But Ted was not waiting to hear Isabel's kind, if foolish, offer. His merry shout as he rounded the corner, however, spoke decidedly against ice bags as well as couches. "Let's quit," suggested Nancy. "Honestly girls, I thought housework was tedious, but I can't see much difference. I believe I'll be winding fish lines all night, I've got them tangled in my brain." "Then you're the one for the ice bags," pronounced Isabel. "I love to make them and I love to put them on pretty heads. Here Ruth, let's put her on the couch. I think she looks a bit feverish." Kicking and protesting Nancy was forced to get down from "her perch," and stretch out on the little leather couch in a favorite corner of the sun porch. Then, while Ruth literally held her there, Isabel cracked ice, put it in a green rubber bathing cap, that leaked like a sieve, tied it up most imperfectly, and presently clapped it on Nancy's head. "Oh, please! It's leaking! I'm all wet. Isabel, you're freezing my--my thinker!" yelled Nancy, as she struggled to free herself from her playful companions. "That's the idea," replied Isabel. "We've got to freeze your thinker to make you forget your fish lines. Here now, dearie," she mocked "lie perfectly still--" "You're spoiling my pretty new gown," yelled Nancy, referring to the oldest and most faded gown she could find that morning, in preparation for the extra work. But Isabel held the bag in the general direction of Nancy's forehead, while little icy cold streams tinkled down her neck and into her ears. Ruth served as body guard, and almost kept Nancy on the couch, her feet, arms, and other "loose ends" hanging over untidily. The store bell was jerked suddenly and violently. "Oh me, oh my!" groaned Nancy, jumping up so as to smash the ice bag to the floor, cut its string loose and send the remaining chunks of ice flying. "I can't go. Ruth, will you--" "Love to," chanted Ruth, starting off promptly. "Look at the puddle," bewailed Isabel, but Nancy interrupted her. "No one, simply no one can come in to-day. Do run out, Belle and restrain Ruth. Just listen to her sweetest tones--" Isabel went. She liked to "'tend store" and each possible customer represented to her, as well as to Ruth, a possible adventure. "No, I'm not the proprietor," Nancy heard Ruth saying. "No, she really can't see you," was Isabel's contribution. A man's voice, full, rich, persuasive, was speaking in so low a tone that his words did not convey meaning to the listening Nancy. She listened! She crept nearer, and finally realizing that both Ruth and Isabel were not being able to dismiss the stranger, she attempted to right her rumpled self, to pat the unruly hair into place, and not knowing that her forehead looked like a beefsteak from the ice freeze, she sauntered out into the store. "This is Miss Brandon," announced Ruth as she entered. "She is the proprietor."