Poor little Miss Manners! Hers had been a brave struggle, and as Nancy and her mother listened to the brokenly told story, they were easily ready to pardon the little lady’s show of emotion.

“So you were worried about your rent, principally?” Mrs. Brandon prompted her, kindly.

“Yes. You see when I had to give up teaching on account of my health, I naturally turned to sewing,” she explained. “If I had only been a teacher in a public school, instead of a private school, I shouldn’t have been left without some means,” she complained, sorrowfully.

Nancy was watching her in silent contemplation. What a “sweet” little woman she was. The type always called little and sometimes referred to as “sweet” because of that indefinable quality usually associated with flowers.

“You should not have worried so,” Mrs. Brandon assured her. “You have done a great deal for us—I never could have left the children here alone without feeling sure of your watchful kindness, you know.”

“Now Mrs. Brandon,” said Miss Manners, in a rather dictatorial tone, “I have done nothing at all for you, and I want to assure you that Nancy and Ted require very—little—watching.”

“And I want to say,” spoke up Nancy, “that Miss Manners is the very nicest kind of a watch—a watch-woman,” she laughed. “We never hear or see her when, perhaps, we are noisy and—and rackety.”

“I was afraid,” continued Miss Manners, without apparently heeding Nancy’s intended compliment, “that you might have been alarmed about the silly stories current around here. I mean, that especially about Mr. Sanders.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Brandon encouragingly. “We have heard queer tales of his remarkable powers, but I can’t say they have alarmed us, Miss Manners.”

“You have too much sense, I’m sure, for that,” she conceded. “But when one comes into a strange place and hears such stories, especially, when they have something to do with this little place—”

“What could they have to do with this place?” Nancy questioned sharply. “Surely, he doesn’t do any disappearing around here.”

Both the older folks laughed at that.

“No, not exactly,” replied Miss Manners, “but you see, they say he influenced old Mr. Townsend until he spent his own and his sister’s money. But for my part,” she hurried to add, “I could never believe that Mr. Sanders is anything but a perfectly upright gentleman, and in no way responsible for the sad state of the Townsends’ business affairs.”

“Then you don’t believe any of the stories about him, do you?” pressed Nancy. “Even Ted insists he saw him—fade away.”

The little woman, who seemed for the moment to have forgotten her troubles, looked from mother to daughter. It was so easy to interpret her thoughts. She was measuring Nancy’s courage.

“Oh, you don’t need to be afraid of frightening me, Miss Manners,” Nancy assured her, “I’m only waiting for a chance to investigate the disappearing story. I’ve been so sure I could solve the mystery, that the girls will soon be calling me a boaster if I don’t start out to do something. What do you think, really, Miss Manners?” she pressed further.

“Well, I hate to say so, but I can’t deny there is something curious about Mr. Sanders. I have often watched him around this house, when he and Mr. Townsend were such friends, and really,” she paused as if the admission were most distasteful to her, “I must say, the way those two men ran around the house—”

“Ran around! Those two old men!” cried Nancy, sitting up very straight in sudden interest.

“Yes, actually. I mean out of doors, of course,” Miss Manners explained. “But they would first fuss around the outside chimney—you know the mason work runs to the ground on my side of this house, I mean the side next to my bungalow,” she emphasized, “and there is an old-fashioned opening there. I suppose they used to take ashes out that way when they used the old grate fires.”

“Oh, I know!” cried Nancy excitedly. “That’s why Miss Townsend’s dog made such a fuss over the fireplace in the store!”

“Yes. They always had Tiny with them and the dog seemed as—crazy as the men,” Miss Manners remarked.

“Don’t you suppose they were working at something?” Mrs. Brandon suggested, sensibly.

“I did think so, of course; but Miss Townsend seemed to fear all sorts of things; yet she never would put her fears into sensible words,” Miss Manners told them curiously.

“But how could that be connected with the foolish story of Mr. Sander’s disappearing trick?” Mrs. Brandon wanted to know.

“You see, it was all so unusual—I mean Mr. Sanders coming in here a stranger, and not living any place that folks could find out. Then, when he came down to Mr. Townsend here, got him all excited over some secret, got him to draw his money from the bank, and finally worked poor Miss Townsend into a state of nervous breakdown, why, naturally the people around suspected almost everything—even to calling him a magician,” Miss Manners said, with a timid little smile.

“I couldn’t give credence to any of it,” replied Mrs. Brandon decidedly. “I have met Mr. Sanders and share your opinion; that he is a perfect gentleman.”

“Well, I’ve talked a long way from my own story haven’t I?” Miss Manners sighed again, as she blinked against impelling thoughts. “You see, I have no friends at hand, and when I did so large an order of hand-made handkerchiefs—it took me months to do them—I depended upon that money for the summer. But the lady I made them for was called hurriedly abroad, on account of the sudden illness of her husband, and she never gave a thought to my precious twenty-five dollars,” the little lady sighed ruefully.

“She went away and owed you all that money!” Nancy exclaimed. “However could she have forgotten?”

“My dear child, we are all selfish when in trouble I suppose,” said Miss Manners charitably. “But I did fully expect to hear from her before this, and my next rent will be due in three days. I just came in to consult with you, not to borrow. I wondered if you knew of anything I could do—”

“Certainly I do,” Nancy almost shouted. “You can start a little private school, a class in domestic science right in my—in our store,” she exclaimed. “I know at least a half dozen girls who will be glad to take a month’s course, and we’ll all pay you in advance. They always do in private schools!”

The women both appeared speechless as Nancy rattled on. The idea was plainly fascinating. A domestic science class for the girls who hated housework, as Nancy did! How much better than idling an entire vacation!

“Why, I just wonder—”

“You needn’t wonder, Mother,” Nancy interrupted, “I tell you, it’s just perfectly wonderful, the idea, I mean. I’ll learn, I’ll learn, I’ll learn,” she chanted, “and then maybe I’ll find out a pleasant way—”

“You are right, daughter,” spoke up Mrs. Brandon. “When you learn to do things as they should be done, you will find the work interesting. I have been sorry, Miss Manners, that my home has had to get along without a great deal of my time,” she turned to her visitor, “as you know I have had to attend business and leave things to my maid. For, after all,” she said evenly, “only a mother can teach a daughter, and I have not been with Nancy long enough—”

“You have too, Mumsey, and it’s all my very own fault,” Nancy confessed. “You often showed me how to do things, and you always told me I would have to pick things up when I threw them down, but I just didn’t care. I didn’t think it made any difference.” Nancy was actually joyous in her confession, showing the positive relief one is apt to experience when the mind is suddenly freed from a heavy weight.

“I really think Nancy’s idea is a good one,” said Mrs. Brandon. “There is no real reason why you should be tucked away next door to us when we need you in here, and we’ve got more room than we know what to do with.”

“Oh, joy!” Nancy was positively dancing now. “We can have Manny in here with us all the time? May I call you Manny?” she asked. “It’s the cutest name.”

“That’s queer,” replied the little lady, a soft color showing through her pale skin. “My girls at Raleigh always called me—Manny—”

Then the plans were unfolded, and such plans as they were!

“I feel like a fairy with a magic wand” declared Nancy. “My little store is just like—a magic carpet or something.”

“But I don’t want to impose—” Miss Manners began.

“You’re a positive blessing,” Nancy insisted. “The only trouble is—we can’t learn sleuthing in your class and I’ve just got to find out Mr. Sanders’ secret before I’m many days older. I honestly think, Mother, the idea of that foolish story going around without anyone—running it down, as Ted would say, is getting on my nerves.”

And every one enjoyed a good laugh at the idea of Nancy Brandon having nerves.