Janice Day, the Young Homemaker

by Helen Beecher Long

  CHAPTER XIII. STELLA'S PARTY

  It was not going to be altogether pleasant sailing with MrsWatkins in the house. Broxton Day saw that to be the fact,plainly and almost immediately. Janice had realized it evenbefore her father had occasion to mark Mrs. Watkins' mostprominent characteristic.

  She was a person who was determined to take advantage if shecould. In the parlance of the section of the country from whichBroxton Day hailed, she was one of those persons who "if you give'em an inch they take an ell."

  From the first she made a strong attempt to carry things with ahigh hand. Mr. Day was almost sorry he had allowed her to comeinto the house. Mrs. Watkins did most of the housekeeping fromher station in a rocking chair on the porch where she sat,wearing the mitts aforementioned.

  Her idea of keeping the house in order was to clean all the roomsthat were not absolutely needed, and then close them up tight,draw the shades down and close the blinds, making of each anairless tomb into which Janice was made to feel she must notenter for fear of admitting a speck of dirt.

  Most of the work was done on Saturday, when Janice was at home.There was no playtime now for the girl-- none at all.

  But Janice would not complain. Mrs. Watkins could be very meanand petty, indeed; but to daddy she showed her best side. And asfar as he saw, the house was run much better than had been thecase of late.

  Mrs. Watkins was ladylike in her demeanor. They became used toher sitting at the table with them and quite governing the trendof conversation at meals, as she did. Neither Janice nor herfather liked to have the woman bring her tatting, which was herusual evening employment, into the living-room after dinner, forthat was the only time when daughter and father could beconfidential. But they did not see how they could overcome thisannoyance without offending the woman.

  At the end of the month Mr. Day was startled by the increase inthe household bills. Mrs. Watkins had served them rather betterfood, it was true, than they had been getting of late; but a goodmany cutlets, sweetbreads, chops and steaks, seemed never to haveappeared on the dinner table.

  "I always feel the need of a hearty lunch Mr. Day," sniffed Mrs.Watkins. "I really need it after doing the morning's work. Tokeep one's self in condition is a duty we owe ourselves don't youthink?"

  "You seem to have stocked up pretty well with canned goods, Mrs.Watkins," was Broxton Day's rejoinder, now scanning the longmemorandum from Harriman's. "Dear, dear! French peas? Andimported marmalade? And canned mushrooms? Do you use all thesethings, Mrs. Watkins?"

  "Oh, they are most useful, Mr. Day. One never knows when one mayhave company or wish to make a special dish. I have been used tothe best, Mr. Day. Of course, if you wish to limit mypurchases--" and she sniffed.

  "Humph! I am not a rich man. We are not in the habit of usingimported provisions of this quality. I expect you to buy goodfood and all that is sufficient. But such luxuries as these wecannot afford."

  Mrs. Watkins merely sniffed again. Broxton Day, when he paid thebills at the stores, pointed out to Mr. Harriman and to thebutcher that the goods bought seemed to cost considerably morethan they previously had.

  "Why, Mr. Day, you are buying a different quality of goods fromwhat you have been used to," said Harriman. "Here's butter, forinstance. That is our best-- print butter, seven cents a poundhigher than the tub butter you used to buy. Those eggs areselected white Leghorns, come to us sealed in boxes, and arefifteen cents more a dozen than ordinary fresh eggs."

  The butcher told him something else. "Yes, you are getting thebest grade of everything we carry, Mr. Day. That lady at yourhouse evidently knows what she wants."

  "Look here!" exclaimed Broxton Day, with some heat. "I haven'tsuddenly become a millionaire. I can't stand these prices. Whenshe comes in here to buy, give her the grade of meat we havealways had. And remember that I can't, and won't, pay forsweetbreads at a dollar and a half a pair."

  "Why, bless you!" said the butcher, grinning, "I've never seenthe lady. She always telephones. She's some relative of yours,isn't she, Mr. Day? She certainly does order high-handed."

  "And she wanted to do the marketing herself," groaned BroxtonDay, as he went away after paying the bill. "I wonder what I amup against? Things do go better at the house; but I wonder if Ican stand the pressure."

  He did not know how much Janice had to do with making things atthe house go so much more smoothly. The little girl wasdetermined that daddy should not be troubled by household mattersif she could help it.

