rst she looked aghast.
Then she laughed and glanced at her watch.

"I'll do it--just for fun and a little pity. It's half-past two, and
Peter won't be home till four at the earliest. I'll have a good hour to
do it in, and still make my escape in good time. Nobody will ever know;
nobody can see me here."

Nancy went in, threw off her hat, and seized a broom. The first thing
she did was to give the kitchen a thorough sweeping. Then she kindled
a fire, put a kettle full of water on to heat, and attacked the dishes.
From the number of them she rightly concluded that Peter hadn't washed
any for at least a week.

"I suppose he just uses the clean ones as long as they hold out, and
then has a grand wash-up," she laughed. "I wonder where he keeps his
dish-towels, if he has any."

Evidently Peter hadn't any. At least, Nancy couldn't find any. She
marched boldly into the dusty sitting-room and explored the drawers of
an old-fashioned sideboard, confiscating a towel she found there. As she
worked, she hummed a song; her steps were light and her eyes bright with
excitement. Nancy was enjoying herself thoroughly, there was no doubt of
that. The spice of mischief in the adventure pleased her mightily.

The dishes washed, she hunted up a clean, but yellow and evidently long
unused tablecloth out of the sideboard, and proceeded to set the table
and get Peter's tea. She found bread and butter in the pantry, a trip to
the cellar furnished a pitcher of cream, and Nancy recklessly heaped the
contents of her strawberry jug on Peter's plate. The tea was made and
set back to keep warm. And, as a finishing touch, Nancy ravaged the old
neglected garden and set a huge bowl of crimson roses in the centre of
the table.

"Now I must go," she said aloud. "Wouldn't it be fun to see Peter's
face when he comes in, though? Ha-hum! I've enjoyed doing this--but why?
Nancy Rogerson, don't be asking yourself conundrums. Put on your hat and
proceed homeward, constructing on your way some reliable fib to account
to Louisa for the absence of your strawberries."

Nancy paused a moment and looked around wistfully. She had made the
place look cheery and neat and homelike. She felt that queer tugging at
her heart-strings again. Suppose she belonged here, and was waiting for
Peter to come home to tea. Suppose--Nancy whirled around with a sudden
horrible prescience of what she was going to see! Peter Wright was
standing in the doorway.

Nancy's face went c