“But I’m so dirty,” complained Nancy, brushing at her skirt and then patting her disordered hair. She had been rushing around at a mad rate since noon hour and naturally felt untidy.

“Well, any how, go tell them,” suggested Ted. “They’re just girls like you. You needn’t worry about your looks.” His eyes paid Nancy a decided compliment with the careless speech. Evidently she was not the only one who found good looks in the family.

Out in the store the girls were waiting, and when she finally walked up to them, Nancy was instantly at ease.

“Oh, hello!” greeted the stouter one. She was genuinely pleasant and Nancy at once liked her. “You’re the girl we’ve been trying to meet. This is Vera Johns and I’m Ruth Ashley. We live over on North Road and we’ve been wanting to meet you.”

“I’m Nancy Brandon,” replied Nancy pleasantly, “and I’m glad to meet you, too. I was wondering if I would get acquainted away out here. Won’t you sit down? Here’s a bench,” brushing aside the papers. “It takes so long to get things straightened out.”

The girls murmured their understanding of the moving problem, and after Teddy had called out from the back door, that he was going “over to see the fellows,” all three girls settled down to chat.

“Is it really your own store?” asked Ruth. She had reddish-brown hair, gray eyes and the brightest smile.

“Yes,” replied Nancy. “Just a little summer experiment. You see, I perfectly despise housework and mother believes I should learn something practical. I just begged for a little country store. I’ve always been so interested reading about them.”

“How quaint!” murmured Vera Johns. Her tone of voice seemed so affected that Nancy glanced quickly at her. Was she fooling? Could any girl mean so senseless a remark as “How quaint!” to Nancy’s telling of her practical experiment?

“Do you mean,” murmured Nancy, “why, just—how quaint?”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Vera again sort of lisped. At this Nancy was convinced. Vera was that sort of girl. She would be apt to say any silly little thing that had the fewest words in it. Just jerky little exclamations, such as Nancy’s mother had taught her to avoid as affectations.

Vera’s hair was of a toneless blonde hue, cut “classic” and plastered down like that of an Egyptian slave. Her eyes, Nancy 

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