"The
'tater-patch is dry enough to put the plow in. And I'll want ye to
help me."

"Oh--Dad! I got to help Janice get her car out. This ain't no time to
plow for 'taters," declared Marty.

"Your mouth'll be open wider'n anybody else's in the house for the
'taters when they're grown," said Uncle Jason, calmly. "You got to do
your share toward raisin' 'em."

"Oh, Dad!" ejaculated the boy again.

"Now, Marty, you stop talkin'!" cried his mother.

"Huh! you wanter make a feller dumb around here, too. S'pose Janice
breaks down on the road?" he added, with reviving hope.

"I guess she'll find somebody that knows fully as much about them
gasoline buggies as you do, Son," observed Uncle Jason, easily. "You
an' me'll tackle the 'tater field."

When his father spoke so positively Marty knew there was no use trying
to change him. He frowned, and muttered, and kicked the table leg as
he got up, but to no avail.

Janice, later, got into her car and started for a ride. She put the
Kremlin right at the hill and it climbed Hillside Avenue with wonderful
ease. The engine purred prettily and not a thing went wrong.

"Poor Marty! It's too bad he couldn't go, too," she thought. "I'd
gladly share this with somebody."

Nelson, she knew, was busy this forenoon. It took no little of his
out-of-school time to prepare the outline for the ensuing week's work.
Besides, on this Saturday morning, there was a special meeting of the
School Committee, as he had told her the afternoon before. Something
to do with the course of lectures before mentioned. And the young
principal of Polktown's graded school was very faithful to his duties.

She thought of Mrs. Drugg and little Lottie; but there was trouble at
the Drugg home. Somehow, on this bright, sweet-smelling morning,
Janice shrank from touching anything unpleasant, or coming into
communication with anybody who was not in attune with the day.

She was fated, however, to rub elbows with Trouble wherever she went
and whatever she did. She ran the Kremlin past the rear of Walky
Dexter's place and saw Walky himself currying Josephus and his mate on
the stable floor. The man waved his currycomb at her and grinned. But
his well-known grimace did not cheer Janice Day.

"Dear me! Poor Walky is in danger, too," thought the young girl.
"Why! the whole of Polktown is changing. In some form or other that
liquor selling at the Inn touches all our lives. I wonder if other
peop