I'll go and buy her one, then. And I think you're a pretty good boy,
Tommy Grey," she added, gratefully, as she trudged down the road,
leaving Tommy to take up his whistling and his homeward route again.

It was quite a long walk to the store--_the_ store, because the village
only boasted one. That did not matter much to the inhabitants
generally, as the town was so near. Bentleyville and Bentley were
connected by a straggling line of houses that made it hard to tell
where the village ended and the town began. Ambitious young villagers
took advantage of this to talk about "we city people," while the older
ones contentedly spoke of themselves as "plain country-folks."

Nannie did not care in the least which she was, neither did she greatly
mind the walk, though the feet that had done so much running began to
grow tired. If only she could carry a peace-offering to Aunt Samantha!
That would make all right, and her small world bright again, she was
sure.

"I can't have any candy or slate-pencils for ever so long; but I don't
care, 'cause I do like her, and she'll know it--course she will if I
buy her a handkerchief; and she wont think I got all mussed up on
purpose," she soliloquized.

It required some heroism to pass by the fresh pop-corn balls at the
store door, and to turn away from the boxes of figs without a second
glance; but Nannie did both, and, walking straight to the counter, made
known her errand.

"Bandanas? Yes, a prime lot of 'em," said bustling little Mr. Carney,
bringing out his whole stock.

His small customer, standing on tiptoe to reach the counter, gravely
examined them. Would Aunt Samantha like a red one or a yellow one best,
she wondered. It was a perplexing question to decide. If only she could
take her one of each! And that reminded her to ask the price.

"Seventy-five cents apiece," said the old gentleman briskly.

"Seventy--five--cents!" repeated Nan, faintly.

"Yes, sissy; cheap at that, too."

"I--thought--I didn't know," stammered Nannie, in a sore
disappointment. Then rallying her faltering courage, she asked: "Don't
you ever sell any for 'leven cents?"

"Eleven cents? Bless me, child! Why, they cost--Oh! may be you mean
cotton ones? Look a little like these."

Nan nodded, glad to think it even probable that she had meant anything.

"Well, I don't keep that kind, you see," explained Mr. Carney,
condescendingly.

Discouraged and forlorn, the little woman turned away. She walked