rat the man!" muttered his wife. "If I could jes' git a rise out o'
him onc't----"

It was not far to the dock. Indeed, Poketown was so compactly built on
the steep hillside that there was scarcely a house within its borders
from which a boy could not have tossed a pebble into the waters of the
cove. Jason strolled along in the shade, passing the time of day with
such neighbors as were equally disengaged, and spreading the news of
his niece's expected arrival.

As he passed along the lane which later debouched upon the main
thoroughfare of Poketown, it was evident to the most casual glance that
the old Day house was not the only dwelling far along in a state of
decay. Poketown was full of such.

On the street leading directly to the dock there were several
well-cared-for estates--some of them wedged in between blocks of
two-story frame buildings, the first floors of which were occupied by
stores of various kinds. The post office had a building to itself.
The Lake View Inn was not unattractive, its side piazza overlooking the
cove and the lake spread beyond.

But the rutty, dusty road showed that it had been rutty and muddy in
the earlier spring. The flagstones of the sidewalks were broken, and
the walks themselves ill kept. The gutters were overgrown with grass
and weeds. Before the shops the undefended tree trunks were gnawed
into grotesque patterns by the farmers' hungry beasts. Hardware was at
a premium in Poketown, for a dozen gates along the line were hung with
leather hinges, and bits of rope had taken the places of the original
latches.

From the water, however, even on closer view, the hillside village made
a pretty picture. Near the wharf it was not so romantic, as Janice Day
realized, when the coughing, wheezy steamboat came close in.

There were decrepit boats drawn up on the narrow beach; there were
several decaying shacks bordering on the dock itself; and along the
string-piece of the wharf roosted a row of "humans" that were the
opposite of ornamental. The quick eye of Janice Day caught sight of
this row of nondescripts.

"Goodness me, Mrs. Scattergood!" she exclaimed, turning to the old lady
who had been in receipt of her confidences. "Is the almshouse near
Poketown?"

"There's a poorfarm, child; but there ain't nobody on it but a few old
folks an' some orphans. We ain't poor here--not pauper poor. But,
goodness me! you mean them men a-settin' there? Why, they ain't
poor--no, no,