“Couldn’t he camp in the barn or somewhere outside the house?” queried Nancy.
“No; the barn was locked up tight as tuppence,” insisted Ruth. “But he seems to hang out somewhere on that hill, just the same,” she added.
“I know!” exclaimed Nancy. “He goes up in a tree with the wires and springs,” and she sprang up and down without either. “Some day I’m going up there and I bet I’ll solve the mystery,” she promised gaily.
“Let us know when you’re going, Nan,” suggested Ruth. “We wouldn’t want to have you swallowed up by—the fairies.”
“Say,” whispered Isabel, her eyes set in what looked like alarm, “do you know, I saw a little woman come up and down our side steps a half dozen times this morning—”
“Oh!” and Nancy laughed merrily. “That would be little Miss Manners, the dressmaker who lives in the tiny bungalow under our window. You see, Mother wouldn’t really let us keep store without some supervision. She’s pretty particular, and declares there is no telling who might pop in—”
“And hold us up for our cash box—!” Ruth added so mirthfully as to suggest a good time in the danger.
“Well, any how,” continued Nancy, “Mother insists that Miss Manners look in quite often to see that everything is all right. She’s as quiet as a mouse—”
“I should say she is,” Isabel confirmed. “In fact, I didn’t want to frighten you or I should have told you someone was sneaking in,” she added, folding up a tape line as she spoke.
“Oh, Miss Manners is so quaint, as Vera would say,” Ruth contributed, “that I think she ought to be a partner, if a silent partner, in the Whatnot Shop.”