“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—”