"Oh, all right. Very well. Just as you say, keep it secret if you like," she taunted, "but I've got a real one." The potatoes were burning but neither of the children seemed to care. Ted looked closely at his sister and was convinced. She really was serious. Then too, everything was on end, no dinner ready, nothing done, the place all boxes, just as they were when he left. Something must have been going on all morning, reasoned Ted. "Good thing mother didn't come home, Sis," he remarked amicably. "Say, how about--chow?" "Chow?" "Yes. Don't you know that means food in the military, and I'm as starved as a bear." "Well, why don't you get something to eat? I understood we were to camp, share and share alike," Nancy reminded him, giving the simmering potatoes a shake that sent the little pot-cover flying to the floor. "That was your idea. But mother said you had to be sure we ate our meals," contended Ted. "I'll get the meat. It's meat balls, isn't it?" "It will be, I suppose, when _I_ make them," said Nancy, deliberately shoving everything from one end of the table with a sweep that rattled together dishes, glasses and various other breakable articles. There was no doubt about it, Nancy Brandon did hate housework. Every thing she did was done with that degree of scorn absolutely fatal to the result. Perhaps this was just why her mother was allowing her to try out the pet summer scheme. "I'd go mad if I had to stick in a kitchen," Nancy declared theatrically. "I'm so glad we've got the store." "But we can't eat the store," replied Ted. "Here's the meat. Do get it going, Sis. I've got to get back to the fellows." "Ted Brandon! You've got to help _me_ this afternoon. Do you think, for one instant, I'm going to do everything?" "'Course not, I'll do my share," promised the unsuspecting boy. "But just today we've got something big on. Here's the meat." "Big or little you have just got to help me, Ted. Look at this place! It seems to me things walk out of the boxes and heap themselves up all over. Now, we didn't take those pans out, did we?" "I don't know, don't think so. But here's a good one. It's the meat kind, isn't it?" "Yes. Give it here." Nancy took from his hand a perfectly flat iron griddle. "I'll fix up the cakes if you make place on the table. We'll eat out here." "All right." Ted flew to the task. "But you know, Sis, mother said we might eat in that sun porch. It's a dandy place to read. Look at the windows." Nancy had flattened the chopped meat into four balls and was pressing them on the griddle. "There. What did you do with the potatoes?" "Nothing. I didn't take them." "But we had potatoes--" She lighted the gas under the meat. "Sure. I smelled them burning." "Well, hunt around and see if you can smell them now," ordered Ted's sister. "I can't eat meat without potatoes."