“I have some kettles somewhere,” answered the little woman in a flurry, “only I don’t just remember—”
Then she darted behind one of the counters and disappeared from sight while a rattling sound told of frantic search. Harry turned bewilderedly to Chub, and the latter grinned and tapped his forehead eloquently.
“I thought so!” The storekeeper was beaming triumphantly at them across the counter and holding out a very dusty and somewhat rusty iron kettle. It was just what they wanted, Harry declared.
“How much is it, please?”
The little woman turned it bottom up and squinted closely, at last holding it out for their inspection.
“Can you see any figures there?” she asked. “I left my spectacles in the kitchen.”
“Looks like $7.00,” replied Chub dubiously.
“Oh, then it’s seventy cents,” was the reply. “Uriah always made a cent mark like an ought. Was there anything else, Miss?”
“Well,” said Harry, hesitatingly, “we did want some lard and flour, but—”
