a fair start.

Then, easily finding a way through the fields, she raced off herself, although getting through thick hedges and climbing an occasional rail fence, proved rather tantalizing.

In front of the store she found Mr. Sanders just leaving Ted. They were both talking and laughing as if the acquaintance had proved highly satisfactory, but it irritated Nancy.

“Now, I suppose, he’ll come snooping around,” she grumbled. “Well, there’s one thing certain, I’m not going to keep an old-fashioned country store. No hanging around my cracker barrels,” she told herself, although there was not, and likely never would be a cracker barrel in the Whatnot Shop.

Once more left to themselves, the burnt dinner was not referred to, as Ted helped at last to clear up the disordered kitchen. Not even the lost potatoes came in for mention as brother and sister “made things fly,” as most belated workers find themselves obliged to do.

“Here, Ted, get the broom.”

Ted grabbed the broom.

“No, let me sweep. You empty those baskets of excelsior.”

“Where?”

“Where?”

“Yes. Can we burn it?”

“No, never. No more fire for us,” groaned Nancy. “Just dump the stuff some where.”

“But we can’t, Sis,” objected Ted. “Mother 'specially said nothing could be dumped around.”

“Well, do anything you like with it, but just get it out of the way,” and Nancy’s excited broom made jabs and stabs at corners without quite reaching them.

Ted was much more methodical. He really would do things right, if only Nancy would give him a chance. Just now he was carefully packing the excelsior in a big clothes basket.

“You know, Nan,” he remarked, “Mr. Sanders is awfully funny.”

“How funny?” asked Nancy crisply.

“Oh, he knows an awful lot.”

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