d mathematics she might
improve by reciting with Miss Scattergood's classes, and she told the
little teacher so.

"You'll be welcome, I'm sure," said the school-mistress, nervously.
"Are you coming Monday? That's nice," and she shook hands with her as
the visitor arose.

Janice passed down the girls' aisle again, trying to pick out at least
one of the occupants of the old-fashioned benches who would look as
though she might be chummy and nice; but there was not one.

"Dear me--dear me!" murmured Janice, when she was outside and stood a
moment to look back at the ugly, red schoolhouse. "It--'it jest
rattles'--_that's_ what it does; like everything about Uncle Jason's,
and like everything about the whole town. That school swings on one
hinge like the gates on Hillside Avenue.

"Oh, dear me! Poketown is just dreadful--it's dreadful!"

CHAPTER VI

AN AFTERNOON OF ADVENTURE

The late spring air, however, was delicious. The trees rustled
pleasantly. The bees hummed and the birds twittered, and altogether
there were a hundred things to charm Janice into extending her walk.
Down at the foot of a side street a bit of water gleamed like a huge
turquoise. There seemed to be no dwellings at the foot of this street,
and Janice, with the whole afternoon before her, felt the tingle of
exploration in her blood.

Just off High Street was another store. It was in a low-roofed
building shouldering upon the highway, with a two-story cottage
attachment at the back. Two huge trees overshadowed the place and lent
a deep, cool shade to the shaky porch; but the trees made the store
appear very gloomy within.

Of all the shops Janice had observed in Poketown it seemed that this
little store was the most neglected and woeful looking. Its two show
windows were a lacework of dust and flyspecks. In the upper corners
were ragged spider webs; and in one web lay a gorged spider, too well
fed to pounce on the blue-bottle fly buzzing in the toils within easy
pouncing distance! Only glimpses of a higgledy-piggledy of assorted
wares were to be caught behind the panes. Across the front of the
building was a faded sign reading:

HOPEWELL DRUGG
GROCERIES AND DRY GOODS

Nothing about the shop itself would have held Janice Day's attention
even for a moment; but from within (the front door stood ajar) came the
wailing notes of a violin, the uncertain bow of the performer seeking
out the notes of "Silver Threads Among the