But Marty dodged the unwelcome, old-fashioned remedy that night. He slipped away early—presumably to bed. Janice was not long in going to her room; but she did not lie down to sleep. When the house was dead-still, all save the mice in the walls and the solemn ticking of the hall clock, the girl arose and dressed for departure.
The Constance Colfax made her trip down the lake in the morning, halting for freight and for any chance passengers at the Polktown dock at six o'clock. The steamer got into Popham Landing before ten o'clock, in time for the morning train to Albany.
Janice was ready for departure long before it was time to leave the house. At this time of year it was quite dark at half-past five. When she crept out with her bag the frost was crisp under foot.
The steamboat was whistling mournfully for the landing. She saw nobody astir on Hillside Avenue, but when she reached High Street two drummers were leaving the Lake View Inn with their sample cases. There seemed nobody else going to the steamboat dock; Janice drew her veil closer and hurried on.
Walky Dexter did not make an appearance. She had heard him say the evening before that all the freight and express matter was already at the dock and that he could sleep late for once.
Indeed, it seemed as though everything worked in Janice Day's favor. There was nobody abroad to see her, or to object to her departure.
At home, when the family arose, they would not at first think her absence from the kitchen strange. Aunt 'Mira would say: "Oh! let her sleep a while if she will."
Janice could hear the tones of her aunt's voice, and her eyelids stung suddenly with unbidden tears.
Later they would go to her room to call her and find the note to Uncle Jason she had left pinned to the cushion on her bureau.