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 Saturday, 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 butter, for
instance. That is our best-- print butter, seven cents a pound
higher than the tub butter 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."
"And she wanted to do the marketing herself," groaned Broxton
Day, as he went away after paying the bill. "I wonder what I am
up against? Things do go better at the house; but I wonder if I
can stand the pressure."
He did not know how much Janice had to do with making things at
the house go so much more smoothly. The little girl was
determined that daddy should not be troubled by household matters
if she could help it.
With Olga Cedarstrom or the half-foolish Delia in the house, it
was impossible to keep from daddy's eyes the things that went
wrong. Now it was different. Mrs. Watkins was very sly in
making everything appear all right before Broxton Day. On the
other hand Janice showed an equal amount of slyness (of which she
had been previously accused!) in helping hide the numerous things
that would have troubled daddy.
There was waste in the kitchen. Mrs. Watkins was a big eater,
but a delicate eater. She never wished to see the same thing on
the table twice. A poor family could have been fed fairly well
from what the woman flung into the garbage.
Janice had never been used to seeing such recklessness, even when
only an ignorant servant was doing the work. At those times food
was bought with a less lavish hand. Now there was seldom anything
left, so Mrs. Watkins said, from one meal to warm up for another.
"I don't know what to do--I really don't," Janice confessed to
Any Carringford who, by this time, had become her very closest
friend and confidante. "Daddy has many business troubles, I
know. It bothers him greatly to be annoyed by household matters.
And he ought not to be so annoyed. But that woman!"
"It is too bad, honey," Amy said. "I wish my mother could help
you. She knows everything about housekeeping."
"I know that is so," agreed Janice. "I wish Mrs. Watkins was a
lady like your mother, Amy. Then the house would go all right
and daddy needn't be bothered at all. I feel I ought to do
something; but I don't know what."
Aside from cooking the meals, which she did very nicely, it must
be confessed, Mrs. Watkins gradually allowed most of the
responsibility for the housework to slide on to Janice's young
shoulders.
The young girl got up an hour earlier than usual, and she busied
herself sweeping and dusting and making beds right up to the
minute she had to seize her books and lunch and run to school.
She was quite sure that Mrs. Watkins went back to bed after
breakfast, and really did little towards keeping the house in
order until afternoon.
And if there was any scrubbing, or hard work to do, that was left
until Saturday. Nobody ever saw Mrs. Watkins on her knees,
unless it was at her devotions!
However, Janice Day was too sanguine to be made melancholy by
these affairs. She was of a naturally cheerful nature--an
attribute she inherited from her father. It took more than the
faded-out lady to cause the girl overwhelming anxiety.
The stroke that had been the hardest for her to bear since her
mother's death was the loss of the treasure-box and the heirlooms
in it. Whether or not the Swedish girl, Olga Cedarstrom, had
carried the valuables away with her, Janice felt all the time
that she had only herself to blame because of the loss. And she
realized that the loss of the packet of letters had saddened
daddy dreadfully.
"If I had not been careless! If I had put the box back into the
wall-safe before I went to bed! If I had remembered when I saw
Arlo Junior and the cats! Dear me," murmured Janice more than
once, "'If,' 'if,' 'if!' If the rabbit hadn't stopped for a nap
beside the track, the tortoise would not have won the race."
"But, what under the sun," Gummy Carringford asked, "could have
become of Olga and her fella? That is certainly a mystery."
With Amy and her brother, the boy with the odd name, Janice often
discussed the lost treasure-box. She and daddy did not speak so
much together about it as at first. It seemed to be hopelessly
lost.
With the Carringfords Janice had become very friendly, as has
been said. In the first place, Mrs. Carringford very much liked
Janice Day. And how could she and her children help but be
grateful to the little girl who lived at Eight-forty-five Knight
Street?
The birthday party at Stella Lathams' house was now at hand.
Mrs. Carringford had not yet been able to make over Mr. Day's
clothes to fit Gummy; and he was not invited to the party,
anyway. He was one grade in advance of the three girls in
school, and Stella considered this excuse enough for not inviting
him to her birthday fete. But Amy was radiant in the pink and
white frock Janice had donated.
"Never mind," said Gummy, who was of a cheerful spirit, too.
"I'm glad the party will be on Friday instead of Saturday night.
I'll be out of the store early enough Friday night to come to the
Latham place to beau you girls home."
"Maybe we'll have beaux of our own and won't want you," said Amy
roguishly.
"Don't mind what she says, Gummy," cried Janice. "I won't have
any beau but you. I shall expect you. So don't fail me."
Stella Latham's expectations had been high, indeed, regarding her
party; nor was she disappointed. Her father and mother had done
everything they thought would please their only daughter; and
surely the cost had not been considered.