  With Olga Cedarstrom or the half-foolish Delia in the house, itwas impossible to keep from daddy's eyes the things that wentwrong. Now it was different. Mrs. Watkins was very sly inmaking everything appear all right before Broxton Day. On theother hand Janice showed an equal amount of slyness (of which shehad been previously accused!) in helping hide the numerous thingsthat would have troubled daddy.

  There was waste in the kitchen. Mrs. Watkins was a big eater,but a delicate eater. She never wished to see the same thing onthe table twice. A poor family could have been fed fairly wellfrom what the woman flung into the garbage.

  Janice had never been used to seeing such recklessness, even whenonly an ignorant servant was doing the work. At those times foodwas bought with a less lavish hand. Now there was seldom anythingleft, so Mrs. Watkins said, from one meal to warm up for another.

  "I don't know what to do--I really don't," Janice confessed toAny Carringford who, by this time, had become her very closestfriend and confidante. "Daddy has many business troubles, Iknow. It bothers him greatly to be annoyed by household matters.And he ought not to be so annoyed. But that woman!"

  "It is too bad, honey," Amy said. "I wish my mother could helpyou. She knows everything about housekeeping."

  "I know that is so," agreed Janice. "I wish Mrs. Watkins was alady like your mother, Amy. Then the house would go all rightand daddy needn't be bothered at all. I feel I ought to dosomething; but I don't know what."

  Aside from cooking the meals, which she did very nicely, it mustbe confessed, Mrs. Watkins gradually allowed most of theresponsibility for the housework to slide on to Janice's youngshoulders.

  The young girl got up an hour earlier than usual, and she busiedherself sweeping and dusting and making beds right up to theminute she had to seize her books and lunch and run to school.She was quite sure that Mrs. Watkins went back to bed afterbreakfast, and really did little towards keeping the house inorder until afternoon.

  And if there was any scrubbing, or hard work to do, that was leftuntil Saturday. Nobody ever saw Mrs. Watkins on her knees,unless it was at her devotions!

  However, Janice Day was too sanguine to be made melancholy bythese affairs. She was of a naturally cheerful nature--anattribute she inherited from her father. It took more than thefaded-out lady to cause the girl overwhelming anxiety.

  The stroke that had been the hardest for her to bear since hermother's death was the loss of the treasure-box and the heirloomsin it. Whether or not the Swedish girl, Olga Cedarstrom, hadcarried the valuables away with her, Janice felt all the timethat she had only herself to blame because of the loss. And sherealized that the loss of the packet of letters had saddeneddaddy dreadfully.

  "If I had not been careless! If I had put the box back into thewall-safe before I went to bed! If I had remembered when I sawArlo Junior and the cats! Dear me," murmured Janice more thanonce, "'If,' 'if,' 'if!' If the rabbit hadn't stopped for a napbeside the track, the tortoise would not have won the race."

  "But, what under the sun," Gummy Carringford asked, "could havebecome of Olga and her fella? That is certainly a mystery."

  With Amy and her brother, the boy with the odd name, Janice oftendiscussed the lost treasure-box. She and daddy did not speak somuch together about it as at first. It seemed to be hopelesslylost.

  With the Carringfords Janice had become very friendly, as hasbeen said. In the first place, Mrs. Carringford very much likedJanice Day. And how could she and her children he
lp but begrateful to the little girl who lived at Eight-forty-five KnightStreet?

  The birthday party at Stella Lathams' house was now at hand.Mrs. Carringford had not yet been able to make over Mr. Day'sclothes to fit Gummy; and he was not invited to the party,anyway. He was one grade in advance of the three girls inschool, and Stella considered this excuse enough for not invitinghim to her birthday fete. But Amy was radiant in the pink andwhite frock Janice had donated.

  "Never mind," said Gummy, who was of a cheerful spirit, too."I'm glad the party will be on Friday instead of Saturday night.I'll be out of the store early enough Friday night to come to theLatham place to beau you girls home."

  "Maybe we'll have beaux of our own and won't want you," said Amyroguishly.

  "Don't mind what she says, Gummy," cried Janice. "I won't haveany beau but you. I shall expect you. So don't fail me."

  Stella Latham's expectations had been high, indeed, regarding herparty; nor was she disappointed. Her father and mother had doneeverything they thought would please their only daughter; andsurely the cost had not been considered.

  The house, and the grounds around it, were charminglylighted--the outside lamps being those gaudy and curious formscontaining lighted candles, and called Japanese lanterns.

  The Latham place on the Dover pike, was one of the show places ofthe countryside. Mr. Latham was wealthy and could well afford togive his daughter's friends an entertainment that might better,perhaps, have been offered older guests.

