Hotchkiss done. Lied about it, o' course. Said he didn't. But to them that was his cronies he boasted about it. I had my doubts of him when he come back to Polktown, nobody knowed from where; and I could ha' told ye, Jase——"

"Too late! too late!" groaned Mr. Day. "All you hind-sight prophets can't do me no good."

It was a bitter cry, and Aunt 'Mira sniveled as she stood over the dish-pan. Marty shuffled heavily as he grabbed his cap and made his way toward the door.

"I'm goin' over to the lib'ry for a book," he explained huskily, and went out.

Janice and Nelson soon retired to the sitting room while the three older people carried on a desultory conversation for the next hour. Suddenly there came a tapping on the sitting room window by Nelson's chair. He pulled aside the shade a little and glanced out.

What he saw made him start suddenly to his feet. "Who is it?" asked Janice, busy with the fancy-work in her lap.

"Somebody who evidently wishes to speak with me in private," Nelson told her with a smile. "I'll be right back."

He went out through the kitchen and found Marty standing in the yard—a very white-faced and trembling Marty, quite unlike his usual self.

"What is it? What has happened?" the schoolmaster asked sharply.

"Oh, Mr. Haley! I can't tell her—I can't let her know it."

"Whom are you talking about—your mother?"

"No. It's Janice."

"What has happened to Janice?" demanded Nelson, his voice changing.

"It's her dad—it's Uncle Brocky!" gasped Marty. "It's in to-day's New York paper. I just happened to see it as they was putting it on the file. I got it here," and the boy drew the folded newspaper from his pocket.