"Come over to the garage," said Nelson Haley, seizing the boy by the wrist. "Is it unlocked?"

"Yes," gulped Marty.

"I can read it in the light of the side lamp of the car," said the schoolmaster.

His own voice was shaken. He knew that something very serious must have occurred or Marty Day would not act in this manner.

They hurried across the yard and Marty unbarred the garage door. Nobody in Polktown thought of locking any outbuilding, save possibly the corn-crib or the smoke-house.

Marty closed the door tightly before Nelson scratched a match and fumbled for the latch of the kerosene side lamp of Janice's automobile. In the yellow radiance of this he unfolded the newspaper Marty had seized at the public library. The schoolmaster looked at once at the extreme right-hand column of the front page of the paper—the column in which the Mexican news was usually displayed. A sub-heading caught his eye almost instantly:

MORE AMERICANS BUTCHERED

A great revolt had again broken out against the de facto government. It was spreading, the report said, hourly. In the Companos District the wires had been cut, but it was known that there had been much bloodshed there. Several of the former insurrecto leaders who had recently gone over to the existing party in power at Mexico City, were reported assassinated, among them Juan Dicampa.

"And he was Mr. Day's friend—he served him well during the last uprising in that district!" Nelson ejaculated.

"That ain't the worst. Read on," breathed Marty.

"Great heavens! can it be possible?" whispered Nelson.

"Wh—what do you know about that?" stuttered Marty. "Uncle Brocky's hurt and they won't let him go."

"Hush!" commanded Nelson.

"Aw—there's nobody to hear," choked the boy. "And how can we keep it from Janice?"

"We must!" exclaimed Nelson.

"Say, Nelson Haley! You got to be mighty smart to keep Janice from finding out every little thing. You know that. And she's always looking for something to happen to Uncle Brocky."

"We can do it. We must do it," responded the schoolmaster.

Marty was round-eyed and unbelieving. "Say! you don't know Janice yet," he repeated with assurance. "She's a mighty smart girl—the smartest girl in the whole of Polktown. Aw—well, you ought to know."

"I don't know how we are to do it—yet," the schoolmaster agreed. "We'll just have to. When people have to do a thing, Marty, they do it nine times out of ten!"

"Hi tunket!" gasped the boy. "You tell me my part and I'll help all right."

"Come on, then. Stroll in naturally. Make believe there is something up—some joke that we are going to keep Janice out of——"

"Joke!" groaned Marty.

"I tell you," commanded Nelson hotly, "we've got to keep this from her. Her father wounded—think of it!"

"Ain't I thinking of it?" put in the boy. "Uncle Brocky—that I never did see since I was a kid too small to remember him."

"Pull yourself together, old man," said the schoolmaster with his arm over the boy's shoulder.

Nelson's trust in him did much to enable Marty to brace up. He gulped down his sobs and drew his jacket sleeve across his eyes. "You just tell me what to do," he choked.

"I don't know myself yet. I'll keep this paper. I'll leave it to you to divert the New York paper from the library. You can do that, for the postmaster will give you the library mail if you're there on time for it."

"I'll be there," Marty declared.

"We'll tell Walky——"

"Oh—Jehoshophat!" gasped Marty. "He leaks like a sieve. Might's well tell the town crier as tell Walky."

"We'll mend his leak," the schoolmaster said grimly. "Walky loves Janice. We'll easily shut his mouth. Perhaps we can warn other people so that no word will be let drop. I can learn, I suppose, who takes this paper."

"Oh, hookey!" groaned Marty suddenly. "The hull town'll know it next Thursday if they don't before."

"Why so?"

"That is the day the Middletown Courier comes out. They had a big piece in it about Uncle Brocky before. They'll grab this story like a hungry dog does a bone. It's news."

"You have a head on your shoulders, boy," admitted Nelson Haley, and all but groaned himself. He would not give way to despair. "I'll think about that. I'll find some way of keeping the Courier out of town."

"And Janice riding right over there to school four days a week," suggested Marty.

"I never thought of that," muttered Nelson.

"'Most everybody takes the Courier here in Polktown. An', oh gee! there's dad's Ledger. She might get hold of that."

"If you can't stop that coming to the house you're no good," declared Nelson.

"Oh, I'll stop it. Dad'll have a fit though. He swears by the Ledger. But ma don't care for nothin' but the Fireside Favorite, and there won't be any Mexican news in that."

"We must be on the watch to keep every line of communication closed—to keep Janice ignorant of this at least until the facts are better known. Perhaps they will be disproved. I'll write to-night to Washington. And you get me the name of that friend of Mr. Broxton Day's down there on the Border who communicated with Janice once before when it looked as though your uncle was lost. Remember?"

"Sure!" agreed Marty.

"I'll tell Walky to-night. You find a chance to speak to your father and mother. Be sure Janice doesn't hear you."

"Some job!"

"Well, it's our job. Understand?" Nelson said earnestly.

"I'm with you, Mr. Haley," the boy responded, quite recovered from his first disturbance of mind. "You can bank on me."

"Great boy!" Nelson said, patting him on the shoulder again. "Janice has done so much—so much for the town, so much for us all! We should be able to do something to secure her peace of mind, Marty."

"Hi tunket! I believe you, Mr. Haley."

"Then, come on! It may prove to be a false alarm as before. We'll save her all the anxiety possible."

"Sure we will!" agreed the boy again with emphasis.

They re-entered the house; Marty was even able to call up a giggle and winked broadly at Nelson as he hung up his hat and looked up the parchesi board and the rest of the outfit for that popular game.

