Chapter XII. The Faded-Out Lady

Janice was not as much surprised—at first as her father was by the appearance of the spinster and Mrs. Watkins. She remembered that Miss Peckham had said she would call this evening, although the girl had not expected her at the back door.

Their neighbor had managed to time her appearance at a rather inopportune moment, and when daddy rose up from behind the stove to confront the two women, in a voluminous apron and with a smutch across his cheek, Janice could not entirely smother her amusement.

"Oh! Oh!" she giggled. "Good evening, Miss Peckham! This—this is Mrs. Watkins, Daddy," and she directed her father’s attention to the faded-out lady. "Ahem! I am glad to see you, Miss Peckham—and Mrs. Watkins," Mr. Day said, bowing in that nice way of his that Janice so much admired. Even with a blacking brush in one hand and a can of stove polish in the other, Mr. Broxton Day was very much the gentleman.

"You find us considerably engaged in domestic work," continued Mr. Day, a smile wreathing his lips and his eyes twinkling. "And if you don’t mind, I’ll finish my job before giving you my full attention. Janice, take

Miss Peckham and her friend into the living room."

"Oh, no. You needn’t bother," said Miss Peckham shortly. "Here’s chairs, and we can sit down. It’s interesting to watch a man try to do housework, I’ve no doubt."

"You said something then, Miss Peckham," said Mr. Day, cheerfully, and began industriously daubing the stove covers.

"I brought Mrs. Watkins in here to see you, Mr. Day, ’cause I got your welfare and hers at heart," pursued the spinster.

That sounded rather ominous, and Mr. Day poised the dauber and stared doubtfully from his neighbor to the washed-out looking woman.

"Mrs. Watkins is a widow," went on Miss Peckham.

Mr. Day made a sympathetic sound with his lips, but fell to polishing now, making the stove covers rattle. Miss Peckham raised her voice a notch. "She’s a widow, and she’s seen trouble."

"We’re born to it—as the sparks fly upward," observed Mr. Day, under his breath.

"Mrs. Watkins has come to an age when nobody can say she’s flighty, I sh’d hope," continued Miss Peckham. "She’s settled. And she’s got to earn her livin’."

"Now, Marthy!" objected Mrs. Watkins.

"Well, ’tis so, Sophrony, ain’t it?" demanded her friend.

"Oh, of course, expenses are heavy, and it’s desirable that I should—should—well, add to my income. But I’ve come to no great age, Marthy Peckham, I’d have you know!"

"Oh, bosh, Sophrony!" ejaculated Miss Peckham. "Well, as I say, Mr. Day, Mrs. Watkins is a widow, and she needs a settled place."

"Just what are you trying to get at, Miss Peckham? I don’t understand you," asked Mr. Day, his face actually getting rather pale.

Neither did Janice understand; but her father looked so funny that the girl giggled again. Miss Peckham gave her a reproving glance.

"I sh’d think you’d understand your need well enough, Broxton Day," she said sternly. "First of all that gal ought to be learned manners. But that’s incidental, as you might say. What I am tellin’ you is, that here’s your chance to get a housekeeper that’ll amount to something."

"Oh! Ah! I see!" exclaimed Mr. Day in staccato fashion, and evidently very much relieved. "Mrs. Watkins is looking for a position?"

"Well, she ought to be. But it does take a stick of dynamite to get her goin’, seems to me. Speak up, Sophrony!"

"Why, I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Day," said the faded-out lady, simpering. "I’ve been considerin’ acceptin’ a position such as you have. Of course, I ain’t used to working out—"

"Oh, fiddlesticks? put in Miss Peckham, "He don’t care nothin’ about that, Sophrony. He can see you ain’t no common servant."

"Assuredly I can see that, Mrs. Watkins," said Mr. Day, suavely. "But do you think you would care to accept such a position as I can offer you?"

"I should be pleased to try it," said Mrs. Watkins, with a sigh. "Of course, it would be a comedown for me—"

"Land’s sake, Sophrony!" ejaculated her friend, "with me to sponsor you, I don’t guess anybody in this neighborhood will undertake to criticize."

