ellow said to Marty
Day. "I see her scouring the papers in the readin'-room the other
night, and she was lookin' for some news of her father, of course."

"I reckon so," Marty answered. "We don't know nothing about what's
become of him. They stand 'em up against a wall down there in Mexico
and shoot 'em just for fun--so Walky Dexter says. Dad says he never
expects to hear of Uncle Brocky alive ag'in."

"And yet that girl keeps up her pluck! She's all right," declared the
other. "Gee! suppose she should come smack upon the story of her
father's death some night there in the readin'-room? Wouldn't that be
tough?"

From this conversation sprang the idea of a sort of Brotherhood of
Defense (in lieu of a better title) among the boys who used the
reading-room whose existence Janice Day's initiative had established.
Whoever got the papers from the mail and spread them on the file in the
reading-room, first examined the columns carefully for any mention of
the execution of prisoners by either belligerent party in Mexico;
especially was the news searched for any mention of the lost Mr. Day.

Sometimes, when the news story suggested one of these horrible
executions, the whole paper was "lost in the mail." At least, when it
was inquired for, that was the stock reply. The boys made sure that
Janice should never see such blood-chilling accounts of Mexican
activities.

It drew toward Christmas. Janice had another sorrow, of which she
never said a word. Her spending money was nearly gone. She saw the
bottom of her narrow purse just as the season of giving approached!

There were so many things she wanted to do for all her friends, both in
Poketown and back at Greensboro. Some few little things she had made,
for her fingers were both nimble and dexterous. But "home-made"
presents would not do for Uncle Jason, Aunt 'Mira, Marty, and a dozen
other people towards whom she felt kindly.

She had begun to worry, too, about what would finally happen to her if
her father never came back! How long would the bank continue to pay
her board to Uncle Jason? And how was she to get clothes, and other
necessary things?

In the midst of these mental tribulations came a letter from the
Greensboro bank, addressed to Janice herself. In it was the cashier's
check for twenty-five dollars, and a brief note from the official
himself, stating that Mr. Day, before ever he had separated from his
daughter, had looked forward to her Chri