dear."
"Mercy!" she sighed, winking back the tears, "it sounds as though
I—I were what you call a 'liability' in your bank business.
Isn't that it? Why, Daddy! I want to be an 'asset,' not a
'liability.'"
"Bless you, my dear, you are! A great, big asset!" he laughed. "But you must not neglect the necessary preparation for life which your studies give you. Nor must I let you overwork. Have patience—and hope. Perhaps we shall be able to find a really good housekeeper, after all."
When, on Wednesday afternoons Janice came home from school, she saw Miss Peckham beckoning to her from her front porch, the girl had no suspicion that the maiden lady was about to interfere in her and daddy's affairs. No, indeed!
"Now I wonder what she wants!" murmured Janice, going reluctantly toward the Peckham house. "And she's got company, too."
The spinster was sitting on her porch behind the honeysuckle vines, with her sewing table and the big parrot, Ambrose, chained to his perch beside her. There was, too, a second woman on the porch.
"Good afternoon, Miss Peckham," Janice said, swinging her books as she came up the walk from Miss Peckham's gate. "Hello, Polly!"
"Polly wants cracker!" declared the bird, flapping his wings and doing a funny little dance on his perch.
"Be still!" commanded Miss Peckham. With her sharp little black eyes she glanced from Janice to the other woman. "This is the girl," she said.
Janice, feeling as though she was under some important scrutiny looked at the second woman in curiosity. She found her a not unpleasant looking person. She was much wrinkled, yet her cheeks were rather pink and her lips very vivid. Janice wondered if it was possible that this color was put on by hand.
The woman sat in a rocking chair with her long hands folded idly in her lap. On the hands were white "half mits"—something Janice knew were long out of fashion but which were once considered very stylish indeed.
The woman's eyes were a shallow brown color—perhaps "faded" would be a better expression. It seemed as though she were too languid even to look with attention at any one or anything.
"This is the girl, Sophrony," Miss Peckham repeated more sharply.
"Oh, yes," murmured the strange woman, as though awakened from a brown study. "Yes. Quite a pretty little girl."
"Pretty is as pretty does," scoffed Miss Peckham. "At any rate, she's healthy. Ain't you, Janice Day?"
"Ah—oh—yes, ma'am!" stammered Janice, "I guess I am."
"Well, I don't see the doctor going to your house none," said Miss Peckham, in her snappy way. "I guess I would ha' seen him if he'd called."
"Oh, yes," agreed Janice, "you would have seen him."
"Heh?" Miss Peckham stared at the little girl sharply. But she saw that Janice was quite innocent in making her comment. "Well," said the maiden lady, "this is Mrs. Watkins."
Considering this an introduction, Janice came forward and offered the faded looking woman her hand. Mrs. Watkins' own hand reminded Janice of a dead fish, and she was quite as glad to drop it as Mrs. Watkins seemed to be to have it dropped.
"Oh, yes," said the latter woman, "she is a pretty girl."
"Mrs. Watkins has come to see me," explained Miss Peckham. "She an' I have been friends for years and years. We used to go to school together when we were girls."
"Oh!" said Janice. But she could think of nothing else to say.
She did not understand why she was being taken into Miss
Peckham's confidence.
"Yes, Sophrony Watkins and I—Sophrony Shepley was her maiden name. She married Tom Watkins—and Tom was a shiftless critter, if there ever was one."
Janice was startled. Miss Peckham seemed to be unnecessarily plain spoken. But the languid Mrs. Watkins made no comment.
"And now Sophrony has come down to doin' for herself," went on the neighborhood censor. "I sent for her to come over here. She's been livin' in Marietteville. You tell your pa that we'll come into see him to-night after supper."
"Oh!" murmured Janice. Then she "remembered her manners," and said, smiling: "Please do, Miss Peckham. I will tell daddy you are coming."
Miss Peckham waved her hand to dismiss her young neighbor. "And if 'twas me," she said complacently to her companion, "first thing I'd do would be to cure that young one of calling her father 'daddy.' That's silly."
Even this remark did not forewarn Janice of what was coming. "I just believe," she thought, going on her way, "that that faded-out little woman is a book agent and will want to sell daddy a set of books he'll never in this world read."
