rated upon her nerves. There she stood, with her little,
up-raised face flooded by the spring sunshine, which entered through the
side doorway, a gleam of pleasure passing over her features when she
felt the vibration of the minor notes. They were deeply engaged, those
two--the father with his playing, the child in striving to catch the
tones.

Janice gathered up her few small purchases and stole out of the old
store.

It was more than a week later when Marty came home to supper one night
and grinned broadly at his cousin.

"What d'ye s'pose I've got for you, Janice?" he asked.

His cousin flashed him a single comprehending look, and then her face
went white.

"Daddy!" she gasped. "A letter from Daddy?"

"Aw, shucks! ain't there nothin' else you want?" the boy returned,
teasingly.

"Not so much as a talk with Daddy," she declared, breathlessly. "And
that's almost what a letter will be. Dear Marty! If you've got a letter
from him do, _do_ let me have it!"

"Don't you torment Janice now, Marty," cried his mother. "I hope he is
all right, Janice. Is it writ in his own hand, Marty?"

"I dunno," said the plaguesome boy, looking at the address covertly. "It
is postmarked 'Juarez'."

"Oh, yes! oh, yes!" cried Janice. "He would send it down there to be
mailed. So he said. Mail service up in Chihuahua is so uncertain. Oh,
Marty! p-l-e-a-s-e!"

"You give her that, Marty!" commanded Mr. Day.

Janice snatched the letter when the boy held it out to her; but she
flashed Marty a "Thanks, awfully!" as she ran out of the room and
upstairs. Supper? What did she care for supper? In the red light of the
sunset she sat by the window in her room and read Mr. Broxton Day's
loving letter.

It _was_ almost like seeing and talking with Daddy! Those firm, flowing
lines of black ink, displaying character and firmness and decision,
looked just like Daddy himself! Janice kissed the open page
ecstatically, and then began to read:

"DEAR DAUGHTER:

"The several thousand miles that separate us seem very short
indeed when I sit down to write my little Janice. I can see
her standing right before me in this barren, corrugated-iron
shack--which would have been burned the last time a bunch of
the Constitutionalists swept through these hills, only iron
will not burn. If a party of Federal troops come along they
may try to destroy our plant, too. Just at the present time
the foreigner, and his