"Wonder if I wont ever and ever come to where the houses get thicker," she murmured. "When I keep a store I'll build it on the edge somewhere, so folks wont have to walk so far to get to it."
After a time, the buildings did nestle more closely together, and, somewhat comforted, she stopped a moment to rest. But she started suddenly to her feet as a light flashed upon her from an opposite window. People were really beginning to light their lamps, and the daylight was almost gone.
Weariness was forgotten in the thought that night might fall before she could return, and she ran as fast as her light feet would carry her—so swiftly and so far that she had nearly passed a small store without seeing it.
She checked her steps at this discovery, and entering, asked, breathlessly:
"Oh,—please,—have you any ban-banners?"
"What? any what?" demanded a severe-looking lady, coming forward and eying Nan suspiciously through her spectacles.
"Bandaners,—handkerchiefs," explained Nannie, less confidently.
"Bandanas? No; I don't keep them," responded the lady, very stiffly.
"Should think she might have been more p'lite, if I didn't call it right," commented the young traveler as she hurried along the street once more. "Here's another." This time there was only a boy in attendance. He was head of the establishment when the proprietor went to supper, and he enjoyed his important position.
"Do you keep ban-ban-banners?" asked Nannie, growing confused again.