But something had happened to Nancy. The cake failure represented to her much more than a simple episode, for it had suddenly summed up all the awful possibilities of untrained hands. It was well enough to make excuses, to claim business and even artistic talent, for Nancy could draw and color, and was among the best in her class as an art student, but the fact now bore down upon her with undisguised horror! She could not do what other girls could do. She could not even bake a cake.

“And just as mother so often told me,” she reflected bitterly, “it is not at all a question of preference but of simple, civilized living. What I don’t do and should do someone else must do, and that’s anything but fair play on my part,” Nancy sadly admitted.

“Aren’t you going to open the store, Nan?” Ted asked her. “There’s been someone knocking a long time and now they’re going away—”

“Oh, never mind,” she answered indifferently, “I’m going to get tea ready so mother won’t have to bother. She does it like an angel when I plead store business, but I guess, Ted, the old store—”

“Isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Ted helped her out rather willingly, for he had not, at any time, shared her enthusiasm in the little business venture.

Nancy sighed dramatically. She was feeling rather sorry for herself and that is always a symptom of wounded pride. It was the same day, in early evening, of the picnic and cake experience, and her crying spell still stirred its little moisture of hurt emotions. Ted couldn’t bear to see his sister cry, ever, and he was now all attention and sympathetic interest.

“I wish, Nan, you’d just sell out. The store would make a swell gym, and we scouts need a place just like that—”

“Ted Brandon! Do you think I would quit just because a thing is hard! Why, I should think you would remember how hard mother works,” she declared, in a sudden outburst of virtue. “And the harder it is the more reason to—to do it,” she floundered.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” agreed Ted amicably. “Of course that’s so. Want me to set table?”

“Thanks, Ted, I wish you would. I’m going to try a cooked custard, I mean a top of the stove custard. If I can cool it by putting the dishes flat on the ice,” Nancy reasoned aloud.

“But they’ll melt right through, if they’re hot,” Ted reminded her. “I know my taffy pan did—”

“Well, perhaps I’d better not try it then, as it’s so late,” Nancy decided, relieved to find a genuine excuse. “Suppose we have toasted crackers with cheese on top? Mother always likes that and that can’t go wrong.”

Fortified with a new determination, Nancy went at her task, and in less time, much less time than she usually required, succeeded in preparing not only an appetizing but a really tempting meal. Ted arranged the crisp lettuce leaves while Nancy cut the tomatoes, which she “nested” in the lettuce, prettily. The toasted cheese-crackers were in the oven and as this was not only a favorite dish with the Brandons, but is also a favorite with many others, it might be well to know how Nancy prepared it.

She buttered saltines, enough to cover the bottom of a flat pan, the pan usually used for “Johnnie Cake,” then, on top of the cracker layer, she showered, plentifully thick, grated cheese; another layer of crackers and another shower of cheese. Next, she wet the layers with just enough milk to moisten the crackers. The pan was then allowed to stand long enough for the crackers to absorb the milk, after which the preparation was baked in a quick oven. A delicious brown cheese-cake was the result, and it “didn’t go wrong.”

“I’m glad I can do that much, at any rate,” Nancy half-complained, half-praised. “And Ted, you have made the table look lovely. I shall be so sorry when the roses are gone—”

“Say Sis,” broke in Ted abruptly, “you know I was telling you about how Mr. Sanders disappeared.”

“Were you?” Nancy was polishing her water glasses.

“Sure, I was. When you had the headache and was crying. Don’t you know?”

“Oh, yes, I do remember,” admitted Nancy. “But it’s too foolish, Ted—”

“Foolish nothing! I tell you I saw him go,” Ted declared in a voice that admitted of no argument.

“How funny!” cried Nancy. “Do you really believe in that stuff, Ted?” she asked quizzically.

“Oh, say!” Ted was too disgusted to attempt explanation. That any one should doubt his eyes was beyond his understanding.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” Nancy condescended. “I’m going to call on Miss Townsend soon, that is, mother and I are, because Miss Townsend has been sick, you know,” she elucidated. “Then, I’m just going to ask her straight all about that weird story.”

“As if she’d tell,” scoffed the boy. “Why, her own dog never left her house since she’s been sick, if you want to know. What do you make out of that?”

“Cute doggie,” replied Nancy, now shutting off the gas stove to await her mother’s coming. “And another thing, Ted, I wish you could see how that dog acts around this place.”

“I’m just thinking that maybe Miss Townsend is acting sick just to get back here,” hazarded Ted. “I hope mother won’t give in, if she is, for I like it here, don’t you, Nan?”

“Love it! Here’s mother! Quick Ted, the ice water. There, let’s hide!”

The joy of a thing well done was Nancy’s reward for her extra efforts. The little meal was indeed a credit to her, and that it gave her mother unmistakable pleasure was Nancy’s greatest satisfaction.

“I am always sure that you can do it, little girl,” her mother told her, as they all three turned in to clear away the table things, “but I also know you have to find things out for yourself. How did you manage it all so nicely?”

“Well, I didn’t mean to tell you,” Nancy sighed, “but I might just as well.”

“Better,” chimed in Ted mischievously, as he scurried around to do his part in the clearing up ceremony.

“All right,” Nancy agreed affably. “I had better tell you, Mother. You see, it was the day of the sale—the church sale the girls were all going to. And I expected to get my cake at the French Bakery.”

“And you couldn’t on account of the rain,” Mrs. Brandon helped the recital along.

“It never stopped for one half hour,” Nancy added. “So I tried, that is I just tried to make a cake.”

