Part 43 (2/2)

The recurrent temperance meetings which had at first been held in the Town House had to seek other quarters early in the campaign. Mr. Cross Moore ”lifted his finger” and the councilmen voted to allow the Town Hall to be used for no such purpose.

However, warm weather having come, in a week the Campaign Committee obtained a big tent, set it up on the old circus grounds behind Major Price's place, somewhat curtailing the boys' baseball field, and the temperance meetings were held not only once a week, but thrice weekly.

The tent meetings became vastly popular. When Nelson Haley, urged by the elder, made his first speech in the campaign, Polktown awoke as never before to the fact that their schoolmaster had a gift of oratory not previously suspected.

And, perhaps as much as anything, that speech raised public opinion to a height which could be no longer ignored by the School Committee.

There was an unveiled demand in the Polktown column of the Middletown Courier that Nelson Haley should be appointed teacher of the graded school for the ensuing year.

Even Mr. Cross Moore saw that the time had come for him and his comrades on the committee to back down completely from their position.

It was the only thing that would save them from being voted out of office at the coming election--and perhaps that would happen anyway!

Before the Summer was over the request, signed by the five committeemen, came to Nelson that he take up his duties from which he had asked to be relieved in the Spring.

”It's a victory!” cried Janice, happily. ”Oh, Nelson! I'm _so_ glad.”

But there was an exceedingly bitter taste on Nelson Haley's lips. He shook his head and could not smile. The accusation against his character still stood. He had been accused of stealing the collection of coins, and he had never been able to disprove the charge.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE TRUTH AT LAST

Daddy had not written for nearly two months. At least, no letter from him had reached Janice. The Day family in Polktown had not gone into mourning in the Spring and Aunt 'Mira gloried in a most astonis.h.i.+ng plum-colored silk with ”r'yal purple” tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs. Nevertheless, Janice had now all but given up hope for her father's life.

The uncertainty connected with his fate was very hard for the young girl to bear. She had the thought with her all the time--a picture in her mind of a man, blindfolded, his wrists fastened behind him, standing with his back against a sunburnt wall and a file of ragged, barefooted soldiers in front of him.

In desperation she had written a letter addressed personally to ”General Juan Dicampa,” sending it to the same place to which she addressed her father's letters. She did this almost in fear of the consequences. Who would read her letter now that the guerrilla chief was dead?

In the appeal Janice pleaded for her father's life and for news of him.

Days pa.s.sed and there was no reply. But the letter, with her name and address on the outside, was not returned to her.

Broxton Day's fate was discussed no more before Janice at home. And other people who knew of her trouble, save Nelson Haley, soon forgot it. For the girl did not ”wear her heart on her sleeve.”

As for the Druggs--Hopewell and his wife--they were so worried about little Lottie's case that they had thought for n.o.body's troubles but their own.

The doctors would not let the child return to Polktown at present.

They kept her all through the Summer, watching her case. And Lottie, at a Summer school in Boston, was enjoying herself hugely. She was not yet at an age to worry much about the future.

These months of Lottie's absence were weary ones indeed for her father.

Sometimes he wandered about the store quite distraught. 'Rill was worried about him. He missed the solace of his violin and refused to purchase a cheap instrument to take the place of the one he had been obliged to sacrifice.

”No, Miss Janice,” he told the girl once, when she spoke of this. ”I could not play another instrument. I am no musician. I was never trained. It was just a natural talent that I developed, because I found in my heart a love for the old violin my father had played so many years.

”Through its vibrant strings I expressed deeper feelings than I could ever express in any other way--or upon any other instrument. My lips would never have dared tell my love for 'Rill,” and he smiled in his gentle way, ”half so boldly as my violin told it! Ask her. She will tell you that my violin courted her--not Hopewell Drugg.”

”Oh, it is too, too bad!” cried Janice. ”And that fellow down at Lem Parraday's hotel has never succeeded in disposing of the fiddle. I wish he would sell it back to you.”

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