But in getting dinner and tidying up the dining room and living room, Janice forgot all about Mrs. Sophronia Watkins. Janice was working very hard these days— much harder than any girl of her age should work. The evening before she had fallen asleep over her studies, and to-day her recitations had not been quite up to the mark.
The lack of system in the housekeeping made everything harder for her, too. It was all right for daddy to help wash the dinner dishes, and even to blacken the range and the gas stove as he did on this evening, but there were dozens of things going wrong every day in the house which neither Janice nor her father could help.
There were the provision bills. Janice knew very well that the butcher took advantage of her ignorance. She was always in a hurry in the morning, running to school; and she could not stop to see meat weighed, or vegetables properly picked out and measured.
At Mr. Harriman's, the grocer's, it was not so bad. There were certain articles of established standard that she knew her mother had always ordered; but in the matter of butter and cheese and eggs, she realized that she often ordered the best, and got second or third quality and first-quality prices.
Had she been able to spend the time marketing she would have conserved some of daddy's money and things would have been much better on the table. Yet, with the kind of houseworkers they had had, much of the good food that was bought was spoiled in the cooking.
Daddy sometimes said: "The Lord sends the food, but the cooks don't all come from heaven, that is sure, Janice."
He was vigorously polishing the cookstove on this Wednesday evening and they were cheerfully talking and joking, when the sound of bootheels on the side porch announced the coming of visitors.
"Oh, dear me! who can that be?" whispered Janice.
"Save me, My Lady—save me!" cried daddy, appearing to be very much frightened, and dodging behind the stove. "Don't let the neighbors in until I have got rid of this blacking brush and got on my vest and coat—"
But the caller who now hammered on the door with quick knuckles was no bashful person. Mr. Day had no chance to escape from the kitchen Miss Peckham turned the knob and walked right in.
"Come in, Sophrony," she said, over her shoulder, to the person who came behind her. "You can see well enough that this man and his gal need somebody to take hold for 'em. Come right in."
CHAPTER XII. THE FADED-OUT LADY
Janice was not as much surprised—at first as her father was by the appearance of the spinster and Mrs. Watkins. She remembered that Miss Peckham had said she would call this evening, although the girl had not expected her at the back door.
Their neighbor had managed to time her appearance at a rather inopportune moment, and when daddy rose up from behind the stove to confront the two women, in a voluminous apron and with a smutch across his cheek, Janice could not entirely smother her amusement.
"Oh! Oh!" she giggled. "Good evening, Miss Peckham! This—this is Mrs. Watkins, Daddy," and she directed her father's attention to the faded-out lady. "Ahem! I am glad to see you, Miss Peckham—and Mrs. Watkins," Mr. Day said, bowing in that nice way of his that Janice so much admired. Even with a blacking brush in one hand and a can of stove polish in the other, Mr. Broxton Day was very much the gentleman.
"You find us considerably engaged in domestic work," continued Mr. Day, a smile wreathing his lips and his eyes twinkling. "And if you don't mind, I'll finish my job before giving you my full attention. Janice, take
Miss Peckham and her friend into the living room."
"Oh, no. You needn't bother," said Miss Peckham shortly. "Here's chairs, and we can sit down. It's interesting to watch a man try to do housework, I've no doubt."
"You said something then, Miss Peckham," said Mr. Day, cheerfully, and began industriously daubing the stove covers.
"I brought Mrs. Watkins in here to see you, Mr. Day, 'cause I got your welfare and hers at heart," pursued the spinster.
That sounded rather ominous, and Mr. Day poised the dauber and stared doubtfully from his neighbor to the washed-out looking woman.
"Mrs. Watkins is a widow," went on Miss Peckham.
Mr. Day made a sympathetic sound with his lips, but fell to polishing now, making the stove covers rattle. Miss Peckham raised her voice a notch. "She's a widow, and she's seen trouble."
"We're born to it—as the sparks fly upward," observed
Mr. Day, under his breath.
"Mrs. Watkins has come to an age when nobody can say she's flighty, I sh'd hope," continued Miss Peckham. "She's settled. And she's got to earn her livin'."
"Now, Marthy!" objected Mrs. Watkins.
"Well, 'tis so, Sophrony, ain't it?" demanded her friend.
"Oh, of course, expenses are heavy, and it's desirable that I should—should—well, add to my income. But I've come to no great age, Marthy Peckham, I'd have you know!"
