State Department has already been
telegraphed, and an inquiry will be made. But Americans are
disappearing most mysteriously every week in Mexico, and I cannot hold
out any hope for Mr. Day. He may get word through to you by some other
route than this; if so, will you wire me at once?

"Sincerely yours,

"JAMES W. BUCHANAN."

CHAPTER XV

NEW BEGINNINGS

The very worst of it was, there was nothing Janice could do! She must
wait, and to contemplate that passive state, almost drove her mad!

Day after day passed without bringing any further news. She read the
papers just as eagerly as before; but the center of military activity
in Mexico had suddenly shifted to an entirely different part of the
country. There was absolutely no news in the papers from the district
where the mine was situated.

Mr. Buchanan wrote once again, but even more briefly. He was a busy
man, and had done all that he could. If he heard from, or of, Mr. Day
he would telegraph Janice at once, and if _she_ heard she was to let
him know by the same means.

That was the way the matter stood. It seemed as though the State
Department could, or would, do nothing. Mr. Day, like other citizens
of the United States, had been warned of the danger he was in while he
remained in a country torn by civil strife. The consequences were upon
his own head.

The folks who knew about Janice's trouble tried to be good to her.
Walky Dexter drove around to invite the girl to go with him whenever he
had a job that took him out of town with the spring wagon. Janice
loved to jog over the hilly roads, and she saw a good bit of the
country with Dexter.

"I'd love to own just a little automobile that I could run myself," she
said once.

"Why don't you borry Nelse Haley's gasoline bike?" demanded Walky, with
a grin. "Or, mebbe he'll put a back-saddle on fer yer. I've seen 'em
ride double at Middletown."

"I don't like motorcycles. I want a wide seat and more comfort," said
Janice. "Daddy said that, perhaps, if things went well with him down
there in Mexico, I could have an auto runabout," and she sighed.

"Now, Miss Janice!" exclaimed the man, "don't you take on none. Mr.
Broxton Day'll come out all right. I remember him as a boy, and he was
jest as much diff'rent from Jason as chalk is from cheese! Yes,
sir-ree!"

This implied a compliment for her father, Janice knew, so she was
pleased. Walky Dexter meant well.

Little Miss Scatter