“I couldn’t catch anything if I tried a week, and Aunt S’mantha wouldn’t care, anyway.  Why, she’s a real grown-up woman, and could have tea-parties and make molasses candy every day if she wanted to!  I don’t believe she wants anything, unless it’s ban—­bananas—­whatever that is.  I heard her say she’d like some, this morning.”

“Bandanas?” questioned Tommy, with brightening eyes.

“Y-e-s, I guess so,” answered Nannie, rather doubtfully.

“Ho!  I know what they are as well as anything.  Why, they’re silk handkerchiefs—­red and yellow, with spots on ’em.”

Nannie’s hand dived into her small pocket, and re-appeared with two nickels and a copper.

“Do you guess I could buy one at Carney’s store for ’leven cents?  ’Cause I haven’t got any more.”

“I s’pose so.  Why, yes; handkerchiefs a’nt much ’count, you know.  I always lose mine—­only they a’nt bandanas.  I guess women-folks think more about ’em, though,” said Tommy, with the air of one superior to such trifles.

Nannie was convinced, and started from her seat with a little sigh of relief.

“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.