“Charmed, Mary-'Gusta,” said Mr. Smith. Mary-'Gusta did not appear charmed. She asked him what he wanted. “Search ME,” said the young gentleman, cheerfully. “There was a list, wasn't there, Edna? You have it, I think.” Edna produced the list, scrawled in pencil on the back of an envelope. Crawford looked it over. “Sam's writing isn't exactly print,” he observed, “but I can guess at it. Let's see--a pound of butter. Where's the butter department of this Bon Marche, Edna?” Edna, after another convulsion, declared she didn't know. “No doubt Miss--er--Mary Jane knows,” went on her companion. “Why, yes, of course she does. Right there, behind the oilskin jacket. Remove jacket, open door--behold, the icebox and the butter. Neat, compact, and convenient. One pound only, Elizabeth Eliza. Thank you.” “Her name isn't Elizabeth Eliza,” giggled Miss Keith. “Isn't he awful, Mary-'Gusta! You mustn't mind him.” “I don't,” said Mary-'Gusta, promptly. “What else do you want?” Crawford consulted the list. “The next item,” he said, “appears to be a--er--certain kind of ham. I blush to mention it, but I must. It is deviled ham. Have you that kind of ham, Mary-'Gusta?” Mary-'Gusta took the can of deviled ham from the shelf. Crawford shook his head. “To think that one so young should be so familiar with ham of that kind!” he said. “She didn't speak its name, though. Suppose I had asked you what kind of ham you had, Miss--er--'Gusta how would you have got around it?” Mary-'Gusta did not answer. She was very angry, but she was determined that her tormentor should not know it. “A young lady of few words,” commented Mr. Smith. “Next item appears to be six boxes of marshmallows. Where is the marshmallow department, Mary Jane?” Mary-'Gusta hesitated. The tin boxes of marshmallows were on the shelf behind the counter under the candy case. But there was a fresh assortment in an unopened packing box in the back room, a box which had just come from the wholesale confectioner's in Boston. Her Uncle Zoeth had expressed a fear that those beneath the counter were rather stale. Miss Keith fidgeted. “Oh, dear!” she exclaimed. “This is SO slow. I know Sam and the rest won't wait for us at the clam-man's much longer.” Her companion whistled. “Is the word 'hurry' in the South Harniss dictionary, Edna?” he inquired. “How about it, Mary Jane?” Mary-'Gusta was determined not to hurry. This superior young man wished her to do so and that was reason sufficient for delay. Young Smith sighed resignedly. “Edna,” he said, “suppose we sit down. The word is NOT in the dictionary.” There was but one chair, except those behind the counters, in the store. Miss Keith took that with an exclamation of impatience. Crawford Smith, whistling a mournful dirge, sauntered to the end of the counter and sat down upon a nail keg.