Nancy jerked her cretonne apron first one way and then the other. Then she kicked out a few steps, still pondering. When Nancy was thinking seriously she had to be acting. This brought her to the conclusion that she should hurry out to the porch and look after Miss Townsend, but she had decided upon that move too late, for the lady in the voile dress was just turning the corner into Bender Street.

Nancy’s face was a bed of smiles. They were tucked away in the corners of her mouth, they blinked out through her eyes and were having lots of fun teasing her two deep cheek dimples. She was literally all smiles.

“What a lark! Won’t Ted howl? The dog and the—the chimney secret,” she chuckled. “And dogs know. You can’t fool them.” She came back into the store and gazed ruefully at the squatty stove that mutely stood guard.

“I don’t suppose mother will want that left there all summer,” Nancy further considered. “It might just as well be put out in the shed, and the store would look lots better.”

She could not help thinking of Miss Townsend’s strange visit. The lady was unmistakably worried, and her worry surely had to do with the Whatnot Shop.

“But I do hope we don’t run into any old spooky stories about this place,” Nancy pondered, “for mother hates that sort of thing and so do I—if they’re the foolish, silly kind,” she admitted, still staring at the questionable fireplace.

“What-ever can Miss Townsend want to be around here for? No hidden treasures surely, or she would say so and start in to dig them up,” decided the practical Nancy. The clock struck one!

“One o’clock!” she said this aloud. “Of course it isn’t,” laughed the girl. “That clock has been going since the moving and it hasn’t unpacked its strike carefully. But, just the same, it must be eleven o’clock, and as for the morning’s work! However shall I catch up?”

One hour later Ted was in looking for lunch. He had been out “exploring” and had, he explained, met some fine fellows who were “brigand scouts.”

“I’m goin’ to join,” he declared. “They’re goin’ to let me in and I’m goin’ to bring a lot of my things over to the den.”

“Den?” questioned Nancy. “Where’s that?”

“Secret,” answered Ted. “An’ anyhow, it isn’t for girls.” This was said in a pay-you-back manner that Nancy quickly challenged.

“Oh, all right. Very well. Just as you say, keep it secret if you like,” she taunted, “but I’ve got a real one.” The potatoes were burning but neither of the children seemed to care.

Ted looked closely at his sister and was convinced. She really was serious. Then too, everything was on end, no dinner ready, nothing done, the place all boxes, just as they were when he left. Something must have been going on all morning, reasoned Ted.

“Good thing mother didn’t come home, Sis,” he remarked amicably. “Say, how about—chow?”

“Chow?”

“Yes. Don’t you know that means food in the military, and I’m as starved as a bear.”

“Well, why don’t you get something to eat? I understood we were to camp, share and share alike,” Nancy reminded him, giving the simmering potatoes a shake that sent the little pot-cover flying to the floor.

“That was your idea. But mother said you had to be sure we ate our meals,” contended Ted. “I’ll get the meat. It’s meat balls, isn’t it?”

“It will be, I suppose, when I make them,” said Nancy, deliberately shoving everything from one end of the table with a sweep that rattled together dishes, glasses and various other breakable articles.

There was no doubt about it, Nancy Brandon did hate housework. Every thing she did was done with that degree of scorn absolutely fatal to the result. Perhaps this was just why her mother was allowing her to try out the pet summer scheme.

“I’d go mad if I had to stick in a kitchen,” Nancy declared theatrically. “I’m so glad we’ve got the store.”

“But we can’t eat the store,” replied Ted. “Here’s the meat. Do get it going, Sis. I’ve got to get back to the fellows.”

“Ted Brandon! You’ve got to help me this afternoon. Do you think, for one instant, I’m going to do everything?”

“'Course not, I’ll do my share,” promised the unsuspecting boy. “But just today we’ve got something big on. Here’s the meat.”

“Big or little you have just got to help me, Ted. Look at this place! It seems to me things walk out of the boxes and heap themselves up all over. Now, we didn’t take those pans out, did we?”

“I don’t know, don’t think so. But here’s a good one. It’s the meat kind, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Give it here.” Nancy took from his hand a perfectly flat iron griddle. “I’ll fix up the cakes if you make place on the table. We’ll eat out here.”

“All right.” Ted flew to the task. “But you know, Sis, mother said we might eat in that sun porch. It’s a dandy place to read. Look at the windows.”

Nancy had flattened the chopped meat into four balls and was pressing them on the griddle.

“There. What did you do with the potatoes?”

“Nothing. I didn’t take them.”

“But we had potatoes—” She lighted the gas under the meat.

“Sure. I smelled them burning.”

“Well, hunt around and see if you can smell them now,” ordered Ted’s sister. “I can’t eat meat without potatoes.”

Ted dropped his two plates and actually went sniffing about in search of the lost food. Meanwhile Nancy was standing at the stove, a magazine in one hand and the griddle handle in the other. Her eyes, however, were not upon the griddle.

Presently the meat was sizzling and its odor cheered Ted considerably.

“Don’t let’s mind the potatoes,” he suggested. “I can’t find them.”

“Can’t find them? And I peeled three! We’ve got to find them.”

“Then you look and I’ll stir the meat.”

“It doesn’t have to be stirred.” But Nancy stood over the stove just the same.

“Then what are you watching it for?”

“So it won’t burn, like the potatoes.”

“Maybe they all burned up.” Ted didn’t care much for potatoes.

“Oh, don’t be silly. Where’s the pan?”

“Which pan?”

“Oh, Ted Brandon! The potato pan, of course!”

“Oh, Nancy Brandon! What potato pan, of course! Has it got a name on it?”

