Janice Day had no intention of avoiding what seemed, finally, to be a duty laid upon her. If everybody else in Polktown opposed to the sale of liquor, merely complained about it—and in a hopeless, helpless way—it was not in her disposition to do so. She was Broxton Day's own daughter and she absolutely had to do something! She was imbued with her father's spirit of helpfulness, and she believed thoroughly in his axiom: If a thing is wrong, go at it and make it right.

Of course, Janice knew very well that a young girl like herself could do little in reality about this awful thing that had stalked into Polktown. She could do nothing of her own strength to put down the liquor traffic. But she believed she might set forces in motion which, in the end, would bring about the much-desired reformation.

She had done it before. Her inspiration had touched all of Polktown and had awakened and rejuvenated the old place. She had learned that all that the majority of people needed to rank them on the active side of right, was to be made to think. She determined that Polktown should be made to think upon this subject of liquor selling.

After school she drove around by the Upper Road and branched off into a woods path that she had not dared venture into the week before. The Spring winds had done much to dry this woodroad and there were not many mud-holes to drive around before she came in sight of the squatters' cabin occupied by the family of Mr. Trimmins.

This transplanted family of Georgia "crackers" had been a good deal of a misfit in the Vermont community until Janice had found and interested herself in them. Virginia, a black-haired sprite of eleven or twelve, was the leader of the family in all things, although there were several older children. But "Jinny" was born to be a commander.

Having made a friend of the little witch of a girl, and of Buddy, who had been the baby the year before, but whose place had been usurped because of the advent of another tow-head into the family, the others of "them Trimminses," as they were spoken of in Polktown, had become Janice Day's staunch friends. Virginia and two of her sisters came regularly to the meetings of the Girls' Guild which Janice had founded; but it was a long walk to the Union Church and Janice really wondered how they ever got over the road in stormy weather.

It always puzzled Janice where so many children managed to sleep when bedtime came, unless they followed the sea law of "watch and watch." Now all the children who were at home poured out of the cabin to greet the driver of the Kremlin car. The whole family, as now arrayed before her, she had not seen since Christmas.

She had not forgotten to bring a great bag of "store cakes," of which these poor little Trimminses were inordinately fond; so most of them soon drifted away, each with a share of the goodies, leaving Janice to talk with Mrs. Trimmins and Jinny and play with Buddy and the baby.

"It's a right pretty evening, Miss Janice," said Mrs. Trimmins. "I shell be glad enough when the settled weather comes to stay. I kin git some o' these young'uns out from under foot all day long, then.

"Trimmins has got a gang wo'kin' for him over th' mountain a piece——"

"Here comes dad now," said the sharp-eyed Virginia. "And the elder's with him."

"Why—ya-as," drawled her mother, "so 'tis. It's one of Concannon's timber lots Trimmins is a-wo'kin' at."

The elder, vigorous and bewhiskered, came tramping into the clearing like a much younger man. Trimmins slouched along by his side, chewing a twig of black birch.

"No, Trimmins," the elder was saying decisively. "We'll stick to the letter of the contract. I furnish the team and feed them. I went a step further and furnished supplies for three men instead of two. But not one penny do you nor they handle till the job is finished."

"That's all right, Elder," drawled the Georgian. "That's 'cordin' to contrac', I know. I don't keer for myself. But Narnay and that other feller are mighty hongree for a li'le change."

"Powerful thirsty, ye mean!" snorted the elder.

"Wa-al—mebbe so! mebbe so!" agreed Trimmins, with a weak grin.

"They knew the agreement before they started in with you on the job, didn't they?"

"Oh, ya-as. They knowed about the contrac'."

"'Nuff said, then," grunted the elder. "Oh! is that you, Janice Day? I'll ride back with you," added the elder, who had quite overcome his dislike for what he had formerly termed "devil wagons," since one very dramatic occasion when he himself had discovered the necessity for traveling much "faster than the law allowed."

"You are very welcome, Elder Concannon," Janice said, smiling at him.

