“You mean Mr. Sanders. Why, he didn’t say, but he went up the hill toward that old stone place.”
“Yes. I wouldn’t wonder but he would live in an old stone place,” echoed Nancy sarcastically.
“Why, don’t you like him?”
“Like him?”
“I mean—do you hate him?” laughed Ted. His basket was filled and he was gathering up the loose ends of the splintered fibers upon a tin cover.
“I don’t like him and I don’t hate him, but I do hope he won’t come snooping around my store,” returned Nancy.
Teddy stopped short with a frying pan raised in mid air. He swung it at an imaginary ball, then put it down in the still packed peach basket.
“Now, Nan,” he protested, “don’t you go kickin’ up any fuss about Mr. Sanders. He always came around here; he’s a great friend of the Townsends.”
“Ted Brandon!” Nancy flirted the dust brush at the gas stove, “do you think I am going to take all that with this store? Did we buy all the Townsends’ old—old cronies along with the Whatnot Shop?”
“There’s someone,” Ted interrupted, as the store bell jangled timidly.