Janice Day at Poketown Part 40

"Right, by jinks!" admitted the farmer.

"Look what this old place looked like when she come!"

"She sartainly has stirred us all up."

"An' look at Marty!"

"I got to give her credit," admitted Mr. Day. "She's made a man of Marty. Done more for him than the school done."

"But it was her started him to goin' to school ag'in."

"So I tell ye," agreed Mr. Day again. "Janice is at the bottom of ev'rything good that's happened in Poketown for two years. I dunno as people realize it; but I'm proud of her!"

"Then, I tell you what, Jason. I'm going to save the board money for her," declared Aunt 'Mira, with a little catch in her breath. "You won't mind? Marty'll have the place an' all you kin save, when we are gone; but that dear little thing----Givin' her money to that blind child, and all----"

Mrs. Day broke down and "sniveled." At least, that is what her husband would have called it under some circ.u.mstances, and crying did not beautify Mrs. Day's fat face. But for some reason the old man came close to her and put his arms about her bulbous shoulders.

"There, there, 'Mira! don't you cry about it. You sartainly have got a good heart. An' I won't say nothin' agin' your savin' for the gal.

Mebbe she'll need your savin's, too. Broxton Day is too free-handed, and he'll have his ups and downs again, p'r'aps. Anyhow, whatever you say is right, is right, 'Mira," and he kissed her suddenly in a shamedfaced sort of way, and then hurried out.

The good woman sat there in her kitchen, with shining eyes, blushing like a girl. She touched tenderly her wet cheek where her husband had laid his lips.

"He--he wouldn't ha' done that two year ago, I don't believe!" she murmured.

She picked up the ever-present story paper; but her mind was not attuned to imaginary romance that morning. And there were the breakfast dishes waiting----

She went about her work briskly, and singing. Somehow it seemed as though _real_ romance had come into the old Day house, and into Aunt 'Mira's life!

The weeks rolled on toward summer. A fortnight after little Lottie and Miss 'Rill had gone to Boston a letter came from the specialist to Hopewell Drugg. The operation on the child's eyes had been performed almost as soon as she had arrived at the sanitarium; now he could announce that it was successful. Lottie could see and, barring some accident, would be a bright-eyed girl and woman.

Already, the doctor urged, she was fit to go into the school for the deaf and dumb in which such wonderful miracles were achieved for the afflicted. The good surgeon, learning from Miss 'Rill the circ.u.mstances of the child's being brought to him, had subscribed two hundred dollars toward Lottie's tuition and board in the school for the deaf and dumb.

It was joyful news for both Hopewell and Janice. That evening the storekeeper got out his violin and played his old tunes over and over--especially "Silver Threads Among the Gold."

"But it sounds more like a hymn of praise tonight," Nelson Haley whispered in Janice's ear, as they sat on the front porch of the little shop and listened to the violin.

A week later the little spinster came home. Her visit in Boston seemed to have done her a world of good. She brought a great trunk packed full of things to wear, or goods to be made up into pretty dresses and the like.

"I declare for't!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed her mother. "Looks like you had been buyin' your trossoo--an' old maid like you, too!"

But Miss 'Rill was unruffled, and parried her mother's suspicion.

When the lake boat, the _Constance Colfax_, began to run on her summer schedule after Decoration Day, many more summer tourists than usual got off the boat at Poketown to look about. The dock was so neat, and the surroundings of the landing so attractive, that these visitors were led to go further up into the town.

There was the pleasant, rambling, old Lake View Inn, freshened with paint that spring, and with a green gra.s.s plot before it, and wide, screened verandas.

"Why, it's only its name that is against it!" cried the wondering tourists. "It's not _poky_ at all."

These remarks, repeated as they were, made the merchants of the village stop and think. Ere this a board of trade had been formed, and the welfare of the town was eagerly discussed at the meetings of the board.

Mr. Ma.s.sey, the druggist, who was active, of course, got another idea from Janice.

He began to delve into the past history of Poketown. He learned how and when it had been settled--and by whom. People had mostly forgotten (if they ever had known) the true history of the town.

A pioneer named Cyrus Polk had first built his cabin on the heights overlooking this little bay. He had been the first smith in this region, too, and gradually around "Polk's Smithy" had been reared the nucleus of the present town.

Through the years the silent "l" in the original settler's name had been lost entirely. But the post office agreed to put it back into the name, and a big signboard was painted and set up at the dock.

"POLKTOWN."

"It sartain sure looks a hull lot diff'rent, even if ye _do_ pernounce it the same," admitted Walky Dexter.

So much was happening these balmy June days! The school year--the first in the new schoolhouse--was going to end in a blaze of glory for Nelson Haley, Janice was sure. Elder Concannon had promised in writing to give his lot upon High Street for the site of a library building, whenever the a.s.sociation should have subscribed twelve hundred dollars toward the building itself.

Then came the first love letter that Janice Day had ever received!

Such a letter was it that she treasures it yet and will always do so.

It was one that she could proudly show to anybody she chose, without betraying that intimacy that the ordinary love letter is supposed to contain.

News had come regularly to Hopewell Drugg from the teachers at the school where little Lottie had taken up her abode. Because the child was naturally so bright, and because of the fact that before she lost her eyesight she had learned the alphabet and some primary studies, and had not forgotten it all, Lottie was making marvelous progress the teachers declared.

A much-bethumbed envelope, addressed in crooked "printed" characters to "Mis Janis Day, Pokton," enclosed in a teacher's letter to the storekeeper, was the cover of Janice's love letter. Inside, the child said:

"Dear Janis, jus' to think, I can see reel good, and my techur what I luv says maybe I will heer reel good bymeby.

"Deer Janis, I no I cante spel good yet, and my ritin aint strate on the paper. But I want you shud be the firs to get leter from me I luv yu so.

"Deer Janis, you got me the muney for the docker. And he was soo good himself, he never hardly hurt me a tall.

"Deer Janis, I luv yu mos of all, cos if yu hadn ben yu I wudn never seen no moar. An it was so dark all times. Thats wy I feld down cellar. An now I am goin to heer they say.

"Deer Janis, see if my echo is thar. Yu no my echo--that is the way techur says to spell it. If my echo is waitn tell it I am comin' to heer it again. And I luv you lots and lots, deer Janis. I will show you how much when I com home to father and Pokton. no moar at prasens, from your little Lottie."

Janice read the pitiful little scrawl through the first time on the store porch. Then, tear-blinded, she started down the hill toward the old wharf at the inlet where she had first seen Hopewell Drugg's unfortunate child.

She was halfway down the hill before she heard a quick step behind her and knew, without turning, that it was Nelson Haley.

CHAPTER x.x.x

WHAT THE ECHO MIGHT HAVE HEARD

"What's your hurry, Janice?" demanded the young teacher, coming to her side, smiling. Then he saw her wet lashes and exclaimed: "My dear girl! you are crying?"

"Not--not now," said Janice, shaking her head and her voice catching a little as she spoke.