She kissed the two babies and Virginia, shook hands with Mrs. Trimmins, and then waved a gloved hand to the rest of the family as she settled herself behind the steering wheel. The elder got into the seat beside her.

"I declare for't, Janice!" the elder said, as the started, the words being fairly jerked ouf of his mouth, "I dunno but I'd like to own one of these contraptions myself. You can git around lively in 'em—and that's a fac'."

"They are a whole lot better than 'shanks' mare,' Elder," said the young girl, laughing.

"I—should—say! And handy, too, when the teams are all busy. Now I had to walk clean over the mountain to-day to that piece where Trimmins and them men are working. Warn't a hoss fit to use."

"Has Mr. Trimmins a big gang at work?"

The elder chuckled. "He calls it a gang—him, and Jim Narnay, and a boy. They've all got a sleight with the axe, I do allow; and the boy handles the team right well."

"Is he Jack Besmith?" questioned Janice.

"That's his name, I believe," said the elder. "Likely boy, I guess. But if I let 'em have any money before the job is done—as Trimmins wants me to—none of 'em would do much till the money was spent—boy and all."

"It is too bad about young Besmith," Janice said, shaking her head.
"He is only a boy."

"Yep. But a month or so in the woods without drink will do him a heap of good."

That very evening, however, Janice saw Jack Besmith in town. From
Marty she learned that he did not stay long.

"He came in for booze—that's what he come for," said her cousin, in disgust. "He started right back for the woods with a two-gallon demi-john."

"And I thought they had no money up there," Janice reflected. "Can it be that Lem Parraday or his barkeeper would trust them for drink?"

Marty was nursing a lump on his jaw and a cut lip. The morning's battle, had not gone all his way, although he said to Janice with his usual impish grin when she commented upon his battered appearance: "You'd orter see the other feller! If Nelson Haley hadn't got in betwixt us I'd ha' whopped Sim Howell good and proper. I was some excited, I allow. If I hadn't been I needn't never run ag'inst Sim's fist a-tall. He's a clumsy kid, if ever there was one—and I reckon he's got enough of me for a spell. Anyway, he won't get fresh with Mr. Haley again—nor none of the rest of 'em."

"Dear me, Marty! it seems too bad that any of the boys should feel so unkindly toward Mr. Haley, after all he's done for them."

"They're a poor lot—fellers like Sim Howell. Hang around the tavern hoss sheds all the time. Can't git 'em to come up to the Readin' Room with the decent fellers," Marty said belligerently.

Marty had forgotten that—not so long before—he had been a frequenter of the tavern "hoss sheds" himself. That was before Janice had started the Public Library Association and the boys' club.

Janice did not see Nelson that evening, and she wondered what he was doing with his idle time. So the following afternoon she came home by the Lower Road, meaning to call on the schoolmaster. She stopped her car before Hopewell Drugg's store and ran in there first.

'Rill was behind the counter; but from the back room the wail of the violin announced Hopewell's presence. The lively tunes which the storekeeper had played so much through the Winter just past—such as "Jingle Bells" and "Aunt Dinah's Quilting Party"—seemed now forgotten. Nor was Hopewell in a sentimental mood and his old favorite, "Silver Threads Among the Gold," could not express his feelings.

"Old Hundred" was the strain he played, and he drew it lingeringly out of the strings until it fairly rasped the nerves. No son of Israel, weeping against the wall in old Jerusalem, ever expressed sorrow more deeply than did Hopewell's fiddle at the present juncture.

"Oh, dear, Janice! that's the way he is all day long," whispered the bride, the tears sparkling in her eyes. "He says Lottie must go to Boston, and I guess he's right. The poor little thing doesn't see anywhere near as good as she did."

"Oh, my dear!" cried Janice, under her breath. "I wish I could help pay for her trip."

"No. You've done your part, Janice. You paid for the treatment before——"

"I only helped," interrupted Janice.

"It was a great, big help. Hopewell can never repay you," said the wife. "And he can accept no more from you, dear."

