"No. I prefer to do my own marketing, always. A child like Janice--thank you Janice, for the potatoes-- can scarcely be expected to use judgment in the selection of provisions. You might telephone to the stores where you are in the habit of trading and inform them that I have charge of your household now.

They will then expect me."

"Oh, well! All right," he said, but doubtfully.

"I have not yet brought my bag from Marthy's, next door. I will go after it when dinner is over, while Janice clears the table.

I will send for my trunk, which is at Marietteville, later."

"Suit yourself, Mrs. Watkins," said Mr. Day.

"Have you any choice as to which of the two empty bedrooms I consider mine?" the woman asked, heaping her plate a second time with food.

"What's that?" asked Mr. Day, rather non-plussed.

"Which chamber shall I sleep in?" she repeated, quite calmly.

"Why--I-- Really, Mrs. Watkins, isn't the small room beyond Janice's quite sufficient for you?" he asked, a little color coming into his face now.

"Oh, my dear Mr. Day! I could not consider that for a moment.

Why, that is the girl's room--merely a bedroom for the hired help. I could not possibly consider myself in the same cla.s.s--"

"Except on pay-day, Mrs. Watkins?" asked the man bluntly. "We are glad to have you with us, of course; and we will consider your quite different status in the family, as you demand. But--"

"No, Mr. Day," Mrs. Watkins said with decision, interrupting him.

"I could not contemplate for a moment occupying the girl's room.

Why you might want it again any time."

"Not while you are with us," said Mr. Day wonderingly. "I do not think I could afford to have two helpers."

"It does not matter," said the faded-out lady stubbornly.

"Janice, get the coffee now. It does not matter. I refuse positively to sleep in that little, poked-up room. I prefer my windows opening to the east."

"But the east room is the one Mrs. Day always used," said the man, with sudden hoa.r.s.eness. "I cannot allow you to use that one. The spare chamber on the other side of the hall, if you insist."

"Very well," said the woman with a small toss of her head. "Will you have a cup of coffee, Mr. Day?"

"No, Mrs. Watkins. I prefer a cup of tea at dinner time. A New England habit that has clung to me."

"Indeed? Janice, go and make your father a cup of tea, that's a good child."

"Never mind, Janice," said daddy quickly. "I do not wish it now.

And, Mrs. Watkins."

"Yes, Mr. Day?" simpered the faded-out lady.

"I wish it distinctly understood that Janice is to give her complete attention to her school work between dinner and bedtime, unless she should chance to have more freedom during those hours than is usual. She will a.s.sist you as you may have need after school, and even in the morning before she goes to school. But the hours after dinner are for her school work. Do you quite understand me, Mrs. Watkins?"

Mrs. Watkins' pale, wrinkled face did not color in the least, nor did the washed-out brown eyes change their expression. But there was an added sharpness to the woman's voice:

"You object to Janice's giving me a hand with the lighter tasks, Mr. Day?" she queried.

"Not at all. But her education must not be neglected."

"Ah! I quite understand," sniffed Mrs. Watkins. "You object to my going out this evening then? But I really must have my bag with my toilet requisites."

"I have no wish to restrict your use of the evening, as long as your work is done," said Mr. Day, rising from the table. "Come, Janice, it is time you were at your books."

He led the way into the living room. Mrs. Watkins gave a violent sniff at their departure. Then she finished her coffee.

CHAPTER XIII. STELLA'S PARTY

It was not going to be altogether pleasant sailing with Mrs Watkins in the house. Broxton Day saw that to be the fact, plainly and almost immediately. Janice had realized it even before her father had occasion to mark Mrs. Watkins' most prominent characteristic.

She was a person who was determined to take advantage if she could. In the parlance of the section of the country from which Broxton Day hailed, she was one of those persons who "if you give 'em an inch they take an ell."

From the first she made a strong attempt to carry things with a high hand. Mr. Day was almost sorry he had allowed her to come into the house. Mrs. Watkins did most of the housekeeping from her station in a rocking chair on the porch where she sat, wearing the mitts aforementioned.

Her idea of keeping the house in order was to clean all the rooms that were not absolutely needed, and then close them up tight, draw the shades down and close the blinds, making of each an airless tomb into which Janice was made to feel she must not enter for fear of admitting a speck of dirt.

Most of the work was done on Sat.u.r.day, when Janice was at home.

There was no playtime now for the girl-- none at all.

But Janice would not complain. Mrs. Watkins could be very mean and petty, indeed; but to daddy she showed her best side. And as far as he saw, the house was run much better than had been the case of late.

Mrs. Watkins was ladylike in her demeanor. They became used to her sitting at the table with them and quite governing the trend of conversation at meals, as she did. Neither Janice nor her father liked to have the woman bring her tatting, which was her usual evening employment, into the living-room after dinner, for that was the only time when daughter and father could be confidential. But they did not see how they could overcome this annoyance without offending the woman.

At the end of the month Mr. Day was startled by the increase in the household bills. Mrs. Watkins had served them rather better food, it was true, than they had been getting of late; but a good many cutlets, sweetbreads, chops and steaks, seemed never to have appeared on the dinner table.

"I always feel the need of a hearty lunch Mr. Day," sniffed Mrs.

Watkins. "I really need it after doing the morning's work. To keep one's self in condition is a duty we owe ourselves don't you think?"

"You seem to have stocked up pretty well with canned goods, Mrs.

Watkins," was Broxton Day's rejoinder, now scanning the long memorandum from Harriman's. "Dear, dear! French peas? And imported marmalade? And canned mushrooms? Do you use all these things, Mrs. Watkins?"

"Oh, they are most useful, Mr. Day. One never knows when one may have company or wish to make a special dish. I have been used to the best, Mr. Day. Of course, if you wish to limit my purchases--" and she sniffed.

"Humph! I am not a rich man. We are not in the habit of using imported provisions of this quality. I expect you to buy good food and all that is sufficient. But such luxuries as these we cannot afford."

Mrs. Watkins merely sniffed again. Broxton Day, when he paid the bills at the stores, pointed out to Mr. Harriman and to the butcher that the goods bought seemed to cost considerably more than they previously had.

"Why, Mr. Day, you are buying a different quality of goods from what you have been used to," said Harriman. "Here's b.u.t.ter, for instance. That is our best-- print b.u.t.ter, seven cents a pound higher than the tub b.u.t.ter you used to buy. Those eggs are selected white Leghorns, come to us sealed in boxes, and are fifteen cents more a dozen than ordinary fresh eggs."

The butcher told him something else. "Yes, you are getting the best grade of everything we carry, Mr. Day. That lady at your house evidently knows what she wants."

"Look here!" exclaimed Broxton Day, with some heat. "I haven't suddenly become a millionaire. I can't stand these prices. When she comes in here to buy, give her the grade of meat we have always had. And remember that I can't, and won't, pay for sweetbreads at a dollar and a half a pair."

"Why, bless you!" said the butcher, grinning, "I've never seen the lady. She always telephones. She's some relative of yours, isn't she, Mr. Day? She certainly does order high-handed."