Nancy dropped her magazine on a littered chair, in sheer disgust. She realized the meat was cooking; (it splattered and spluttered merrily on the shallow griddle,) and she too was hungry. Ted might be satisfied to eat just bread and meat, but she simply had to have freshly cooked potatoes. Wasn’t housework awful? Especially cooking?

There was a jangle of the store bell, actually some one coming at that critical moment.

“Oh, dear!” groaned Nancy. “What a nuisance! I suppose I’ll have to go—”

“But the meat?” Ted was getting desperate.

“It’s almost ready.” Nancy wiped her hands on the dish towel and hurried to the store.

“A man!” she announced, as she went to open the screen door.

Ted left his post and cautiously stole after her. A customer was a real novelty and Ted didn’t want to miss the excitement. A pleasant voice filled in the moment. A gentleman was talking to Nancy.

“I’m glad to find some one in,” he was saying. “Since my friend, Elmer Townsend, left here I’ve been rather—that is, I’ve missed the little place,” explained the man. Ted could see that he was very tall and looked, he thought, like a school teacher, having no hat on and not much hair either.

“We’ve just been unpacking,” Nancy replied. She was conscious of the confusion in the store as well as she had been of things upset in the kitchen.

“Oh, yes,” drawled the man, stepping behind the counter. “It will take you some time to go over everything. But you see, Mr. Townsend and I are great friends, and I know where most of the things are kept. You don’t mind if I take a look for a ball of twine?”

“No, certainly not,” agreed Nancy.

“I can get you that,” spoke up Ted. “I had it out last night,” and he jumped behind the counter to the littered cord and twine box.

Nancy pulled herself up to that famous height of hers. She smelled—something burning!

“Ted!” she screamed. “It’s a-fire! The kitchen! I see the blaze!”

“The meat!” yelled Ted, springing over the low counter and following his sister toward the smoke filling place.

“Oh-h-h-!” Nancy continued to yell. “What shall we do!”

“Don’t get excited,” ordered the stranger. “And don’t go near that blazing pan. Let me go in there,” and he brushed Nancy aside making his way into the untidy place, which now seemed, to the frightened girl, all in flames.

“The meat—gosh!” moaned poor Ted, for the stranger had opened the back door, and having grabbed the flaming pan with that same towel Nancy had tossed on the chair, he was now tossing the blazing pan as far out from the house as his best fling permitted.

“There!” he exclaimed, brushing one hand with the other. “I guess we’re safe now.”

“Oh, thank you, Mister, Mister—” Nancy waited for him to supply the name, but he only smiled broadly.

“Just call me Sam,” he said pleasantly.

“Sam?” echoed Ted.

“Yes, sonny. Isn’t that all right?” asked the stranger.

They were within the cluttered kitchen now and, as is usually the case with girls of Nancy’s temperament, she was much distressed at the looks of the place. In fact, she was making frantic but futile efforts to right things.

“What’s the matter with Sam?” again asked the man, curiously.

“Oh, nothing,” replied Ted. “Only it isn’t your name.”

“No? How do you know?” persisted the stranger, quizzically.

“You don’t look like a Sam,” said Ted, kicking one heel against the other to hide his embarrassment. He hadn’t intended saying all that.

The man laughed heartily, and for the moment Nancy forgot the upset kitchen. But the dinner!

“I hope your dinner isn’t gone,” remarked the stranger who wanted to be called Sam.

“Oh, no,” replied Nancy laconically, avoiding Ted’s discouraged look. “That was only some—some meat we were cooking.”

“Can’t keep house and 'tend store without spoiling something. But I feel it was somewhat my fault. Suppose we lock up and trot down to the corner for a dish of ice cream?” he suggested. “It’s just warm enough today for cream; don’t you think so?”

“Oh, let’s!” chirped Ted. A hungry boy is ever an object of pity.

“You go,” suggested Nancy, “but I think I had better stay here.”

“Oh, no. You’ve got to come along. Let me see. If you call me Uncle Sam what shall I call you?”

“I’m Nancy Brandon and this is my brother Ted,” replied Nancy. “But I’d like much better to call you by your real name.”

“Real name,” and he laughed again. “I see we are going to be critical friends. Now then, since you insist Sam won’t do suppose we make it Sanders. Mr. Sanders. How does that name suit?” and he clapped Ted’s shoulders jovially.

“Then Mr. Sanders, you and Ted go along and get your cream. I really must attend to things here,” insisted Nancy. “We are all so upset and mother will expect us to have things in some sort of order.”

“Oh, Sis, come along” begged Ted. “I’ll help you when we get back. It won’t take a minute.”

Hunger is a poor argument against food, and presently the back door was locked, the front door was locked, and the two Brandons with the man who called himself Mr. Sanders, because they refused to call him Uncle Sam, were making tracks for the ice cream store.

Burnt potatoes, burnt meat with ice cream for dessert, thought Nancy. But she was still convinced that business was more important than housekeeping.

“Glad we didn’t burn up,” remarked Ted, as he trotted along beside Mr. Sanders.

“Never want to throw water on burning grease,” they were advised. “And always keep a thing at full arm’s length, if you must pick it up. Of course, if you turned out the gas and pushed the pan well in on the stove it would eventually burn out, but think of the smoke!”

“You bet!” declared Ted, as they reached the little country ice cream parlor. Two girls, whom Nancy had seen several times since she came to Long Leigh, were just leaving the place and she thought they looked at her very curiously as they passed out. Then, she distinctly heard one of them say:

“Fancy! With him!”

And Nancy knew she had made some sort of mistake in accepting the well-intentioned invitation.