s likely ter make a
man a good deal of a hawg," added Uncle Jason. "But I guess the life
insurance rates ain't so high as they be on a feller that's determined
ter spend his time t'other side o' that Rio Grande River they tell
about."

"I wonder," sighed Aunt Almira, quite unconscious that she spoke aloud,
"if I kin turn that old black alpaca gown I got when Sister Susie died,
Jason, an' fashion it after one o' the new models?"

"Heh?" grunted the startled Mr. Day, glaring at her.

"Of course, we'll hafter go inter black--it's only decent. But I did
fancy a plum-colored dress this Spring, with r'yal purple trimmins. I
seen a pattern in the fashion sheet of the Fireside Love Letter that
was re'l sweet."

"What's eatin' on you, Maw?" demanded her son gruffly. "Whatcher
wanter talk that way for right in front of Janice? I reckon we won't
none of us put on crepe for Uncle Brocky yet awhile," he added, stoutly.

On Monday arrived another letter from Mr. Broxton Day. Of course, it
was dated before the dreadful night attack which had caused the death
of General Juan Dicampa and the destruction of his forces; and it had
passed through that chieftain's hands and had been remailed.

Janice put away the envelope, directed in the sloping, clerkly hand,
and sighed. Daddy was in perfect health when he had written this last
epistle and the situation had not changed.

"But no knowing what has happened to poor daddy since he wrote,"
thought Janice. "We can know nothing about it. And another whole
month to wait to learn if he is alive."

The girl was quite well aware that she could expect no inquiry to be
made at Washington regarding Mr. Broxton Day's fate. The
administration had long since warned all American citizens to leave
Mexico and to refrain from interference in Mexican affairs. Mr. Day
had chosen to stay by his own, and his friends', property--and he had
done this at his peril.

"Oh, I wish," thought the girl, "that somebody could go down there and
capture daddy, and just make him come back over the border! As Uncle
Jason says, what's money when his precious life is in danger?"

In almost the same breath, however, she wished that daddy could send
her more money. For Lottie Drugg had gone to Boston. Her father had
given over the violin to Joe Bodley, and that young speculator paid the
storekeeper the remainder of the hundred dollars agreed upon. With
this hundred dollars Hopewell started for Boston with