“Now don’t you go for to scare Janice,” interposed Aunt ’Mira. “Maybe it ain’t so bad after all. But I allow them Mexicaners is dreadful bloodthirsty,” she added, dolefully.
“Daddy won’t give up. He’ll fight it out to the end—I know him!” said Janice. And then she went her way with a heart that was very sore indeed.
The automobile was her solace. When things went wrong she could escape the contemplation of her girlish troubles by taking a spin in the car. Clinging to the wheel and with her well-shod feet resting lightly on the pedals, the engine purring like a huge tabby cat, and everything running smoothly, it was a delight to roll over the hilly roads about Polktown and forget everything else.
She had wonderfully good fortune in her management of the car. She had learned from Frank Bowman how to thoroughly clean the parts. Marty and she frequently spent the long summer evenings pottering over the automobile. And because of the care she gave it at home, she seldom had trouble out on the road.
Janice did not often ride merely for pleasure when she did not take out her friends. She often went up through Elder Concannon’s woodland where the Trimmins lived, and always she hoped to find some means of getting better acquainted with “them Trimminses,” as Mrs. Scattergood called the squatters.
One afternoon she carried a bag of popcorn and peanuts with her and stopped directly before the cabin. Since the time when the poor old hound had been killed most of the children had been conspicuous by their absence when Janice drove by. Especially did the black-haired girl and the red-haired boy remain under cover at such times.
Nor was this day any exception. They could hear the motor-car coming for a long distance, of course, and the muddy plot in front of the cabin was quite empty of children when Janice stopped the car. But she was not shaken from her good intention. She disembarked and went boldly up to the open door of the cabin. There was a scurrying and whispering inside, and she knew some of the children must have taken refuge there.
But all she saw was the slatternly mother in the doorway. Hers was a bulky figure. Not as bulky as Aunt ’Mira’s; but her dirty calico dress was worn with more baggy effect that it would seem really possible. Aunt ’Mira, when first Janice had come to Polktown, was a queen of neatness beside this poor creature.
“How-do!” she drawled, favoring Janice with a sickly smile. “You wanter see someone?”
“I have brought something for the children. I didn’t know but they might enjoy a little treat,” said Janice, smiling in return.