"Oh, bosh, Sophrony!" ejaculated Miss Peckham. "Well, as I say,
Mr. Day, Mrs. Watkins is a widow, and she needs a settled place."
"Just what are you trying to get at, Miss Peckham? I don't understand you," asked Mr. Day, his face actually getting rather pale.
Neither did Janice understand; but her father looked so funny that the girl giggled again. Miss Peckham gave her a reproving glance.
"I sh'd think you'd understand your need well enough, Broxton Day," she said sternly. "First of all that gal ought to be learned manners. But that's incidental, as you might say. What I am tellin' you is, that here's your chance to get a housekeeper that'll amount to something."
"Oh! Ah! I see!" exclaimed Mr. Day in staccato fashion, and evidently very much relieved. "Mrs. Watkins is looking for a position?"
"Well, she ought to be. But it does take a stick of dynamite to get her goin', seems to me. Speak up, Sophrony!"
"Why, I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Day," said the faded-out lady, simpering. "I've been considerin' acceptin' a position such as you have. Of course, I ain't used to working out—"
"Oh, fiddlesticks? put in Miss Peckham, "He don't care nothin' about that, Sophrony. He can see you ain't no common servant."
"Assuredly I can see that, Mrs. Watkins," said Mr. Day, suavely. "But do you think you would care to accept such a position as I can offer you?"
"I should be pleased to try it," said Mrs. Watkins, with a sigh.
"Of course, it would be a comedown for me—"
"Land's sake, Sophrony!" ejaculated her friend, "with me to sponsor you, I don't guess anybody in this neighborhood will undertake to criticize."
"Wait a moment," said Mr. Day, and Janice was delighted to see that he was not entirely carried off his feet. "Let us understand each other. I pay so much a month," naming a fair sum, "and I expect the cooking and all the housework except the heavy washing done by whoever takes the place."
"Well, now, Mr. Day," began Mrs. Watkins, "you see, I shouldn't expect to be treated just like an ordinary servant. Oh, no."
"That's what I tell her," snorted Miss Peckham.
"Folks that have had the off-scourings of the earth, like you have had, Broxton Day, in your kitchen, ain't used to having lady-help about the house."
"I hope Janice and I will appreciate Mrs. Watkins' efforts, if she wishes to try the place," Mr. Day said, in rather a bewildered tone.
"That gal herself can do a good deal I sh'd think, morning and night. She ain't helpless," said Miss Peckham, staring at Janice.
"Janice has her school work to do," said Mr. Day firmly. "She takes care of her own room and does other little things. But unless Mrs. Watkins wishes to undertake the full responsibility of the housework it would be useless for her to come."
He was firm on that point. The faded-out lady smiled feebly. "I am always willing to do as far as I can," she sighed. "The work for three people can't be so much. I am perfectly willing to try, Mr. Day. I'm sure nothin' could be fairer than that."
Daddy and Janice looked at each other for an instant. It flashed through both their minds that the faded-out lady did not sound very encouraging. Later when the two had gone, daddy put away the blacklug tools, saying:
"Well, it will be a new experience, Janice. She is different from anybody we have ever had before."
"Oh, Daddy! I think she's funny," gasped the girl.
He smiled at her broadly, shaking his head. "I presume she does seem funny to you. But at least she is a ladylike person. We must treat her nicely."
"Why, as though we wouldn't!" gasped Janice.
"But don't offend her by showing her you are amused," warned her father. "That may be hard, for it does strike me that Mrs. Sophronia Watkins is a character, and no mistake."
"I wouldn't hurt her feelings for the world," declared Janice. "But, Daddy, do you suppose it is rouge she has on her face? And does she use a lipstick?"
"For goodness' sake! Where did you hear about such things?" he laughed.
"Why, of course I know something about most everything," declared Janice, quite confidently. "And her face doesn't look just natural."
"Don't get too curious, Janice," he said laughing. "If she can cook and keep the house clean, as far as I am concerned she can paint herself like a Piute chief."
One shock, however, Mr. Broxton Day was not exactly prepared for. Mrs. Watkins came to the house the next day for a late breakfast—which she got herself, Janice and her father having already cooked their own and eaten it.
"I haven't been used to getting up very early," confessed the woman, preening a bit. "But, of course, I shall change my breakfast hour to conform with yours."
