"At least, that girl at the Latham's was another girl than our Olga. Johnson says she was only visiting his wife for a day or two. She was a friend of has wife's. I think they believe Latham wants to find the girl to make her pay for that broken dish, so they are less willing to talk about her than might otherwise be the case."

"Just the same," sighed Janice, "I do wish Gummy had known just how our Olga looked."

"How is that?"

"Then he would have known for sure whether it was Olga Cedarstrom or not. Just his seeing that her hair was strained back from her face doesn't prove anything."

"I should say it did not," laughed her father. "That manner of wearing the hair seems to be a common failing with these Swedish women. Besides, didn't I tell you that Johnson says that girl is not named 'Cedarstrom?'"

"We-ell, it is awfully funny, Daddy. It doesn't seem as though a girl could disappear so completely--wiped right off the map--"

"Vigorously expressed, I admit," her father interrupted. "But we must not begin to doubt everybody's word about it. I guess Johnson is honest."

"And those other people who knew her in Pickletown?"

"They simply don't know what has become of her. Or of Willie Sangreen, either," Daddy admitted. "That does seem strange. Of course the two have gone off somewhere to be married and have not told their friends."

"It proves that Olga did take dear mother's miniature --and--and those letters," said Janice excitedly. "Or she would not hide herself."

"Yes. I thought we had already agreed on that," her father said.

It was evident that he did not wish uselessly to discuss the matter of the lost keepsakes. Janice, young as she was, realized that her father was growing more grave and more serious every day. She did not believe that this change was altogether due to business anxieties, or even to their household vexations.

At night, after she was supposed to be in bed and sound asleep, the girl heard him walking back and forth the length of the living room; or, sometimes, now that the weather was so mild, he tramped up and down the front porch until very, very late.

There was surely some trouble on his mind that he did not care to confide to his little daughter. Broxton Day sighed more often than had been his wont even during those hard, hard days immediately following the death of Janice's mother. His hearty laugh was not so spontaneous nor heard as often as before.

Janice could not speak about this change in her father. She believed she knew why he was so grave and why some of his nights were sleepless.

Broxton Day had loved his wife with a pa.s.sionate devotion. He must miss her presence more and more as the days went on. In spite of all the companionship Janice could give him, the man's existence was a lonely one.

"And, too, her heart told her that she had been the unwitting cause of this new burden which had come upon daddy's mind. Those letters which Janice had never seen--the presence of which she had not even suspected in the secret compartment of the lost treasure-box--had been Broxton Day's most precious possession.

Janice had lost them! Her carelessness had given the angry Olga the opportunity to take the box away with her.

The letters had been written at a time when Janice's father and mother were very close together in spirit, if not in actual contact. Even Janice could understand that Laura Day must have revealed her very soul to her husband in those epistles.

Oh, if she could only bring them back!

So sorrow began to be entertained in the Day house on Knight Street, as a continual guest. It did seem, too, that Janice could do very little to relieve her father of any of the embarra.s.sments of their situation. She

worked as hard as she could before she went to school and after she came home, but she could not begin to do all that was needed to be done. And she was so tired sometimes after supper that she fell asleep over her homework.

Their meals became, too, a mere round of bacon-and-egg breakfasts and delicatessen suppers. Shop-cooked meats and potato salads were on the bill of fare too often to tempt the appet.i.te of either Mr. Day or his daughter, and the latter began to depend a good deal upon "baker's stuff" for her lunch.

With the unfortunate experiences they had had with help, however, Janice did not wonder that daddy found n.o.body to suit him at the agencies. Olga, Delia, Mrs. Watkins--and all those who had come and gone before --were enough to fill the mind of any person with despair.

Janice did not forget to tell Mrs. Carringford what Mr. Day had said regarding her trouble, and that on the very next day.

"He'll be sure to see some way out for you, Mrs. Carringford,"

the girl a.s.sured her friend's mother, with much confidence.

"Daddy is always doing things for folks. He doesn't just advise; he is sure to do something."

