Janice Day at Poketown | Page 5

premium in Poketown, for a dozen gates along the line were hung with
leather hinges, and bits of rope had taken the places of the original
latches.
From the water, however, even on closer view, the hillside village
made a pretty picture. Near the wharf it was not so romantic, as Janice
Day realized, when the coughing, wheezy steamboat came close in.
There were decrepit boats drawn up on the narrow beach; there were
several decaying shacks bordering on the dock itself; and along the
string-piece of the wharf roosted a row of "humans" that were the

opposite of ornamental. The quick eye of Janice Day caught sight of
this row of nondescripts.
"Goodness me, Mrs. Scattergood!" she exclaimed, turning to the old
lady who had been in receipt of her confidences. "Is the almshouse near
Poketown?"
"There's a poorfarm, child; but there ain't nobody on it but a few old
folks an' some orphans. We ain't poor here--not pauper poor. But,
goodness me! you mean them men a-settin' there? Why, they ain't
poor--no, no, child. I don't suppose there's a man there that don't own
his own house. There's Mel Parraday, who owns the ho-tel; and Lem
Pinney that owns stock in this very steamboat comp'ny; and
Walkworthy Dexter--Walky's done expressin' and stage-drivin' since
before my 'Rill come here to Poketown to teach."
"But--but they look so ragged and unshaven," gasped Janice.
"Pshaw! they ain't proud, I reckon," cackled the old lady, gathering up
her knitting and dropping it into the beaded bag, which she shut with a
snap.
"But isn't there anybody proud of them?" queried Janice. "Haven't they
mothers--or wives--or sisters?"
The old lady stared at her. Then she made a sudden clicking in her
throat that might have been a chuckle. "I declare for't, child!" she
ejaculated. "I dunno as many of us in these parts air proud of our men
folks."
Just then the steamboat's bow bumped the wharf. The jar scarcely
seemed to awaken the languid line of Poketownites ranged along the
other side. The only busy person in sight was the employee of the
steamboat company who caught the loop of the hawser thrown him,
and dropped it over a pile. The rest of the men just raised their heads
and stared, chewing reflectively on either tobacco or straws, until the
plank was dropped and the deckhands began trundling the freight and
baggage ashore.

There were two or three commercial drummers beside Mrs.
Scattergood and Janice, who disembarked on this dock. Mrs.
Scattergood bade the girl from the West a brisk good-bye and went
directly up the dock, evidently expecting nobody to meet her at this
time of day. A lanky man, with grizzled brows and untrimmed beard,
got up slowly from the stringpiece of the wharf and slouched forward
to meet Janice Day.
"I reckon you be Broxton's gal, eh?" he queried, his eyes twinkling not
unkindly. "Ye sort er favor him--an' he favored his mother in more
ways than one. You're Janice Day?"
"Oh, yes indeed! And you're my Uncle Jason?" cried the girl,
impulsively seizing Mr. Day's hand. There was nothing about this man
that at all reminded Janice of her father; yet the thought of their really
being so closely related to each other was comforting. "I'm so glad to
see you," she continued. "I hope you'll like me, Uncle Jason--and I
hope Aunt Almira will like me. And there is a cousin, too, isn't there--a
boy? Dear me! I've been looking forward to meeting you all ever since
I left Greensboro, and been wondering what sort of people you would
be."
"Wal," drawled Uncle Jason, rather staggered by the way Janice "ran
on," "we reckon on makin' ye comferble. Looks like we'd have ye with
us some spell, too. Broxton writ me that he didn't know how long he'd
be gone--down there in Mexico."
"No. Poor Daddy couldn't tell. The business must be 'tended to, I
s'pose----"
"Right crazy of him to go there," grunted Uncle Jason. "May git shot
any minute. Ain't no money wuth that, I don't believe."
This rather tactless speech made the girl suddenly look grave; but it did
not quench her vivacity. She was staring about the dock, interested in
everything she saw, when Uncle Jason drawled:
"I s'pose ye got a trunk, Janice?"

"Oh, yes. Here is the check," and she began to skirmish in her purse.
"Wal! there ain't no hurry. Marty'll come down by-me-by with the
wheelbarrer and git it for ye."
"But my goodness!" exclaimed the girl from Greensboro. "I haven't
anything fit to put on in this bag; everything got rumpled so aboard the
train. I'll want to change just as soon as I get to the house, Uncle."
"Wal!" Uncle Jason was staggered. He had given up thinking quickly
years