“He was, but he isn’t,” half whispered Nancy. “Wait, I’ll run down and help, then come up and dress later—”

Curiosity was too much for Nancy’s patience, so she merely tucked her hair tidily into a cap, and in slippers and robe joined her mother who was preparing breakfast.

“Who was it?” she asked breathlessly.

“Why, your famous Mr. Sanders,” replied Mrs. Brandon, indifferently. “He wanted a little model of some sort, a windmill, it looked like. I happened to spy it—”

“The funny little windmill!” Nancy exclaimed. “Why, we were wondering what that was. Did he say it was a model?”

“Not exactly, but I judged it was. At any rate, dear, you mustn’t always be looking for mystery in Mr. Sanders’ doings. I would call him a very pleasant gentleman. Here, dear, stir this cereal. I want you and Ted to make sure you get enough proper food.”

Nancy stirred the meal, which was receiving a preliminary start before being put over the hot water in the double-cooker.

“But you see, Mum,” she remarked very quietly, “he is queer. Whatever could he want a thing like that for? And why did he come for it so early?” Nancy asked.

“He wanted it because it has something to do with his line, is the way he expressed it, and he came early because he has been away and just heard of your sale. If he waited later, he explained, the little windmill might have been swept away in the tumult,” Mrs. Brandon replied. This seemed to satisfy Nancy’s inquiries, but secretly Mrs. Brandon herself was just a little puzzled about Mr. Sanders. For instance, it had been very clear to her that he just laughed off, rather than explained, the purpose of the possible model. Something “in his line,” which he had forgotten to take away when the Townsends moved, seemed vague, to say the least.

Nancy was now eating her breakfast with her mother. She confessed to having waked more than once during the night, in anticipation of the big day.

“And I’m going to send you a little surprise treat for lunch,” her mother confided. “I want you and the girls to enjoy yourselves in spite of your self-imposed business tasks, so I’m sending out some—ice cream!”

“Oh, Mumsey—love!” exclaimed Nancy, jumping up and in giving her mother a bear hug almost spilling the last spoonful of grape fruit. “Aren’t you too 

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