  Stella was growing up too fast. Because she was aping older andfoolishly fashionable folk, she was becoming an exacting,precocious girl--not at all the innocent and joyous child sheshould have been at fourteen years of age.

  Her mother feared that all was not right with Stella; yet she wastoo weak and easy-going a woman to correct her daughter with astrong hand. She had observed Janice Day on two occasions whenthe latter had come with other young friends of Stella's to thehouse, and had commented favorably upon Janice's character.

  "There is a girl you might pattern after, Stella, and it would doyou good," said the somewhat unwise Mrs. Latham.

  "Humph! I don't see why you say that, Ma," said Stella. "JaniceDay isn't half as pretty as Mary Pierce. And she dresses in halfmourning because of her mother's death. She hasn't got any styleabout her."

  "She is a very shrewd and sensible young person," declared Mrs.Latham. "I wish you were more like her."

  It was from this remark that Stella had derived the statementthat Janice was "sly." That term, quite justly, might have beenapplied to Stella. For Stella would have cared very little ifneither Janice nor Amy Carringford had come to the birthdayparty.

  Only Mr. Latham had insisted that his daughter should inviteevery girl in her grade at school. He was wiser than his wife.

  "You don't want any ill-feelings among your mates," he toldStella.

  Janice Day, therefore, whether "shrewd" or "sly," had helpedStella in the matter of fulfilling Mr. Latham's command. Amy, assweet as a rose, appeared in the pretty pink and white dress thathad been made by the dear fingers of Janice's mother.

  At first Janice could scarcely look at her friend in the frockwithout feeling the tears start to her eyes. But, then,she knewthat mother would have approved fully of this gift she had made.And Amy Carringford was good and attractive.

  There was such a large number of young folks at the Latham placethat evening that when it came time for the refreshments, everyone of the farmer's hired help was called in, either as waitersor in the kitchen.

  It took a good many waiters, too, for there were many steps to betaken back and forth to the kitchen. Mr. Latham had had a largecanvas canopy stretched out in one corner of the yard, and underthis were set the tables. And pretty, indeed, did they lookunder the soft lights of the numerous candles in their shinywhiteness of heavy napery, polished silver, dainty porcelain, andbrilliant cutglass.

  What appealed more, however, to the hearty appetites of the youngpeople were the quantifies of sandwiches, the olives and picklesand the bowls of salad, the rich cakes, the heaps of ice-cream,the hot chocolate. The Lathams were lavish at all times, andwhen they gave a formal party the table was heaped with therichest and most delicious food they could provide. No wonder ittook many hands to make things run smoothly.

  "Goodness!" said Stella, within hearing of Janice and Amy,"there's such a crowd in that kitchen you've no idea! And someof the help are perfectly useless! You know, mother had thefolks come up from both tenant houses to help, and one of thewomen--the Swedish one --has just broken one of mother's biggestcutglass dishes."

  "I thought I heard a crash out there," said Janice.

  "It is too bad," Amy added. "Of course the woman did not meanto."

  "Well!" sniffed Stella, "that won't make the dish whole. It'sworth money, too."

  "Dear me," said Amy reflectively. "I guess Swedish girls must bebad luck. You know, it was a Swedish girl that stole that boxfrom Janice."

  "What box?" asked Stella, quickly. "A jewel box?"

  "All the jewelry I owned," said Janice, with rather a ruefulsmile. "But more than that. Mother's miniature --and otherthings. At least, we suppose that Olga took the box when sheleft us so hurriedly."

  "Olga!" exclaimed Stella. "Fancy! You don't mean that was hername?"

  "Yes, 'Olga' she was called," Janice said wonderingly.

  "That's the name Of this girl that broke the dish."

  "Why, how funny!" exclaimed Amy."That's not funny," rejoined Janice seriously. "Is she namedOlga Cedarstrom?"

  "Goodness! I don't know her last name. She comes from one ofour tenant houses. It's far away. Mother sent her home with aflea in her ear, now I tell you, after she had broken that dish."

  Janice was disturbed. "I wish you knew her last name. What sortof looking girl is she? Are you sure she has already left thehouse?"

  "Come on!" cried Amy, jumping up. "Let's run around there andsee. Take us to the kitchen door, Stella."

  "Well, yes. We can look. But I guess she has gone," said thefarmer's daughter.

  They had been sitting on the front porch. Stella led themquickly around to the rear of the big house.