"He loved it so!" murmured Janice appreciatively:
"Yes. I guess that was almost the only time in his life that Hopewell really asserted himself. With his mother, at least. She was a very stubborn woman, and very stern; more so than my own mother. But Mrs. Drugg had to give in to him about the violin, for she needed Hopewell to run the store for her. They had little other means.
"But she made him marry 'Cinda Stone," added 'Rill. "Poor 'Cinda! she was never happy. Not that Hopewell did not treat her well. You know, Janice, he is the sweetest-tempered man that ever lived.
"And that is what hurts me more than anything else," sobbed the bride, dabbling her eyes with her handkerchief. "When they say Hopewell gets intoxicated, and is cruel to me and to Lottie, it seems as though—as though I could scratch their eyes out!"
For a moment Hopewell's wife looked so spiteful, and her eyes snapped so, that Janice wanted to laugh. Of course, she did not do so. But to see the mild and sweet-tempered 'Rill display such venom was amusing.
The store door opened with a bang. The girl and the woman both started up, Lottie remaining asleep.
"Hush! Never mind!" whispered Janice to 'Rill. "I'll wait on the customer."
When she went out into the front of the store, she saw that the figure which had entered was in a glistening slicker. It had begun to rain.
"Why, Frank Bowman! Is it you?" she asked, in surprise.
"Oh! how-do, Janice! I didn't expect to find you here."