rope had taken the places of the original
latches.

From the water, however, even on closer view, the hillside village made
a pretty picture. Near the wharf it was not so romantic, as Janice Day
realized, when the coughing, wheezy steamboat came close in.

There were decrepit boats drawn up on the narrow beach; there were
several decaying shacks bordering on the dock itself; and along the
stringpiece of the wharf roosted a row of "humans" that were the
opposite of ornamental. The quick eye of Janice Day caught sight of this
row of nondescripts.

"Goodness me, Mrs. Scattergood!" she exclaimed, turning to the old lady
who had been in receipt of her confidences. "Is the almshouse near
Poketown?"

"There's a poorfarm, child; but there ain't nobody on it but a few old
folks an' some orphans. We ain't poor here--not pauper poor. But,
goodness me! you mean them men a-settin' there? Why, they ain't
poor--no, no, child. I don't suppose there's a man there that don't own
his own house. There's Mel Parraday, who owns the _ho_-tel; and Lem
Pinney that owns stock in this very steamboat comp'ny; and Walkworthy
Dexter--Walky's done expressin' and stage-drivin' since before my 'Rill
come here to Poketown to teach."

"But--but they look so ragged and unshaven," gasped Janice.

"Pshaw! they ain't proud, I reckon," cackled the old lady, gathering up
her knitting and dropping it into the beaded bag, which she shut with a
snap.

"But isn't there anybody proud _of_ them?" queried Janice. "Haven't they
mothers--or wives--or sisters?"

The old lady stared at her. Then she made a sudden clicking in her
throat that might have been a chuckle. "I declare for't, child!" she
ejaculated. "I dunno as many of us in these parts _air_ proud of our men
folks."

Just then the steamboat's bow bumped the wharf. The jar scarcely seemed
to awaken the languid line of Poketownites ranged along the other side.
The only busy person in sight was the employee of the steamboat company
who caught the loop of the hawser thrown him, and dropped it over a
pile. The rest of the men just raised their heads and stared, chewing
reflectively on either tobacco or straws, until the plank was dropped
and the deckhands began trundling the freight and baggage ashore.

There were two or three commercial drummers beside Mrs. Scattergood and
Janice, who disembarked on this dock. Mrs. Scattergood bade the girl
from the West a brisk good-bye and went directly up the dock,