Lottie jumped up and clapped her little hands when he struck a chord that vibrated upon her nerves. There she stood, with her little, upraised face flooded by the spring sunshine, which entered through the side doorway, a gleam of pleasure passing over her features when she felt the vibration of the minor notes. They were deeply engaged, those two--the father with his playing, the child in striving to catch the tones. Janice gathered up her few small purchases and stole out of the old store. It was more than a week later when Marty came home to supper one night and grinned broadly at his cousin. "What d'ye s'pose I've got for you, Janice?" he asked. His cousin flashed him a single comprehending look, and then her face went white. "Daddy!" she gasped. "A letter from Daddy?" "Aw, shucks! ain't there nothin' else you want?" the boy returned, teasingly. "Not so much as a talk with Daddy," she declared, breathlessly. "And that's almost what a letter will be. Dear Marty! If you've got a letter from him do, do let me have it!" "Don't you torment Janice now, Marty," cried his mother. "I hope he is all right, Janice. Is it writ in his own hand, Marty?" "I dunno," said the plaguesome boy, looking at the address covertly. "It is postmarked 'Juarez'." "Oh, yes! oh, yes!" cried Janice. "He would send it down there to be mailed. So he said. Mail service up in Chihuahua is so uncertain. Oh, Marty! p-l-e-a-s-e!" "You give her that, Marty!" commanded Mr. Day. Janice snatched the letter when the boy held it out to her; but she flashed Marty a "Thanks, awfully!" as she ran out of the room and upstairs. Supper? What did she care for supper? In the red light of the sunset she sat by the window in her room and read Mr. Broxton Day's loving letter. It _was_ almost like seeing and talking with Daddy! Those firm, flowing lines of black ink, displaying character and firmness and decision, looked just like Daddy himself! Janice kissed the open page ecstatically, and then began to read: "DEAR DAUGHTER: "The several thousand miles that separate us seem very short indeed when I sit down to write my little Janice. I can see her standing right before me in this barren, corrugated-iron shack--which would have been burned the last time a bunch of the Constitutionalists swept through these hills, only iron will not burn. If a party of Federal troops come along they may try to destroy our plant, too. Just at the present time the foreigner, and his property, are in no great favor with either party of belligerents. The cry is 'Mexico for the Mexicans'--and one can scarcely blame them. But although I have seen a little fighting at a distance, and plenty of the marks of battle along the railroad line as I came up here, I do not think I am as yet in any great danger.