oth--once," admitted the girl.

"Ah! then you know how little Lottie is to be pitied?"

"And isn't he to be pitied, too?" Janice could not help but ask.

Miss 'Rill blushed--such a becoming blush as it was, too! She answered
honestly: "I think so. Poor Hopewell! And I think he plays the fiddle
real sweet, too.

"But don't say anything before mother about him. Mr. Drugg's never been
one of ma's favorites," added the teacher, earnestly.

CHAPTER IX.

TEA, AND A TALK WITH DADDY

As it chanced, it was old Mrs. Scattergood herself who broached the
forbidden topic, almost as soon as Miss 'Rill and Janice were in the
house.

"What do you suppose that great gump, Hopewell Drugg, let his young'un
do to-day, 'Rill? I was tellin' Miz' Beasely that it did seem to be
_one_ mistake that Providence must ha' made, ter let that Drugg an'
'Cinda Stone have a gal baby--'specially if 'Cinda was goin' ter up and
die like she done and leave the young'un to his care. Seems a shame,
too."

"Why, mother! That doesn't sound a bit reverent," objected Miss 'Rill,
softly. "Nor kind."

"Pshaw!" snorted the old lady. "You allus was silly as a goose about
that Drugg. Sech shiftlessness I never did see. There the young'un was,
out in a white dress an' white kid shoes this mornin'--her best,
Sunday-go-ter-meetin' clo'es, I'll be bound!--sittin' on the aidge o'
that gutter over there, makin' a mud dam! Lucky yesterday's rain has
run off now, or she'd be out there yet, paddlin' in the water."

"I don't s'pose Hopewell knew of it," said the younger woman, timidly.
"The poor little thing can dress herself, blind as she is. It's quite
wonderful how she gets about."

"She ain't got no business to be out of his sight," grumbled Mrs.
Scattergood.

Miss 'Rill sighed and shook her head, looking at Janice with a little
nod of understanding. She changed the subject of talk quickly. The old
lady began at once on Janice, "pumping" her as to her interests in
Poketown, how she liked her relatives, and all. Then Mrs. Beasely, a
very tall, angular figure in severe black, appeared at the sitting-room
door and invited them in to supper.

Mrs. Beasely was a famous cook and housekeeper. She was a very grim
lady, it seemed to Janice, and the enlarged crayon portrait of Mr.
Beasely, its frame draped with crape, which glared down upon the
groaning table in the dining-room, almost took the girl's appetite away.

Fortunately, however, the widow insiste