"Wait a moment," said Mr. Day, and Janice was delighted to see that he was not entirely carried off his feet. "Let us understand each other. I pay so much a month," naming a fair sum, "and I expect the cooking and all the housework except the heavy washing done by whoever takes the place."

"Well, now, Mr. Day," began Mrs. Watkins, "you see, I shouldn’t expect to be treated just like an ordinary servant. Oh, no."

"That’s what I tell her," snorted Miss Peckham.

"Folks that have had the off-scourings of the earth, like you have had, Broxton Day, in your kitchen, ain’t used to having lady-help about the house."

"I hope Janice and I will appreciate Mrs. Watkins’ efforts, if she wishes to try the place," Mr. Day said, in rather a bewildered tone.

"That gal herself can do a good deal I sh’d think, morning and night. She ain’t helpless," said Miss Peckham, staring at Janice.

"Janice has her school work to do," said Mr. Day firmly. "She takes care of her own room and does other little things. But unless Mrs. Watkins wishes to undertake the full responsibility of the housework it would be useless for her to come."

He was firm on that point. The faded-out lady smiled feebly. "I am always willing to do as far as I can," she sighed. "The work for three people can’t be so much. I am perfectly willing to try, Mr. Day. I’m sure nothin’ could be fairer than that."

Daddy and Janice looked at each other for an instant. It flashed through both their minds that the faded-out lady did not sound very encouraging. Later when the two had gone, daddy put away the blacklug tools, saying:

"Well, it will be a new experience, Janice. She is different from anybody we have ever had before."

"Oh, Daddy! I think she’s funny," gasped the girl.

He smiled at her broadly, shaking his head. "I presume she does seem funny to you. But at least she is a ladylike person. We must treat her nicely."

"Why, as though we wouldn’t!" gasped Janice.

"But don’t offend her by showing her you are amused," warned her father. "That may be hard, for it does strike me that Mrs. Sophronia Watkins is a character, and no mistake."

"I wouldn’t hurt her feelings for the world," declared Janice. "But, Daddy, do you suppose it is rouge she has on her face? And does she use a lipstick?"

"For goodness’ sake! Where did you hear about such things?" he laughed.

"Why, of course I know something about most everything," declared Janice, quite confidently. "And her face doesn’t look just natural."

"Don’t get too curious, Janice," he said laughing. "If she can cook and keep the house clean, as far as I am concerned she can paint herself like a Piute chief."

One shock, however, Mr. Broxton Day was not exactly prepared for. Mrs. Watkins came to the house the next day for a late breakfast—which she got herself, Janice and her father having already cooked their own and eaten it.

"I haven’t been used to getting up very early," confessed the woman, preening a bit. "But, of course, I shall change my breakfast hour to conform with yours."

"I hope so," said Broxton Day, hurrying away to business.

He got the shock mentioned at night when he came to the dinner table. The table was very neatly set; but there were three places. The meal was not elaborate but the food seemed to be cooked all right. Mrs. Watkins brought in the dishes and then sat down with Mr. Day and Janice to eat.

Janice did not look at daddy, but her own face was rather red and she was uncomfortable.

"Your daughter," said Mrs. Watkins severely, informs me that you have not been in the habit of having anybody at your table at meal time but your two selves. Of course, I could only engage to assist you here with the understanding that I am to be considered one of the family."

"Why—er—yes; that will be all right," Janice’s father said, though a bit doubtfully. "It would scarcely do to consider you, Mrs. Watkins, in the same category as the ordinary help Janice and I have had."

"I am glad you see it that way," said the faded-out lady. And she was quite colorless at the moment. It was evident that the rouge and lip-stick were used only on important occasions.

"I am glad you see it that way," she repeated. "I could consider no let-down as a lady, in accepting any position. Manual labor is no shame; but one must be true to one’s upbringing."