"But I haven't got it to offer!" almost wailed Janice. "Daddy's mine is shut down again. I—I could almost wish to sell my car—only it was a particular present from daddy——"

"No, indeed! There is going to be something else sold, I expect," 'Rill said gravely. "Here! let us go back. I don't like even to see this fellow come in here. Hopewell must wait on him."

Janice turned to see Joe Bodley, the fat, smirking bartender from the
Lake View Inn, now entering the store.

"Afternoon, Mrs. Drugg!" he called after the storekeeper's retreating wife. "I won't bite ye."

"Mr. Drugg will be right in," said 'Rill, beckoning Janice away.

Hopewell entered, violin in hand. He greeted Janice in his quiet way and then spoke to Bodley.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Bodley?"

"Now, how about that fiddle, Hopewell? D'ye really want to sell it?" asked the bartender, lightly.

"I—I must sell it, Mr. Bodley. I feel that I must," said Hopewell, in his gentle way.

"It's as good as sold, then, old feller," said the barkeeper. "I've got a customer for it."

"Ah! but I must have my price. Otherwise it will do me no good to sell the violin which I prize so highly—and which my father played before me."

"That's Yankee talk," laughed Bodley. "How much?"

"I believe it is a valuable instrument—a very valuable instrument," said poor Hopewell, evidently in fear of not making the sale, yet determined to obtain what he considered a fair price for it. "At least, I know 't is an old violin."

"One of the 'old masters,' eh?" chuckled Bodley.

"Perhaps. I do not think you will care to pay my price, sir," said the storekeeper, with dignity.

"I've got a customer for it. He seen it down to the dance—and he wants it. What's your price?" repeated Bodley.

"I thought some of sending it to New York to be valued," Hopewell said slowly.

"My man will buy it—sight unseen, as ye might say—on my recommend.
He only saw it for a moment," said Bodley.

"What will he give for it?" asked Hopewell.

"How much do you want?"

"One hundred dollars, Mr. Bodley," said the storekeeper, this time with more firmness.

"What? One hundred of your grandmother's grunts! Why, Hopewell, there ain't so much money—not in Polktown, at least—'nless it's hid away in a broken teapot on the top shelf of a cupboard in Elder Concannon's house. They say he's got the first dollar he ever earned, and most all that he's gathered since that time."

Janice heard all this as she stood in the back room with 'Rill. Then, having excused herself to the storekeeper's wife, she ran out of the side door to go across the street to Mrs. Beaseley's.

In fact, she could not bear to stay there and hear Hopewell bargain for the sale of his precious violin. It seemed too, too, bad! It had been his comfort—his only consolation, indeed—for the many years that circumstances had kept him and 'Rill Scattergood apart. And after all, to be obliged to dispose of it——

Janice remembered how she had brought little Lottie home to the storekeeper the very day she first met him, and how he had played "Silver Threads Among the Gold" for her in the dark, musty back room of the old store. Why! Hopewell Drugg would be utterly lost without the old fiddle.

She was glad Mrs. Beaseley was rather an unobservant person, for Janice's eyes were tear-filled when she looked into the cottage kitchen. Nelson, however, was not at home. He had gone for a long tramp through the fields and had not yet returned. So, leaving word for him to come over to the Day house that evening, Janice went slowly back to her car.

Before she could start it 'Rill came outside. Bodley had gone, and the storekeeper's wife was frankly weeping.

"Poor Hopewell! he's sold the fiddle," sobbed 'Rill.

"To that awful bartender?" demanded Janice.

"Just as good as. The fellow's paid a deposit on it. If he comes back with the rest of the hundred dollars in a month, the fiddle is his. Otherwise, Hopewell declares he will send it to New York and take what he can get for it."

"Oh, dear me!" murmured Janice, almost in tears, too.

"It—it is all Hopewell can do," pursued 'Rill. "He has nothing else on which he can raise the necessary money. Lottie must have her chance."