"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.
Janice did not look at daddy, but her own face was rather red and she was uncomfortable.
"Your daughter," said Mrs. Watkins severely, informs me that you have not been in the habit of having anybody at your table at meal time but your two selves. Of course, I could only engage to assist you here with the understanding that I am to be considered one of the family."
"Why—er—yes; that will be all right," Janice's father said, though a bit doubtfully. "It would scarcely do to consider you, Mrs. Watkins, in the same category as the ordinary help Janice and I have had."
"I am glad you see it that way," said the faded-out lady. And she was quite colorless at the moment. It was evident that the rouge and lip-stick were used only on important occasions.
"I am glad you see it that way," she repeated. "I could consider no let-down as a lady, in accepting any position. Manual labor is no shame; but one must be true to one's upbringing."
"Quite so, Mrs. Watkins—quite so," agreed Mr. Day.
"Janice, child," said the woman quickly, "run out to the kitchen and get the rest of the potatoes. And see if the coffee is ready."
Her tone rather startled Janice; but she did as she was bade and that without even a glance at daddy.
"I never consider I have had a real dinner," Mrs. Watkins continued, "unless I have a bit of good cheese with it. I find none in the house, Mr. Day. Indeed," she added, "your pantry sadly needs stocking up."
"Why—er—that may be so. We have been living a good deal 'catch-as-catch-can,'" and he smiled upon her. "Give Janice a list of the things you need, and she will go to Harriman's for you in the morning."
"No. I prefer to do my own marketing, always. A child like Janice—thank you Janice, for the potatoes— can scarcely be expected to use judgment in the selection of provisions. You might telephone to the stores where you are in the habit of trading and inform them that I have charge of your household now. They will then expect me."
"Oh, well! All right," he said, but doubtfully.
"I have not yet brought my bag from Marthy's, next door. I will go after it when dinner is over, while Janice clears the table. I will send for my trunk, which is at Marietteville, later."
"Suit yourself, Mrs. Watkins," said Mr. Day.
"Have you any choice as to which of the two empty bedrooms I consider mine?" the woman asked, heaping her plate a second time with food.
"What's that?" asked Mr. Day, rather non-plussed.
"Which chamber shall I sleep in?" she repeated, quite calmly.
"Why—I— Really, Mrs. Watkins, isn't the small room beyond Janice's quite sufficient for you?" he asked, a little color coming into his face now.
"Oh, my dear Mr. Day! I could not consider that for a moment. Why, that is the girl's room—merely a bedroom for the hired help. I could not possibly consider myself in the same class—"
"Except on pay-day, Mrs. Watkins?" asked the man bluntly. "We are glad to have you with us, of course; and we will consider your quite different status in the family, as you demand. But—"
"No, Mr. Day," Mrs. Watkins said with decision, interrupting him.
"I could not contemplate for a moment occupying the girl's room.
Why you might want it again any time."
"Not while you are with us," said Mr. Day wonderingly. "I do not think I could afford to have two helpers."
"It does not matter," said the faded-out lady stubbornly. "Janice, get the coffee now. It does not matter. I refuse positively to sleep in that little, poked-up room. I prefer my windows opening to the east."
"But the east room is the one Mrs. Day always used," said the man, with sudden hoarseness. "I cannot allow you to use that one. The spare chamber on the other side of the hall, if you insist."
"Very well," said the woman with a small toss of her head. "Will you have a cup of coffee, Mr. Day?"
"No, Mrs. Watkins. I prefer a cup of tea at dinner time. A New
England habit that has clung to me."
"Indeed? Janice, go and make your father a cup of tea, that's a good child."
"Never mind, Janice," said daddy quickly. "I do not wish it now.
And, Mrs. Watkins."
"Yes, Mr. Day?" simpered the faded-out lady.
"I wish it distinctly understood that Janice is to give her complete attention to her school work between dinner and bedtime, unless she should chance to have more freedom during those hours than is usual. She will assist you as you may have need after school, and even in the morning before she goes to school. But the hours after dinner are for her school work. Do you quite understand me, Mrs. Watkins?"
Mrs. Watkins' pale, wrinkled face did not color in the least, nor did the washed-out brown eyes change their expression. But there was an added sharpness to the woman's voice:
"You object to Janice's giving me a hand with the lighter tasks,
Mr. Day?" she queried.
