Nancy Brandon — Themes and Context

She was the type of girl described as willowy, because that word is prettier than some others that might mean tall, lanky, boneless and agile. Nancy had black hair that shone with crow-black luster in spite of its pronounced curl. Her eyes were dark, snappy and meaningful. They could mean love, as when Ted slammed the door, or they could mean danger, as when a boy kicked the black and white kitten. Then again they could mean devotion, as when Nancy beheld her idolized little mother who was a business woman as well, and in that capacity, Nancy's model.

A tingle at the bell that was set for the store alarm, sent the girl dancing away from the looking-glass.

"Funniest thing about a store," she told herself, "there's always someone to buy things you haven't got."

The catch was on the screen door and, as Nancy approached it, she discerned outside, the figure of an elderly woman. It was Miss Sarah Townsend from whom her mother had bought the store.

"Oh, good morning, Miss Townsend. I keep the door fastened when I'm alone, as I might be busy in the kitchen," apologized Nancy.

"That's right, dear, that's right. And I wouldn't be too much alone if I were you," cautioned the woman who was stepping in with the air of proprietorship, and with her little brown dog sniffing at her heels. "Don't you keep your brother with you?"

"Ted? Oh yes, sometimes. But he's a little boy, you know, Miss Townsend, and he must enjoy his vacation." Nancy was making friends with Tiny, the dog, but after a polite sniff or two Tiny was off frisking about happily, as any dog might be expected to do when returning to his old-time home.

Miss Townsend surveyed Nancy critically.

"Of course your brother is a little boy," she said, "but what about you? You're only a little girl."

"Little! Why I'm much stronger than Ted, and years older," declared Nancy, pulling herself up to her fullest height.

The woman smiled tolerantly. She wore glasses so securely fixed before her deep-set eyes that they seemed like a very feature of her face. She was a capable looking, elderly woman, and rather comely, but she was, as Nancy had quickly observed, "hopelessly old-fashioned."

"We haven't anything fixed up yet," said Nancy apologetically. "You see, mother goes to business and that leaves the store and the house to me."

"Yes. She explained in taking our place that she was doing it to give you a chance to try business. But for a girl so young--Come back here, Tiny," she ordered the sniffing, snuffing, frisky little dog.

"If I'm going to be a business woman I've got to start in," interrupted Nancy. "They say it's never too early to start at _housework_."

"But that's different. Every girl has to know how to keep house," insisted Miss Townsend. She was busy straightening a box of spools that lay upon the little counter, but from her automatic actions it was perfectly evident that Miss Townsend didn't know she was doing anything.

"I can't see why," retorted Nancy. "Just look at mother. What would she have done with us if she hadn't understood business?"

Miss Townsend sighed. "Being a widow, my dear--"

"But I may be a widow too," breezed Nancy. "In fact I'm sure to, for everyone says I'm so much like mother. Do let me fix that box of spools, Miss Townsend. Someone came in for linen thread last night and Teddy looked for it. I'm sure he gave them a ball of cord, for all the cord was scattered around too." She put the cover on the thread box. "Boys are rather poor at business, I think, especially boys of Teddy's age," orated the important Nancy.

Miss Townsend agreed without saying so. She was looking over the little place in a fidgety, nervous way. Nancy quickly decided this was due to regret that she had given the place up, and therefore sought to make her feel at ease.

The little brown dog had curled himself up in front of the fireplace on a piece of rug, evidently his own personal property. The fireplace was closed up and the stove set back against it, out of the way for summer, and handy-by for winter.

Nancy smiled at the woman who was moving about in a sort of aimless restlessness.

"It must seem natural to you to be around here," Nancy ventured.

"Yes, after thirty years--"

"Thirty years!" repeated Nancy, incredulously. "Did you and your brother live here all that time?"

"Yes." A prolonged sigh brought Miss Townsend down on the old hickory chair that stood by the door, just out of the way of possible customers.