"What's a-goin' on now 'twixt you two boys?" asked Aunt Almira comfortably, for she looked upon Nelson, when he came to the house, as she would had he been Marty's brother. "D'ye know what's up, Janice?"

"I haven't an idea," her niece said happily. "I fancy Marty has a joke on somebody."

"'Joke!'" repeated her cousin in such an unconsciously tragic tone that the schoolmaster hastened to say:

"He thinks he is going to beat Walky playing parchesi. Come on, Walky. Show him you have all your wits about you."

"I'm dumbed if I don't!" declared Mr. Dexter, laying aside his pipe to cool. "Who else is a-goin' to play?"

"Not I," said Janice. "Christmas is coming and preparedness is my motto."

"I want ma to play then," Marty said. "She an' I'll play partners and I bet we beat Mr. Haley and Walky out o' their boots."

"Sakes alive, child! you don't want me to play, do ye?" chuckled Aunt 'Mira. "Your father says I ain't got head enough for any game—an' I guess he's right."

"I'll risk ye," said her son, and they really had a very hilarious game while Janice sewed placidly and Uncle Jason looked on, forgetting for the time some of the burden on his mind.

"I'll go along with you, Walky," the schoolmaster said when the game broke up and it was time for the callers to go. "I can cut through your back lots to High Street and reach Mrs. Beaseley's quite as easily as by the other route."

"Proud to hev ye," said Walky. "Good-night, folks. That 'pears to be a funny lookin' necktie you're knitting for Mr. Haley, Janice."

"It's not a necktie and it's not for Nelson," Janice replied, flushing a little and quickly hiding the fleecy article on which she had been working.

"Oh well," chuckled Walky, "I don't 'spect we've got airy right to have eyes in our heads even as long before Christmas as this time. Good-night, everybody."

He went out. Nelson, although he lingered to say something in a low tone to Janice, was right behind the expressman. He went up Hillside Avenue with Walky talking to him seriously.

Marty became woefully nervous when the family was left alone. He went to the water pail half a dozen times. He put out the cat; then let her in again it seemed just for the purpose of shooing her out once more.

Janice, quite unconscious of her cousin's disturbance of mind, finally put away her work and took up her candle.

"Good-night, all!" she said, yawning openly. She kissed her uncle's cheek, and Aunt 'Mira returned with warmth the caress with which she was favored. "Night, Marty."

"Huh!" the boy said huskily, "am I a stepchild? Don't I ever get kissed no more?"

"Why, Marty Day!" cried Janice, laughing. "A great big boy like you! I thought you abhorred such 'girlie' ways."

"Sometimes I do," he said, approaching her boldly. "But to-night——"

He seized her like a young bear and kissed her fiercely. "You're—you're a mighty nice girl, Janice, if you are only my cousin," he said, averting his eyes.

She laughed and patted his cheek lightly. Then carrying the lighted candle she went up to bed with a parting nod and smile to her uncle and aunt.

Marty stood close to the stair door and listened at the crack till he was sure she had entered her own room and closed her door. His mother asked wonderingly:

"What ever is the matter o' you, Marty Day? I never see your beat."

"Sh!" the boy said, his face suddenly displaying all the fear and anxiety he had been hiding.

His father took his bedtime pipe from his lips and stared. "What ever is it's got you?" he asked.

The boy leaned over the table. Like conspirators, with their heads close together, the three talked in whispers. After Aunt Almira's first involuntary cry of horror, which she smothered at once, their voices never reached a key that could have made them audible ten feet away.

Meanwhile the schoolmaster and Walky Dexter were in close consultation. Nelson had made no mistake when he took the expressman into the plot. Walky was by nature a chatterer and a gossip, but he would have cut off his right hand rather than hurt Janice Day. While Janice made ready for bed plans were forming to hide from her as long as possible—until the newspaper story could be verified at least—that which had come over the telegraph wires from Mexico.

The girl was less troubled by fears for her father's safety than she had been for a long time. It was of Uncle Jason's trouble she thought. And she was quite sure her father would be able to help his brother considerably in straightening out the difficulty that confronted Jason Day.

It had been figured out just what it would cost to renew the notes and pay interest on them, if the bank would allow Mr. Day to do that. Over seven hundred dollars per year! An enormous sum for Uncle Jason to contemplate—while the principal would hang over him like a threatening cloud. The interest money alone was more than he could easily earn over and above the family's living expenses.

He had got into the toils of the cunning Hotchkiss through lending the storekeeper a small sum at eight per cent, in the beginning and being paid promptly. The bank carried the notes for six per cent, of course.

The morrow was Sunday. Janice went her usual calm way. People seemed rather nicer to her than usual, but their attitude did not arouse her suspicions in the least. At church there seemed to be more groups than usual both before and after service who whispered together. Mr. Middler, the pastor, who loved Janice as he might his own daughter, added a warmer pressure to his handclasp. Mrs. Middler kissed her several times, and Janice thought with some surprise that the affectionate woman had been crying. Elder Concannon, that stern and bewhiskered patriarch who had once looked upon Janice Day and her ideas as the very leaven of unrighteousness in the community, strode over to the girl and rested his hands upon her shoulders to make her look up at him.

"Ha!" he said. "Just as brave as ever, are you? You're not fearing the future, my girl?"

"How can I when the past has been so lovely?" she asked him soberly.

"Ha!" and he wagged his head. "So that's the way the past has seemed to you, eh?"

He said no more; but Janice wondered what the matter was with Elder Concannon. He was so seldom demonstrative.