little sharply.

“Looking?” Yes, that is—“Tiny keep down there,” she ordered. “I can’t see what has got into that dog of late. It was one of the things that Elmer and I were constantly fussing over. Tiny won’t let any one touch things near this chimney without barking his head off. Now just watch.”

As she went to the shelf back of the stove the dog sprang alongside of her. He barked in the happy fashion that goes with rapid tail wagging, and Nancy quickly decided that the dog knew a secret of the old chimney.

Miss Townsend pretended to take things out of the stove.

Again Miss Townsend pretended to take things out of the stove, and Tiny all but jumped into the low, broad door.

“Now, isn’t that—uncanny?” asked the woman, plainly bewildered.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” said Nancy. “All dogs have queer little tricks like that.”

“Do they? I’m glad to hear you say so,” sighed Miss Townsend, once more picking up a small box of notions. “You must excuse me, my dear. You see the habit of a life time—”

“Oh, that’s all right, Miss Townsend, I didn’t mean to hurry you,” spoke up Nancy. “But the morning goes so quickly, and mother may come home to lunch.” This possibility brought real anxiety to Nancy. If she had only slicked up the kitchen instead of arguing with Teddy. After all the plagued old housework did take some time, she secretly admitted.

But Miss Townsend laid down the unfinished roll of lace edging, although she had most carefully rolled all but a very small end, walked over to Nancy, who was just attempting to dust out a tray, and in the most tragic voice said:

“Nancy, I think you really have a lot of sense.”

Nancy chuckled. “I hope so, Miss Townsend.”

“I mean to say, that I think you can be trusted.”

“Well,” stammered Nancy, forcing back another chuckle, “I hope so, to that too, Miss Townsend.” She was surprised at the woman’s manner and puzzled to understand its meaning. The dog was again snoozing on the rug.

“Let’s sit down,” suggested Miss Townsend.

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