ater the little spinster came home. Her visit in Boston seemed
to have done her a world of good. She brought a great trunk packed
full of things to wear, or goods to be made up into pretty dresses and
the like.

"I declare for't!" ejaculated her mother. "Looks like you had been
buyin' your trossoo--an' old maid like you, too!"

But Miss 'Rill was unruffled, and parried her mother's suspicion.

When the lake boat, the _Constance Colfax_, began to run on her summer
schedule after Decoration Day, many more summer tourists than usual got
off the boat at Poketown to look about. The dock was so neat, and the
surroundings of the landing so attractive, that these visitors were led
to go further up into the town.

There was the pleasant, rambling, old Lake View Inn, freshened with
paint that spring, and with a green grass plot before it, and wide,
screened verandas.

"Why, it's only its name that is against it!" cried the wondering
tourists. "It's not _poky_ at all."

These remarks, repeated as they were, made the merchants of the village
stop and think. Ere this a board of trade had been formed, and the
welfare of the town was eagerly discussed at the meetings of the board.
Mr. Massey, the druggist, who was active, of course, got another idea
from Janice.

He began to delve into the past history of Poketown. He learned how
and when it had been settled--and by whom. People had mostly forgotten
(if they ever had known) the true history of the town.

A pioneer named Cyrus Polk had first built his cabin on the heights
overlooking this little bay. He had been the first smith in this
region, too, and gradually around "Polk's Smithy" had been reared the
nucleus of the present town.

Through the years the silent "l" in the original settler's name had
been lost entirely. But the post office agreed to put it back into the
name, and a big signboard was painted and set up at the dock.

"POLKTOWN."

"It sartain sure looks a hull lot diff'rent, even if ye _do_ pernounce
it the same," admitted Walky Dexter.

So much was happening these balmy June days! The school year--the
first in the new schoolhouse--was going to end in a blaze of glory for
Nelson Haley, Janice was sure. Elder Concannon had promised in writing
to give his lot upon High Street for the site of a library building,
whenever the association should have subscribed twelve hundred dollars
toward the building itself.

Then came the first love letter