The house, and the grounds around it, were charmingly
lighted--the outside lamps being those gaudy and curious forms
containing lighted candles, and called Japanese lanterns.
The Latham place on the Dover pike, was one of the show places of
the countryside. Mr. Latham was wealthy and could well afford to
give his daughter's friends an entertainment that might better,
perhaps, have been offered older guests.
Stella was growing up too fast. Because she was aping older and
foolishly fashionable folk, she was becoming an exacting,
precocious girl--not at all the innocent and joyous child she
should have been at fourteen years of age.
Her mother feared that all was not right with Stella; yet she was
too weak and easy-going a woman to correct her daughter with a
strong hand. She had observed Janice Day on two occasions when
the latter had come with other young friends of Stella's to the
house, and had commented favorably upon Janice's character.
"There is a girl you might pattern after, Stella, and it would do
you good," said the somewhat unwise Mrs. Latham.
"Humph! I don't see why you say that, Ma," said Stella. "Janice
Day isn't half as pretty as Mary Pierce. And she dresses in half
mourning because of her mother's death. She hasn't got any style
about her."
"She is a very shrewd and sensible young person," declared Mrs.
Latham. "I wish you were more like her."
It was from this remark that Stella had derived the statement
that Janice was "sly." That term, quite justly, might have been
applied to Stella. For Stella would have cared very little if
neither Janice nor Amy Carringford had come to the birthday
party.
Only Mr. Latham had insisted that his daughter should invite
every girl in her grade at school. He was wiser than his wife.
"You don't want any ill-feelings among your mates," he told
Stella.
Janice Day, therefore, whether "shrewd" or "sly," had helped
Stella in the matter of fulfilling Mr. Latham's command. Amy, as
sweet as a rose, appeared in the pretty pink and white dress that
had been made by the dear fingers of Janice's mother.
At first Janice could scarcely look at her friend in the frock
without feeling the tears start to her eyes. But, then,she knew
that mother would have approved fully of this gift she had made.
And Amy Carringford was good and attractive.
There was such a large number of young folks at the Latham place
that evening that when it came time for the refreshments, every
one of the farmer's hired help was called in, either as waiters
or in the kitchen.
It took a good many waiters, too, for there were many steps to be
taken back and forth to the kitchen. Mr. Latham had had a large
canvas canopy stretched out in one corner of the yard, and under
this were set the tables. And pretty, indeed, did they look
under the soft lights of the numerous candles in their shiny
whiteness of heavy napery, polished silver, dainty porcelain, and
brilliant cutglass.
What appealed more, however, to the hearty appetites of the young
people were the quantifies of sandwiches, the olives and pickles
and the bowls of salad, the rich cakes, the heaps of ice-cream,
the hot chocolate. The Lathams were lavish at all times, and
when they gave a formal party the table was heaped with the
richest and most delicious food they could provide. No wonder it
took many hands to make things run smoothly.
"Goodness!" said Stella, within hearing of Janice and Amy,
"there's such a crowd in that kitchen you've no idea! And some
of the help are perfectly useless! You know, mother had the
folks come up from both tenant houses to help, and one of the
women--the Swedish one --has just broken one of mother's biggest
cutglass dishes."
"I thought I heard a crash out there," said Janice.
"It is too bad," Amy added. "Of course the woman did not mean
to."
"Well!" sniffed Stella, "that won't make the dish whole. It's
worth money, too."
"Dear me," said Amy reflectively. "I guess Swedish girls must be
bad luck. You know, it was a Swedish girl that stole that box
from Janice."
"What box?" asked Stella, quickly. "A jewel box?"
"All the jewelry I owned," said Janice, with rather a rueful
smile. "But more than that. Mother's miniature --and other
things. At least, we suppose that Olga took the box when she
left us so hurriedly."
"Olga!" exclaimed Stella. "Fancy! You don't mean that was her
name?"
"Yes, 'Olga' she was called," Janice said wonderingly.
"That's the name Of this girl that broke the dish."
"Why, how funny!" exclaimed Amy
.
"That's not funny," rejoined Janice seriously. "Is she named
Olga Cedarstrom?"
"Goodness! I don't know her last name. She comes from one of
our tenant houses. It's far away. Mother sent her home with a
flea in her ear, now I tell you, after she had broken that dish."
Janice was disturbed. "I wish you knew her last name. What sort
of looking girl is she? Are you sure she has already left the
house?"
"Come on!" cried Amy, jumping up. "Let's run around there and
see. Take us to the kitchen door, Stella."
"Well, yes. We can look. But I guess she has gone," said the
farmer's daughter.
They had been sitting on the front porch. Stella led them
quickly around to the rear of the big house.