She drew in her lips and puckered her pretty face into a wry misgiving expression. Nancy was looking very pretty in her rose colored linen dress (the one her mother had finished off with peasant embroidery), and her dark eyes were agleam now with enthusiasm and interest.

Frankly she told her mother the story of her spoiled cake, and how they all three laughed when the mother explained why it had failed—just because Nancy didn’t know enough to grease the tins!

Ted, all this time, was casting suspicious glances first at Nancy then at his mother. He seemed to be enjoying a secret that even his glances were not imparting to the others.

“You may run along, Ted,” his mother told him, as she always excused him just a little earlier than she and Nancy were prepared to finish. “I guess you can call your part complete. Here dear. I’ll put the sweeper away. You run, I hear some code whistling at the side window.”

“All right, Mother, but I can chase the sweeper in the pantry as I go,” Ted offered. “But I wanted to tell you.” He sidled up to his mother very confidentially, “I think Nancy’s good and sick of the store.”

“Why Ted!” His mother showed complete surprise at the frank declaration. Nancy was not within hearing so Ted ventured further.

“Yep,” he continued. “I’ll bet she chucks it up pretty soon, and if she does, Mother, could we fellers have it?” he pleaded.

“You boys have it?”

“Yeah; for a gym. Fine and dandy. We’ve got a lot of things to exercise with—” Nancy was back from the ice box now so Ted could say no more. The next moment he darted off to the boys who were calling, his own vociferous answer shrilling the path he made as he rushed out.

Nancy remained silent for some minutes and neither did her mother seem inclined to talk. Mrs. Brandon put the center piece on the table and Nancy straightened the window shades, replaced the fruit dish on the little table near the cool window, and suddenly remembered to wind the clock.

“That’s Ted’s business, dear,” her mother reminded her. “You see, even a boy must get some training in these little household matters. He too lives in a house.”

“Oh, yes,” agreed Nancy. “And isn’t it strange that I always remember his part while I so often forget my own?”

“No, not strange,” her mother said gently. “Ted’s little schedule is new and novel to you, therefore interesting; yours is old and monotonous to you, therefore irksome.” Mrs. Brandon managed to get her arm affectionately over her daughter’s shoulder. “But don’t be discouraged, dear. You may make a star housekeeper in the end,” she prophesied.

“Oh dear. I’m afraid not, Mother,” and Nancy sighed heavily. “It seems to me I get tired of everything. I thought it would be wonderful to earn money,” she faltered, “and I suppose because I always liked to play store I thought it would be just as much fun to have a real store. But Mother,” and she snuggled against the sympathetic breast, “Mother, I do want to help you—”

“And you have,” brightened Mrs. Brandon. “You have no idea what miracles I have worked with your extra dollars, earned in that little store.”

“Really, Mother?”

“Yes, indeed. In fact I am thinking of taking a real vacation when my little two weeks come around. I had expected to do some extra work—”

“In your vacation?” exclaimed Nancy. She had squatted her mother down in the arm chair and was herself resting on the side cushion. “Indeed, I should say not,” she scoffed, pouting prettily.

“But if we buy this little summer place, dear, we must do a lot of certain things,” explained her mother vaguely.

“Then I’m not going to get tired of the store,” determined Nancy, suddenly.

“Yet Nannie, we might do very well to rent it,” suggested Mrs. Brandon. “A business place is worth something, you know.”

“Rent it? To whom?”

“I think it would cure Miss Townsend of her imaginary ills, to have a chance to come back—”

“Oh, Mother, somehow I shouldn’t like to have her around,” faltered Nancy. “She’s sweet and quaint and all that,” conceded Nancy, “but she gives one the creeps. She sort of brings ghosts along with her when she comes here. And her dog! Why, he’d bark us all to death if we ever let him in to fight with the chimney place.”

Mrs. Brandon laughed good-naturedly. “I’ve felt rather against considering the plan myself,” she admitted, “for as you say, dear, we would feel like intruders with Miss Townsend established in the store. Well, we don’t have to think about it now, at any rate,” she decided. “Come along for a walk. I’m afraid you haven’t been out much today and that’s one thing that would really worry me, dear. I don’t want you to stay indoors to take care of the store,” her mother admonished. “We don’t pretend to carry real necessities that people might expect to buy from us, and such stock as we do keep can be had at our convenience, as well as at theirs,” she finished definitely.

“You are perfectly right, Mother,” Nancy answered emphatically. “And that’s one thing I don’t like about business. Everybody just thinks we are their servants, and they even become rude when I tell them I haven’t got something they happen to want.”

“Oh, yes, I know. But I wouldn’t worry about that. It all adds to the value of the lesson, you know. Just be sure you are right, keep a cool head and a steady hand,” her mother laughed, “then, let the other folks lose their patience if they are foolish enough to do so. But listen,” she paused attentively. “Here comes Miss Manners. And she seems to be in trouble. I’ll let her in.”

The little lady was indeed in trouble for her face, small and somewhat pinched with threatening years, showed, as she entered the room, the unmistakable signs of weeping.

“Oh dear,” she sighed brokenly, as Nancy pulled out the rocker for her, “I don’t know why I should come to you folks, for I’m sure,” she gulped back her interrupting sobs, “you must have troubles enough of your own. But I just had to talk to somebody—”

“Talk away,” replied Nancy’s mother cheerily. “You know that is the best way to conquer one’s own troubles—to attack them with the troubles of someone else.”

“Maybe that’s so,” replied Miss Manners, brushing back a stray strand of her graying hair, “but I don’t just see how that is going to help me,” she faltered.

“Tell us yours,” urged Nancy, “and then we will be better able to judge.” Nancy sat back in her own chair, quite prepared now for a new chapter in the current events of Long Leigh.