But the rutty, dusty road showed that it had been rutty and muddy in the earlier spring. The flagstones of the sidewalks were broken, and the walks themselves ill kept. The gutters were overgrown with grass and weeds. Before the shops the undefended tree trunks were gnawed into grotesque patterns by the farmers' hungry beasts. Hardware was at a premium in Poketown, for a dozen gates along the line were hung with leather hinges, and bits of rope had taken the places of the original latches. From the water, however, even on closer view, the hillside village made a pretty picture. Near the wharf it was not so romantic, as Janice Day realized, when the coughing, wheezy steamboat came close in. There were decrepit boats drawn up on the narrow beach; there were several decaying shacks bordering on the dock itself; and along the string-piece of the wharf roosted a row of "humans" that were the opposite of ornamental. The quick eye of Janice Day caught sight of this row of nondescripts. "Goodness me, Mrs. Scattergood!" she exclaimed, turning to the old lady who had been in receipt of her confidences. "Is the almshouse near Poketown?" "There's a poorfarm, child; but there ain't nobody on it but a few old folks an' some orphans. We ain't poor here--not pauper poor. But, goodness me! you mean them men a-settin' there? Why, they ain't poor--no, no, child. I don't suppose there's a man there that don't own his own house. There's Mel Parraday, who owns the _ho_-tel; and Lem Pinney that owns stock in this very steamboat comp'ny; and Walkworthy Dexter--Walky's done expressin' and stage-drivin' since before my 'Rill come here to Poketown to teach." "But--but they look so ragged and unshaven," gasped Janice. "Pshaw! they ain't proud, I reckon," cackled the old lady, gathering up her knitting and dropping it into the beaded bag, which she shut with a snap. "But isn't there anybody proud _of_ them?" queried Janice. "Haven't they mothers--or wives--or sisters?" The old lady stared at her. Then she made a sudden clicking in her throat that might have been a chuckle. "I declare for't, child!" she ejaculated. "I dunno as many of us in these parts _air_ proud of our men folks." Just then the steamboat's bow bumped the wharf. The jar scarcely seemed to awaken the languid line of Poketownites ranged along the other side. The only busy person in sight was the employee of the steamboat company who caught the loop of the hawser thrown him, and dropped it over a pile. The rest of the men just raised their heads and stared, chewing reflectively on either tobacco or straws, until the plank was dropped and the deckhands began trundling the freight and baggage ashore.