"Not at all. But her education must not be neglected."
"Ah! I quite understand," sniffed Mrs. Watkins. "You object to my going out this evening then? But I really must have my bag with my toilet requisites."
"I have no wish to restrict your use of the evening, as long as your work is done," said Mr. Day, rising from the table. "Come, Janice, it is time you were at your books."
He led the way into the living room. Mrs. Watkins gave a violent sniff at their departure. Then she finished her coffee.
CHAPTER XIII. STELLA'S PARTY
It was not going to be altogether pleasant sailing with Mrs Watkins in the house. Broxton Day saw that to be the fact, plainly and almost immediately. Janice had realized it even before her father had occasion to mark Mrs. Watkins' most prominent characteristic.
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. Watkins did most of the housekeeping from her station in a rocking chair on the porch where she sat, wearing the mitts aforementioned.
Her idea of keeping the house in order was to clean all the rooms that were not absolutely needed, and then close them up tight, draw the shades down and close the blinds, making of each an airless tomb into which Janice was made to feel she must not enter for fear of admitting a speck of dirt.
Most of the work was done on Saturday, when Janice was at home.
There was no playtime now for the girl— none at all.
But Janice would not complain. Mrs. Watkins could be very mean and petty, indeed; but to daddy she showed her best side. And as far as he saw, the house was run much better than had been the case of late.
Mrs. Watkins was ladylike in her demeanor. They became used to her sitting at the table with them and quite governing the trend of conversation at meals, as she did. Neither Janice nor her father liked to have the woman bring her tatting, which was her usual evening employment, into the living-room after dinner, for that was the only time when daughter and father could be confidential. But they did not see how they could overcome this annoyance without offending the woman.
At the end of the month Mr. Day was startled by the increase in the household bills. Mrs. Watkins had served them rather better food, it was true, than they had been getting of late; but a good many cutlets, sweetbreads, chops and steaks, seemed never to have appeared on the dinner table.
"I always feel the need of a hearty lunch Mr. Day," sniffed Mrs. Watkins. "I really need it after doing the morning's work. To keep one's self in condition is a duty we owe ourselves don't you think?"
"You seem to have stocked up pretty well with canned goods, Mrs. Watkins," was Broxton Day's rejoinder, now scanning the long memorandum from Harriman's. "Dear, dear! French peas? And imported marmalade? And canned mushrooms? Do you use all these things, Mrs. Watkins?"
"Oh, they are most useful, Mr. Day. One never knows when one may have company or wish to make a special dish. I have been used to the best, Mr. Day. Of course, if you wish to limit my purchases—" and she sniffed.
"Humph! I am not a rich man. We are not in the habit of using imported provisions of this quality. I expect you to buy good food and all that is sufficient. But such luxuries as these we cannot afford."
Mrs. Watkins merely sniffed again. Broxton Day, when he paid the bills at the stores, pointed out to Mr. Harriman and to the butcher that the goods bought seemed to cost considerably more than they previously had.
"Why, Mr. Day, you are buying a different quality of goods from what you have been used to," said Harriman. "Here's butter, for instance. That is our best— print butter, seven cents a pound higher than the tub butter you used to buy. Those eggs are selected white Leghorns, come to us sealed in boxes, and are fifteen cents more a dozen than ordinary fresh eggs."
The butcher told him something else. "Yes, you are getting the best grade of everything we carry, Mr. Day. That lady at your house evidently knows what she wants."
"Look here!" exclaimed Broxton Day, with some heat. "I haven't suddenly become a millionaire. I can't stand these prices. When she comes in here to buy, give her the grade of meat we have always had. 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. "I wonder what I am up against? Things do go better at the house; but I wonder if I can stand the pressure."
He did not know how much Janice had to do with making things at the house go so much more smoothly. The little girl was determined that daddy should not be troubled by household matters if she could help it.
With Olga Cedarstrom or the half-foolish Delia in the house, it was impossible to keep from daddy's eyes the things that went wrong. Now it was different. Mrs. Watkins was very sly in making everything appear all right before Broxton Day. On the other hand Janice showed an equal amount of slyness (of which she had been previously accused!) in helping hide the numerous things that would have troubled daddy.
