lay a gorged spider, too well fed to
pounce on the blue-bottle fly buzzing in the toils within easy pouncing
distance! Only glimpses of a higgledy-piggledy of assorted wares were to
be caught behind the panes. Across the front of the building was a faded
sign reading:

HOPEWELL DRUGG
GROCERIES AND DRY GOODS

Nothing about the shop itself would have held Janice Day's attention
even for a moment; but from within (the front door stood ajar) came the
wailing notes of a violin, the uncertain bow of the performer seeking
out the notes of "Silver Threads Among the Gold."

Yet, with all its uncertainty, the fiddler's touch groped for the beauty
and pathos of the chords:

"Darling, I am growing old,
Silver threads among the gold."

Janice heard the haunting sweetness of the tune all the way down the
shaded lane and she wondered who the player might be.

There was a deep, grass-grown ditch on one side--evidently an open drain
to carry the overflow of water from High Street. As the drain deepened
toward the bottom of the hill, posts had been set and rails laid on top
of them to defend vehicles from pitching into the ditch in the dark. But
many of the rails had now rotted and fallen to the sod, or the nails had
rusted and drawn out, leaving the barrier "jest rattling."

From a side road there suddenly trotted a piebald pony, drawing a low,
basket phaeton, in which sat two prim, little, old ladies, a fat one and
a lean one. Despite the difference in their avoirdupois the two old
ladies showed themselves to be what they were--sisters.

The thin one was driving the piebald pony. "Gidap, Ginger!" she
announced, flapping the reins.

She had better have refrained from waking up Ginger just at that moment.
A fickle breath of wind pounced upon an outspread newspaper lying on the
grass, fluttered it for a moment, and then, getting fairly under the
printed sheet, heaved it into the air.

Ginger caught a glimpse of the fluttering paper. He halted suddenly,
with all four feet braced and ears forward, fairly snorting his
surprise. As the paper began flopping across the road, he began to back.
The whites of his eyes showed plainly and he snorted again. The
wind-shaken paper utterly dissipated the pony's corn-fed complacency.

"Oh! Oh! Gidap!" shrieked the thin old lady.

"He--he's backin' us into the ditch, Pussy," cried her sister.

"I--I can't help it, Blossom," gasped the driver of the frightened pony.

The p