CHAPTER XVI. A LETTER FROM POKETOWN
"It looks as though we had come upon a fool's errand," said Mr.Day, coming back to the car and his daughter. "Mrs. Johnson saysthat girl was not named Cedarstrom, and that she has already goneaway."
"Do you suppose it is the truth, Daddy?" asked the anxiousJanice.
"Well, it is probably the truth. All Olgas are not named'Cedarstrom,' of course. And I fancy the girl was frightenedbecause of the broken cutglass dish and escaped early thismorning."
"Why? Would Mrs. Latham try to make her pay for it?"
"Perhaps. At least, this mysterious Olga thought she would bemade to pay for the dish. Or perhaps she feared arrest.Sometimes these foreigners are very ignorant regarding our laws.She might easily have been frightened away."
"But if she is our Olga--"
"This woman here is stubborn. She will probably tell us nothingmore about her friend. And she said flatly that the name was notCedarstrom."
"Oh, dear!" sighed Janice, "it is too, too bad."
"It is too bad that the trail seems lost. I will try to see Mr.Johnson himself. We will make sure that the girl was not the onewe are after. But, you see, we are inquiring for Olga for areason that is likely to frighten her and her friends. I thinksome of those people over in Pickletown might tell me more thanthey do about Olga and that Willie Sangreen."
"It is just too bad!" half sobbed Janice. "I hoped we shouldfind the treasure-box this time."
"Have patience. Rome was not built in a day," said her father.
"We're not building Rome," the girl retorted, but trying to smileagain. "I guess even that was an easier job than finding a lostSwedish girl." "Don't worry, honey."
"But I can't help worrying," said Janice, sobbing again.
"You are overwrought, my dear. Don't let your mind run uponunpleasant things. That treasure-box.""Will never be found, Daddy!" cried his little daughter. "I amsure! And if it isn't found I don't --don't--know--whatI--shall--do."
He put his arm about her and hugged Janice tight against hisside. "Don't lose hope so easily. And see here! Here issomething new I forgot to tell you."
"What is it, Daddy?" she asked, as he began to search an innerpocket of his coat.
"A letter. From your Aunt Almira. Just listen to it."
"Oh, Daddy! From Aunt Almira in--in Poketown?"
"Yes. My half-brother's wife--and a good soul she is."
He drew the letter from its envelope and unfolded it. He began toread the epistle with a smile wreathing his lips, for AuntAlmira's communication was unintentionally funny:
"'Dear Brocky:
"'Jase won't never get around to writing you, far as I see, so Ihad better do so before you get the suspicion that we are alldead. We might as well be and buried, too, here in Poketown--forit is right next door to a cemetery for deadness, I do believe.You know what it was when you was lucky enough to get out of ittwenty years ago. Well, it is worse now. There has been nothingnew in Poketown since you went away, excepting the town pump'sbeen painted once.
"That time you came to see us with Laura, when Janice was alittle girl--"
"Why, Daddy!" interrupted Janice, her eyes round with wonder, "Idon't remember Poketown at all."
"You were too little to recall that visit. I have only been backthere once since you and your dear mother and I visited Jase andAlmira." Then he went on, reading aloud:
"'You remember the house needed painting and the front gate hungby one hinge. Well, it still needs painting and that one hingehas give up the ghost now. So you see, there hasn't been manychanges. You're the only Day, I guess, that ever had any "get upand get" to them.
"'But my heart has been full of thoughts of you since we heard ofpoor Laura's death. We often speak of you and wonder how you andthat little girl get on all stark alone. I know how I shouldfeel if Jase and Marty was left as you and Janice be.'"
"Oh," gasped Janice, "she'd be dead!"
"Well," mused her father, "Almira, living in such a dead place asPoketown, evidently considers that she knows about how she wouldfeel in her grave."
"Is it such an awful place, Daddy?" Janice asked seriously.
"What do you mean?" he inquired, in surprise. "Oh, Poketown, Imean, of course."It is a lovely place. But it must be confessed that it is agood deal behind the times. It is not as bad as Aunt 'Mira makesit out to be, I guess. Only, the old Day house has pretty wellgone to rack and ruin."
"Well. Let's hear the rest," urged Janice.
"'Jase says to be mighty careful if you should have to go down tothat Mexico place. He reads in his Ledger that sometimes thereis shooting down there and that the Mexicaners don't care whothey shoot.'"
"Oh, Daddy!" cried Janice, "you don't mean you are going toMexico?"
"I wrote them when I thought it might be necessary," heconfessed.
"And you would send me East if you went? Oh, Daddy, please!"
"Well, my dear, that seemed the wisest thing to do."
"Oh, Daddy!"
"Don't worry now. We have engaged a new superintendent at themines, and I guess things will go on all right. Listen to whatyour Aunt 'Mira says:
"'Of course, if you have to go down there on business, you sendJanice right to us. I'm speaking for Jase as well as myself. Weain't rich, of course; but there's enough to fill another mouthyet awhile, so don't be bashful.
"'Hoping this finds you and Janice in health, it leaving us allthe same, I will close,
"'Your, sister-in-law and Janice's aunt, "'ALMIRA DAY.'"
"I hope you won't have to go, and that I won't have to go,Daddy!" exclaimed the girl anxiously.
"She's a good soul--Almira. She'd do her best by you."
"I don't want anybody to do their best by me--only you, Daddy."
"But you see, my dear, I couldn't leave you alone at home here.Certainly not with a woman like Mrs. Watkins."
"We-ell!"
"Why, she would be imposing upon you all the time. No, indeed.I feel that she is not the woman for our house, after all."
"Oh, dear, Daddy! isn't it funny how many people there are in theworld who don't just fit?"
"Right you are, my dear," he agreed, laughing again. "'Round pegsin square holes.' The woods are full of them."
"That Mrs. Watkins never should have gone out to work.'
"I guess not."
"And people like Mrs. Carringford have got their own families andtheir own troubles. So we can't get them."
"What put Amy's mother in your mind?"
"I wish you could see their house, Daddy."
"I have," he said, rather grimly. "And it is sight!"
"Not inside! Oh, not at all, Daddy!" she cried. "It is as neatas wax. Mrs. Carringford is just a love of a housekeeper. Iwish you could see how neat everything is kept," and she sighed.
The automobile soon brought them to the house at Eight Hundredand Forty-five Knight Street. Mr. Day had become serious againas they came in sight of the cottage in which so much of adisturbing nature had happened of late.
For a few days, it was true, Broxton Day had hoped the newhousekeeper would prove an efficient and trustworthy employee,but what he had seen on coming unexpectedly home this Saturdaynoon, had caused doubt to rise in his mind.
Experience had taught him that domestic servants are the mostindependent of laborers. To dare call one to account--especiallyone like Mrs. Watkins--was to court disaster.
He had felt this to be the case at the time, yet he was unwillingto see Janice made a drudge of by the too ladylike Mrs. Watkins.If the kitchen floor had to be scrubbed, and the houseworkerwould not scrub it, he would do it himself!
In this mood he entered his home. All was quiet. There wasnobody in the living room or dining room. On the table in thelatter room were the dirty dishes and the remains of Mrs.Watkins' lunch.
"Oh! where is she?" gasped Janice, following her father throughthe rooms.
Mr. Day led the way to the kitchen. The
pail stood where Janicehad left it, the scrubbing brush beside it. The fire in therange had gone out.
With a smothered cry Janice darted upstairs. In a moment hervoice reached his expectant ear:
"Oh, Daddy, she's gone!" she cried.