There was waste in the kitchen. Mrs. Watkins was a big eater, but a delicate eater. She never wished to see the same thing on the table twice. A poor family could have been fed fairly well from what the woman flung into the garbage.
Janice had never been used to seeing such recklessness, even when only an ignorant servant was doing the work. At those times food was bought with a less lavish hand. Now there was seldom anything left, so Mrs. Watkins said, from one meal to warm up for another.
"I don't know what to do—I really don't," Janice confessed to Any Carringford who, by this time, had become her very closest friend and confidante. "Daddy has many business troubles, I know. It bothers him greatly to be annoyed by household matters. And he ought not to be so annoyed. But that woman!"
"It is too bad, honey," Amy said. "I wish my mother could help you. She knows everything about housekeeping."
"I know that is so," agreed Janice. "I wish Mrs. Watkins was a lady like your mother, Amy. Then the house would go all right and daddy needn't be bothered at all. I feel I ought to do something; but I don't know what."
Aside from cooking the meals, which she did very nicely, it must be confessed, Mrs. Watkins gradually allowed most of the responsibility for the housework to slide on to Janice's young shoulders.
The young girl got up an hour earlier than usual, and she busied herself sweeping and dusting and making beds right up to the minute she had to seize her books and lunch and run to school. She was quite sure that Mrs. Watkins went back to bed after breakfast, and really did little towards keeping the house in order until afternoon.
And if there was any scrubbing, or hard work to do, that was left until Saturday. Nobody ever saw Mrs. Watkins on her knees, unless it was at her devotions!
However, Janice Day was too sanguine to be made melancholy by these affairs. She was of a naturally cheerful nature—an attribute she inherited from her father. It took more than the faded-out lady to cause the girl overwhelming anxiety.
The stroke that had been the hardest for her to bear since her mother's death was the loss of the treasure-box and the heirlooms in it. Whether or not the Swedish girl, Olga Cedarstrom, had carried the valuables away with her, Janice felt all the time that she had only herself to blame because of the loss. And she realized that the loss of the packet of letters had saddened daddy dreadfully.
"If I had not been careless! If I had put the box back into the wall-safe before I went to bed! If I had remembered when I saw Arlo Junior and the cats! Dear me," murmured Janice more than once, "'If,' 'if,' 'if!' If the rabbit hadn't stopped for a nap beside the track, the tortoise would not have won the race."
"But, what under the sun," Gummy Carringford asked, "could have become of Olga and her fella? That is certainly a mystery."
With Amy and her brother, the boy with the odd name, Janice often discussed the lost treasure-box. She and daddy did not speak so much together about it as at first. It seemed to be hopelessly lost.
With the Carringfords Janice had become very friendly, as has been said. In the first place, Mrs. Carringford very much liked Janice Day. And how could she and her children help but be grateful to the little girl who lived at Eight-forty-five Knight Street?
The birthday party at Stella Lathams' house was now at hand. Mrs. Carringford had not yet been able to make over Mr. Day's clothes to fit Gummy; and he was not invited to the party, anyway. He was one grade in advance of the three girls in school, and Stella considered this excuse enough for not inviting him to her birthday fete. But Amy was radiant in the pink and white frock Janice had donated.
"Never mind," said Gummy, who was of a cheerful spirit, too.
"I'm glad the party will be on Friday instead of Saturday night.
I'll be out of the store early enough Friday night to come to the
Latham place to beau you girls home."
"Maybe we'll have beaux of our own and won't want you," said Amy roguishly.
"Don't mind what she says, Gummy," cried Janice. "I won't have any beau but you. I shall expect you. So don't fail me."
Stella Latham's expectations had been high, indeed, regarding her party; nor was she disappointed. Her father and mother had done everything they thought would please their only daughter; and surely the cost had not been considered.
The house, and the grounds around it, were charmingly lighted—the outside lamps being those gaudy and curious forms containing lighted candles, and called Japanese lanterns.
The Latham place on the Dover pike, was one of the show places of the countryside. Mr. Latham was wealthy and could well afford to give his daughter's friends an entertainment that might better, perhaps, have been offered older guests.
Stella was growing up too fast. Because she was aping older and foolishly fashionable folk, she was becoming an exacting, precocious girl—not at all the innocent and joyous child she should have been at fourteen years of age.
