ce rummaged about in the tool-shed for some
minutes before she went upstairs to her room again. Marty crawled
down, yawning, and started for the usual morning pail of water from the
neighbor's well. Mr. Day was smoking on the bench outside of the
kitchen door. The pork began to hiss in the pan.

Suddenly, from upstairs, came a noisy pounding. Nail after nail was
being driven with confidence and dispatch.

"For the land's sake!" gasped Aunt 'Mira, looking up from the stove, a
strip of pork hanging from her up-raised fork.

Uncle Jason took his pipe from his lips and screwed his neck around so
as to look in at the door.

"What d'you reckon that gal's up to?" he demanded.

Marty came back from the Dickerson's at almost a lope. "What in
'tarnation is Janice doin' up in her room?" he queried, slopping the
water as he put the pail hurriedly upon the shelf.

"I haven't the least idea what it can be," said Mrs. Day, almost aghast.

"By jinks!" exclaimed the slangy boy. "I wanter see. By jinks! she
socked that nail home--she did!"

The whole house rang with the vigor of Janice's blows. Marty started
up the stairs in a hurry, and Mr. Day followed him. Mrs. Day came to
the foot of the stairs with the piece of pork still dangling from her
fork.

Marty reached his cousin's door and banged it open without as much as
saying "By your leave."

"Hullo! What you doin'?" demanded the boy.

"Can't you _see_?" returned Janice, coolly. "I got sick of being
rocked to sleep every night on that old soap-box. I'll wager, Marty,
that this leg will stay put when I get through with it."

"Wal! of all things!" grunted Mr. Day, with his head poked in at the
open door.

"What's Janice doing?" demanded his wife, too heavy to mount the stairs
easily.

Uncle Jason turned about and descended the flight without replying to
his wife; but at her reiterated cry Marty explained.

"Ain't that gal a good 'un?" said the boy. "She's gone and put on the
old leg to that bedstead. That's been broke off ever since you cleaned
house last Fall, Maw."

"Oh! Well! Is that it?" repeated Mrs. Day. Then, when she and her
husband were alone in the kitchen, before the young folk came down, she
said, pointing the fork at him: "I declare for't! I'd feel ashamed if
I was you, Jason Day."

"What for?" demanded her husband, scowling.

"Lettin' Broxton's gal do that. You could ha' tacked on that leg forty
times if you could once. Ain't that