“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.”