eferred. "I
know!" she exclaimed, wiping away her own tears. "They have talked
horridly about Mr. Drugg."

"It is untruthful! It is unfair!" exclaimed Hopewell Drugg's wife, her
cheeks and eyes suddenly ablaze with indignation. To tell the truth,
she was like an angry kitten, and had the matter not been so serious,
Janice must have laughed at her.

"They have told all over town that Hopewell came home intoxicated from
that last dance," continued the wife. "But it is a story--a wicked,
wicked story!"

Janice was silent. She remembered what she and Marty and Mrs.
Scattergood had seen on the evening in question--how Hopewell Drugg had
looked as he staggered past the street lamp on the corner on his way
home with the fiddle under his arm.

She looked away from 'Rill and waited. Janice feared that the poor
little bride would discover the expression of her doubt in her eyes.

CHAPTER XII

AN UNEXPECTED EMERGENCY

'Rill seemed to understand what was in Janice's mind and heart. She
kept on with strained vehemence:

"I know what they all say! And my mother is as bad as any of them.
They say Hopewell was intoxicated. He was sick, and the bartender
mixed him something to settle his stomach. I think maybe he put some
liquor in it unbeknown to Hopewell. Or something!

"The poor, dear man was ill all night, Janice, and he never did
remember how he got home from the dance. Whatever he drank seemed to
befuddle his brain just as soon as he came out into the night air.
That should prove that he's not a drinking man."

"I--I am sorry for you, dear," Janice said softly. "And I am sorry
anybody saw Mr. Drugg that evening on his way home."

"Oh, I know you saw him, Janice--and Marty Day and my mother. Mother
can be as mean as mean can be! She has never liked Hopewell, as you
know."

"Yes, I know," admitted Janice.

"She keeps throwing such things up to me. And her tongue is never
still. It is true Hopewell's father was a drinking man."

"Indeed?" said Janice, curiously.

"Yes," sighed 'Rill Drugg. "He was rather shiftless. Perhaps it is
the nature of artists so to be," she added reflectively. "For he was
really a fine musician. Had Hopewell had a chance he might have been
his equal. I often think so," said the storekeeper's bride proudly.

"I know that the elder Mr. Drugg taught the violin."

"Yes. And he used to travel about over the country, giving lessons and
playing in orchestras. Tha