y
house once more. Mr. Day was puttering around the stables.

"Ye didn't finish them 'taters, Marty," he complained.

"Oh, I'll do 'em to-morrer," said the boy. "It most broke my back
a'ready. And did ye see all the carrots we got weeded?"

"Uh-huh," observed his father. "Lots _you_ had to do with weedin' the
carrots, Marty," he added, sarcastically.

When Janice went into the house the dinner dishes were still piled in
the sink; yet Aunt 'Mira was already getting supper. She was still
shuffling around the kitchen in her list slippers and the old calico
dress.

"I declare for't!" she complained. "Seems ter me I never find time to
clean myself up for an afternoon like other women folks does. There's
allus so much ter do in this house. Does seem the beatenes'! An' there
ain't nobody nowheres likes nice clo'es better than I do, Niece Janice.
I use ter dress pretty nifty, if I do say it. But that was a long time
ago, a long time ago.

"No. Never mind 'em now. I'll wash the hull kit an' bilin' of 'em up
after supper. No use in takin' two bites to a cherry," she added,
referring to the dishes in the sink.

Janice climbed the stairs to her room, carefully stepping over the
broken tread. There was water in her pitcher, and she made her simple
toilet, putting on a fresh frock. Then she sat down in the rocker by the
window. Every time she swung to and fro the loose rocker clicked and
rattled.

The red light that heralded the departure of the sun behind the wooded
hills across the lake seemed to make the room and its mismated
furnishings uglier than before. The girl turned her back upon it with
almost a sob, and gazed out upon the terraced hillside and the lake, the
latter already darkening. The shadows on the farther shore were heavy,
but here and there a point of sudden light showed a farmhouse.

A belated bird, winging its way homeward, called shrilly. The breeze
sobbed in the nearby treetops, and then died suddenly.

Such a lonely, homesick feeling possessed Janice Day as she had never
imagined before! She was away off here in the East, while Daddy's train
was still flying westward with him, down towards that war-ruffled
Mexico. And she was obliged to stay here--in this ugly old house--with
these shiftless people----

"Oh, dear Daddy! I wish you could be here right now," the girl half
sobbed. "I wish you could see this place--and the folks here! I know
what _you'd_ say, Daddy; I know just what you'd say about it