Her mother feared that all was not right with Stella; yet she was too weak and easy-going a woman to correct her daughter with a strong hand. She had observed Janice Day on two occasions when the latter had come with other young friends of Stella's to the house, and had commented favorably upon Janice's character.
"There is a girl you might pattern after, Stella, and it would do you good," said the somewhat unwise Mrs. Latham.
"Humph! I don't see why you say that, Ma," said Stella. "Janice Day isn't half as pretty as Mary Pierce. And she dresses in half mourning because of her mother's death. She hasn't got any style about her."
"She is a very shrewd and sensible young person," declared Mrs.
Latham. "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. He was wiser than his wife.
"You don't want any ill-feelings among your mates," he told
Stella.
Janice Day, therefore, whether "shrewd" or "sly," had helped Stella in the matter of fulfilling Mr. Latham's command. Amy, as sweet as a rose, appeared in the pretty pink and white dress that had been made by the dear fingers of Janice's mother.
At first Janice could scarcely look at her friend in the frock without feeling the tears start to her eyes. But, then,she knew that mother would have approved fully of this gift she had made. And Amy Carringford was good and attractive.
There was such a large number of young folks at the Latham place that evening that when it came time for the refreshments, every one of the farmer's hired help was called in, either as waiters or in the kitchen.
It took a good many waiters, too, for there were many steps to be taken back and forth to the kitchen. Mr. Latham had had a large canvas canopy stretched out in one corner of the yard, and under this were set the tables. And pretty, indeed, did they look under the soft lights of the numerous candles in their shiny whiteness of heavy napery, polished silver, dainty porcelain, and brilliant cutglass.
What appealed more, however, to the hearty appetites of the young people were the quantifies of sandwiches, the olives and pickles and the bowls of salad, the rich cakes, the heaps of ice-cream, the hot chocolate. The Lathams were lavish at all times, and when they gave a formal party the table was heaped with the richest and most delicious food they could provide. No wonder it took many hands to make things run smoothly.
"Goodness!" said Stella, within hearing of Janice and Amy, "there's such a crowd in that kitchen you've no idea! And some of the help are perfectly useless! You know, mother had the folks come up from both tenant houses to help, and one of the women—the Swedish one —has just broken one of mother's biggest cutglass dishes."
"I thought I heard a crash out there," said Janice.
"It is too bad," Amy added. "Of course the woman did not mean to."
"Well!" sniffed Stella, "that won't make the dish whole. It's worth money, too."
"Dear me," said Amy reflectively. "I guess Swedish girls must be bad luck. You know, it was a Swedish girl that stole that box from Janice."
"What box?" asked Stella, quickly. "A jewel box?"
"All the jewelry I owned," said Janice, with rather a rueful smile. "But more than that. Mother's miniature —and other things. At least, we suppose that Olga took the box when she left us so hurriedly."
"Olga!" exclaimed Stella. "Fancy! You don't mean that was her name?"
"Yes, 'Olga' she was called," Janice said wonderingly.
"That's the name Of this girl that broke the dish."
"Why, how funny!" exclaimed Amy
.
"That's not funny," rejoined Janice seriously. "Is she named
Olga Cedarstrom?"
"Goodness! I don't know her last name. She comes from one of our tenant houses. It's far away. Mother sent her home with a flea in her ear, now I tell you, after she had broken that dish."
Janice was disturbed. "I wish you knew her last name. What sort of looking girl is she? Are you sure she has already left the house?"
"Come on!" cried Amy, jumping up. "Let's run around there and see. Take us to the kitchen door, Stella."
"Well, yes. We can look. But I guess she has gone," said the farmer's daughter.
They had been sitting on the front porch. Stella led them quickly around to the rear of the big house.
CHAPTER XIV. COULD IT BE OLGA?
It was a beautiful evening, this of Stella Latham's birthday party. It was not often that the climate gave the people of Greensboro, this early in the season, such a soft and temperate night.
There was no moon, but the stars plentifully besprinkled the heavens, and their light bathed the area surrounding the Latham house, beyond the radiance of the Japanese lanterns, sufficiently for the three girls to see objects at some distance.
Before they reached the back door of the farmhouse, Amy cried aloud:
"Oh, girls! What's that? A ghost?"
"Ghost your granny!" exclaimed Stella. "That is somebody running along the hedge in a white skirt."