"Quite so, Mrs. Watkins—quite so," agreed Mr. Day.

"Janice, child," said the woman quickly, "run out to the kitchen and get the rest of the potatoes. And see if the coffee is ready."

Her tone rather startled Janice; but she did as she was bade and that without even a glance at daddy.

"I never consider I have had a real dinner," Mrs. Watkins continued, "unless I have a bit of good cheese with it. I find none in the house, Mr. Day. Indeed," she added, "your pantry sadly needs stocking up."

"Why—er—that may be so. We have been living a good deal ’catch-as-catch-can,’" and he smiled upon her. "Give Janice a list of the things you need, and she will go to Harriman’s for you in the morning."

"No. I prefer to do my own marketing, always. A child like Janice—thank you Janice, for the potatoes— can scarcely be expected to use judgment in the selection of provisions. You might telephone to the stores where you are in the habit of trading and inform them that I have charge of your household now. They will then expect me."

"Oh, well! All right," he said, but doubtfully.

"I have not yet brought my bag from Marthy’s, next door. I will go after it when dinner is over, while Janice clears the table. I will send for my trunk, which is at Marietteville, later."

"Suit yourself, Mrs. Watkins," said Mr. Day.

"Have you any choice as to which of the two empty bedrooms I consider mine?" the woman asked, heaping her plate a second time with food.

"What’s that?" asked Mr. Day, rather non-plussed.

"Which chamber shall I sleep in?" she repeated, quite calmly.

"Why—I— Really, Mrs. Watkins, isn’t the small room beyond Janice’s quite sufficient for you?" he asked, a little color coming into his face now.

"Oh, my dear Mr. Day! I could not consider that for a moment. Why, that is the girl’s room—merely a bedroom for the hired help. I could not possibly consider myself in the same class—"

"Except on pay-day, Mrs. Watkins?" asked the man bluntly. "We are glad to have you with us, of course; and we will consider your quite different status in the family, as you demand. But—"

"No, Mr. Day," Mrs. Watkins said with decision, interrupting him. "I could not contemplate for a moment occupying the girl’s room. Why you might want it again any time."

"Not while you are with us," said Mr. Day wonderingly. "I do not think I could afford to have two helpers."

"It does not matter," said the faded-out lady stubbornly. "Janice, get the coffee now. It does not matter. I refuse positively to sleep in that little, poked-up room. I prefer my windows opening to the east."

"But the east room is the one Mrs. Day always used," said the man, with sudden hoarseness. "I cannot allow you to use that one. The spare chamber on the other side of the hall, if you insist."

"Very well," said the woman with a small toss of her head. "Will you have a cup of coffee, Mr. Day?"

"No, Mrs. Watkins. I prefer a cup of tea at dinner time. A New England habit that has clung to me."

"Indeed? Janice, go and make your father a cup of tea, that’s a good child."

"Never mind, Janice," said daddy quickly. "I do not wish it now. And, Mrs. Watkins."

"Yes, Mr. Day?" simpered the faded-out lady.

"I wish it distinctly understood that Janice is to give her complete attention to her school work between dinner and bedtime, unless she should chance to have more freedom during those hours than is usual. She will assist you as you may have need after school, and even in the morning before she goes to school. But the hours after dinner are for her school work. Do you quite understand me, Mrs. Watkins?"

Mrs. Watkins’ pale, wrinkled face did not color in the least, nor did the washed-out brown eyes change their expression. But there was an added sharpness to the woman’s voice:

"You object to Janice’s giving me a hand with the lighter tasks, Mr. Day?" she queried.

"Not at all. But her education must not be neglected."

"Ah! I quite understand," sniffed Mrs. Watkins. "You object to my going out this evening then? But I really must have my bag with my toilet requisites."

"I have no wish to restrict your use of the evening, as long as your work is done," said Mr. Day, rising from the table. "Come, Janice, it is time you were at your books."

He led the way into the living room. Mrs. Watkins gave a violent sniff at their departure. Then she finished her coffee.