"Yes, I should not be surprised if Mr. Broxton Day was a do-something man," said Mrs. Carringford, smiling. "He must be when he has such a do-something daughter."

"And you really will come up to see him this evening?" urged Janice, blushing rosily at what she considered a compliment.

"I--I--well, my dear, I could not accept any financial favor from your father. I would not have a right to do so. The Carringfords must be independent."

"But, Mrs Carringford, you mustn't feel that way! I have no idea Daddy could give you much money, even if you, would let him.

But, you see, he knows so much more about such things as mortgages, and loans, and real estate, that he can give you good advice. And he says that Mr. Abel Strout's middle name is 'Mean'!"

Mrs. Carringford laughingly agreed to that, and in the evening she came to the house with Gummy, Amy being left at home to take care of the little ones.

Mr. Day had already met and quite approved of Mrs. Carringford's two older children, Gummy and Amy, for he had seen them both at the house. But he had had no idea, in spite of Janice's enthusiastic praise, that Mrs, Carringford was quite the woman she was.

He saw now a very gentle, pretty woman whose soft, wavy hair was becoming prematurely gray, with an intelligent countenance and eyes that fixed one's attention almost immediately. Here, Mr.

Day saw, was a capable, energetic spirit--a woman who would carry through whatever she undertook could it be carried through at all, yet who was not objectionably self-a.s.sertive-like Miss Peckham, for instance.

If Mrs. Carringford had made a mistake in her purchase of the property in Mullen Lane, it was because she had been badly advised, if not actually cheated, by the sly old fellow who had for years owned the property which he had taken for a bad debt.

Abel Strout had doubtless been glad to get rid of the Mullen Lane place, and for the first payment made upon it by Mrs.

Carringford. But he had been foxy enough to make a hard and fast bargain with the widow. He had her tied up in a contract that, if she failed to meet her obligations in a small way, even, would enable him to walk in and take the place away from her.

And he had done more than that. For some reason best known to himself he had first transferred the property to one John Jamison--a farm hand of that section-- and had then had this Jamison transfer the property to Mrs. Carringford, he paying the difference represented by the mortgage he held.

"He said Jamison had grown tired of his bargain a week after he bought it," Mrs. Carringford explained. "He wanted Mr. Strout to take it back. Strout said by making the transfer he would be aiding both Mr. Jamison and me."

And now a change was coming. Since the transfer Mullen Lane property had begun to look up. A factory was going to be built in the vicinity, and that part of Greensboro was likely to offer a better field for real estate operations.

Broxton Day knew all this, which Mrs. Carringford did not. He saw that what Strout wanted was to get the property back into his own hands again. He would refuse to renew the mortgage and frighten Mrs. Carringford into giving up her home.

The way the matter figured out, the expense of paying interest and taxes on the Mullen Lane property was no greater than rental would be elsewhere for the Carringford family. In the end, if the widow held on, the place might really be more valuable than it now was, and would sell for considerably more than she had agreed to pay Abel Strout for it.

"I tell you what you do," Broxton Day finally said, having thought the matter over. "Strout has told you he will accept a small payment on the mortgage, and will then renew the balance for another year."

"Yes. But ought I to spend any more of the little sum I have left in that way, when my children may need it for food?" asked the anxious widow.

"You show me by these papers that you are fixed fairly well for another year. You and your son will both earn something, of course, during the next twelve months. So if I were you, I would throw a sprat to catch a herring, and he smiled.

"You mean?" the widow asked doubtfully.

"I mean for you to offer him fifty dollars against the princ.i.p.al of the mortgage. No matter of whom you would get money, you would have to pay the same interest you pay Strout now and no matter whom I might get money from for you, so that you could pay off Strout and get rid of him, there would be the additional expense of making the new mortgage, and all that."

"But is he to be trusted?"

"Not at all. At the end of the year he will want more money, if he thinks you will have difficulty in getting it and there is a chance of your having to give up your home."

"Oh!"