Part 38 (2/2)

”I wish she _was_ ours, Mother,” Mr. Moore said kindly. ”I guess we'd be mighty proud of her.”

Janice did not hear his words. She had walked away from the fence with flaming cheeks and tears in her eyes. She was sorry for Mrs. Moore's misfortunes and had always tried to be kind to her; but this seemed such an unprovoked attack.

Janice Day craved approbation as much as any girl living. She appreciated the smiles that met her as she walked the streets of Polktown. The scowls hurt her tender heart, and the harsh words of Mrs. Moore wounded her deeply.

”I suppose that is the way they both feel toward me,” she thought, with a sigh.

The wreck of the old fis.h.i.+ng dock--a favorite haunt of little Lottie Drugg--was at the foot of the hill, and Janice halted here a moment to look out across it, and over the quiet cove, to the pine-covered point that gave the shallow basin its name.

Lottie had believed that in the pines her echo lived, and Janice could almost hear now the childish wail of the little one as she shouted, ”He-a! he-a! he-a!” to the mysterious sprite that dwelt in the pines and mocked her with its voice. Blind and very deaf, Lottie had been wont to run fearlessly out upon the broken dock and ”play with her echo,” as she called it. A wave of pity swept over Janice's mind and heart. Suppose Lottie should again completely lose the boon of sight.

What would become of her as she grew into girlhood and womanhood?

”Poor little dear! I almost fear for Hopewell to come home and tell us what the doctors say,” sighed Janice.

Then, even more tender memories a.s.sociated with the old wharf filled Janice Day's thought. On it, in the afterglow of a certain sunset, Nelson Haley had told her how the college at Millhampton had invited him to join its faculty, and he had asked her if she approved of his course in Polktown.

It had been decided between them that Polktown was a better field for his efforts in his chosen profession for the present--as the college appointment would remain open to him--and Janice was proud to think that meanwhile he had built the Polktown school up, and had succeeded so well. This spot was the scene of their first really serious talk.

She wondered now if her advice had been wise, after all. Suppose Nelson had gone to Millhampton immediately when he was called there?

He would have escaped this awful accusation that had been brought against him--that was sure.

His situation now was most unfortunate. Having requested a vacation from his school, he was receiving no pay all these weeks that he was idle. And Janice knew the young man could ill afford this. He had been of inestimable help to Mr. Middler and the other men who had charge of the campaign for prohibition that was moving on so grandly in Polktown. But that work could not be paid for.

Janice believed Nelson was now nearly penniless. His situation troubled her mind almost as much as that of her father in Mexico.

She went on along the sh.o.r.e to the northward, toward the little group of houses at the foot of the bluff, in one of which the Narnays lived.

There were the children grouped together at one end of the rickety front porch. Their mother sat on the stoop, rocking herself to and fro with the sickly baby across her lean knees, her face hopeless, her figure slouched forward and uncouth to look at.

A more miserable looking party Janice Day had never before seen. And the reason for it was quickly explained to her. At the far end of the porch lay Narnay, on his back in the sun, his mouth open, the flies buzzing around his red face, sleeping off--it was evident--the night's debauch.

”Oh, my dear!” moaned Janice, taking Mrs. Narnay's feebly offered hand in both her own, and squeezing it tightly. ”I--I wish I might help you.”

”Ye can't, Miss. There ain't nothin' can be done for us--'nless the good Lord would take us all,” and there was utter hopelessness and desperation in her voice.

”Don't say that! It must be that there are better times in store for you all,” said Janice.

”With _that_?” asked Mrs. Narnay, nodding her uncombed head toward the sleeping drunkard. ”Not much. Only for baby, here. There's a better time comin' for her--thanks be!”

”Oh!”

”Doctor says she can't live out th' Summer. She's goin' ter miss growin' up ter be what _I_ be--an' what Sophie'll proberbly be. It's a mercy. But it's hard ter part 'ith the little thing. When she is bright, she's that cunnin'!”

As Janice came up the steps to sit down beside the poor woman and play with the baby, that smiled at her so wanly, the sleeping man grunted, rolled over toward them, half opened his eyes, and then rolled back again.

Something rattled on the boards of the porch. Janice looked and saw several small coins that had rolled out of the man's trousers pocket.

Mrs. Narnay saw them too.

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