"It is a woman or a girl," Janice agreed, staring at the rapidly moving figure. "Is there a path there?"
"That is the path to one tenant house. Wait till I ask Anna, the cook."
She hurried to the back door, and her two friends, waiting at the pasture-lane bars, heard her ask if the woman who had broken the dish had gone.
"The awkward thing!" exclaimed Anna, the cook. "She's just this minute left."
"What is her name, Anna?" asked Stella, knowing that Janice was deeply interested.
"I don't know, Miss. Some outlandish Swedish name."
"Olga?"
"Humph! Maybe!"
"Olga Cedarstrom?"
"Goodness me! Don't ask me what else besides 'Olga' she is named," said the irritable cook, "for I couldn't tell you. I couldn't tell you my own name, scarcely, to-night. I'm that flurried."
Hearing all this plainly, Janice murmured to Amy: "I wish I dared follow her. Suppose it should be Olga?"
"Well, she is going right to that small house that belongs to Mr.
Latham. Stella says she lives there, whoever she is."
Just then a figure popped up beside them. Gummy's cheerful voice demanded:
"What's the trouble, girls?"
"Oh!" cried Janice.
"Goodness!" said the boy's sister. "How you scare one, Gummy!
Why, it isn't near time to go home."
"I got off earlier than I expected. So I came out and have been hanging around at the back here for half an hour."
"Oh. Gummy! did you see that woman?" Janice asked, seizing his jacket sleeve.
"What woman?"
"See there?' cried his sister, pointing. "That white thing going over the hill."
"Yes, I saw her. She came out of the kitchen, and she was crying. They had a row in there."
"Oh, Gummy! What did she look like?" murmured Janice.
"Yes, Gummy, tell us quick!" urged his sister.
"I tell you she was crying, and she had her handkerchief up to her face. So I did not see much of it. But her hair was 'lasses color, and she had it bobbed back so tight that I guess she couldn't shut her eyes until she undid it," chuckled Gummy.
"Oh, Amy!" ejaculated Janice, with clasped hands, "that is the way Olga used to do her hair."
"Not Olga, the Swede, who robbed you?" demanded the boy, interested at once.
"Yes. It might be Olga. If you had only seen her face—"
"I'll see her face all right," declared Gummy, starting off.
"I'll tell you just where she goes and what she looks like.
Don't you girls go home without me."
He was gone on the track of the flying woman like a dart. He was out of sight, being in dark garments, before Stella came back from the kitchen door.
"Don't tell her about Gummy," whispered Amy quickly. "She'll think, maybe, that he's been hanging around like those strange boys over the fence in front."
"Not a word," agreed Janice, smiling. "I wouldn't give Gummy away."
"There isn't anybody in the kitchen who knows that girl very well," said Stella, who was really showing herself interested in Janice Day's trouble. "I asked them all. This girl, Olga, is staying with Mrs. Johnson. Mrs. Johnson has a little baby to care for and couldn't come to-night. So this friend of hers came up to help. And she helped all right!" concluded Stella, with emphasis. "That dish is in a thousand pieces."
"Isn't it too bad?" said Amy, sympathetically.
"It's a mean shame," Stella declared. "I bet she'd steal. You'd better come over here tomorrow and find her. I'll bring you back in the auto with me after I go shopping, and we'll ride around by Mr. Johnson's house. He's one of father's farmers, you know."
"I'll tell daddy," Janice said, but in some doubt. "I'm awfully much obliged to you, Stella. You are real kind."
This pleased Stella Latham. She liked being praised, and as long as kindness did not cost her much of anything, she was glad to be kind.
The entertainment of her boy and girl friends continued gaily, despite the breaking of the big cutglass dish. It was almost eleven o'clock when the party broke up and the guests began to leave, shouting their congratulations to Stella as they went.
Janice and Amy Carringford found Gummy waiting for them at the front gate.
"Oh, Gummy!" whispered Janice, "did you see her?"
"Sure," declared the boy. "That's what I went after, wasn't it?
A sight of the Swedish girl's phisamahogany?"
"Gummy!" remonstrated his sister.
"But was it Olga?" demanded Janice, too deeply interested in the subject of Olga to be patient with sisterly reproof.
"Oh, say! How can I be sure of that? I never saw her before."
"Tell us all about it, Gummy," urged Janice.