Dwight Street, From Main.
Dwight Street, Corner Race.
Dwight Street, Near High.
The Second Level Canal, South From Dwight Street.
The Business Center Viewed from Depot Hill.
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Then the woman was heard rising to go, and Janet did not ask her to stay.
Uncle John heard the door close behind her and saw her going out at the gate — a coarse, stout woman in a gay shawl, and with scattering locks of black hair blowing about her blowsy face.
Janet was startled when she came into the kitchen and saw Uncle John sitting there.
"Why, John, I didn’t hear you come in!" she exclaimed. "Did you hear what that woman was saying?"
"Yes, Janet, I heard."
"If the story’s true, that accounts for it — why you never could get any more particulars about Jessie, and why you could never find the grave."
Main Entrance to the City Hall.
Uncle John rose and walked with an uncertain step into the room adjoining the kitchen which was kept for his own.
The mill gossips had been partly right. A small desk with a few books upon it stood in one corner of the room. Just above, set in a pretty hand-carved frame with a vase of flowers before it, hung the picture of a young girl.
It was an old-fashioned "tin-type" of a by-gone time, but even the poor workmanship and queer dress could not conceal the beauty of the handsome, careless face. Her head was turned a little, showing the thick, rich braid of abundant hair hanging down the girls back. Her eyes were bright and full and brown, and a smile lurked in the corners of her saucy mouth.
Uncle John looked piteously at the picture image of his shattered idol, worshipped so vainly and so long.
"Jesse, Jesse, I don’t believe it, lass. I don’t believe it," he murmured in a tone of pathetic appeal.
But when Janet opened the door half an hour later to call Uncle John to his dinner, the room was vacant and the picture was gone from its place on the wall.
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