gid lines of the old-fashioned houses, and of the
ledges and buttresses of the hills themselves.

Old Mrs. Scattergood stood up, too, looking through her steel-bowed
glasses.

"I declare for't!" she said, "that's Poketown itself! That's the spire
of the Union Church you see. We'll git there in an hour."

Janice did not sit down again just then, nor did she reply. She rested
both trimly-gloved hands on the rail and gazed upon the scene.

"Why, it's beautiful!" she breathed at last. "And _that_ is Poketown!"

CHAPTER II

POKE-TOWN

Some ancient dwellings have the dignity of "homestead" resting upon
them like a benediction; others are aureoled by the name of "manor."
The original Day in Poketown had built a shingled, gable-ended cottage
upon the side-hill which had now, for numberless years, been called
"the old Day house"--nothing more.

"Jason! You Jase! I'd give a cent if you'd mend this pump,"
complained Mrs. Almira Day. "Go git me a pail of water from Mis'
Dickerson's and ask how's her rheumatism this mawnin'. Come on, now!
I can't wash the breakfas' dishes till I hev some water."

The grizzled, lanky man who had been sitting comfortably on a bench in
the sun, sucking on a corncob pipe and gazing off across the lake,
never even turned his head as he asked:

"Where's Marty?"

"The goodness only knows! Ye know he ain't never here when ye want
him."

"Why didn't ye tell him about the water at breakfas' time?"

"Would _that_ have done any good?" demanded Mrs. Day, with some scorn.
"Ye know Marty's got too big to take orders from his marm. He don't do
nothin' but hang about Josiah Pringle's harness shop all day."

"I told him to hoe them 'taters," said Mr. Day, thoughtfully.

"Well, he don't seem ter take orders from his dad, neither. Don't know
what that boy's comin' to," and a whine crept into Mrs. Day's voice.
"He can't git along with 'Rill Scattergood, so he won't go to school.
His fingers is gettin' all stained yaller from suthin'--d'you 'xpect
it's them cigarettes, Jase?"

Her husband was rising slowly to his feet. "Gimme the pail," he
grunted, without replying to her last question. "I'll git the water
for ye this onc't. But that's Marty's job an' he's got to l'arn it,
too!"

"Here, Jase! take two pails," urged Mrs. Day. "An' I wish you _would_
git Pringle to cut ye a new pump-leather."

But Mr. Day ignored the second pail. "I don't feel right peart
to-day," he said, sham