"Yes ma'am, I'd like nothing better than a handout."

"You'll earn it first, you lazy things," exclaimed Kit.

"Always taking the joy out of life, isn't she?" Bob pretended to be sad.

"Now what do you boys want to do?" Bet was in her snappiest form, business-like and full of energy. "You can paint that strip around the wall where we've marked it, or you can paint the window, or you can paint chairs or tables. Now just take your choice of work, I don't care what you do, as long as you paint."

"But I wanted to do basketry or clay figures," teased Bob. "Didn't you, Phil?"

"No indeed. I wanted to paint. I'm a n.o.ble soul. I'm just dying to paint, in fact I _must_ paint!"

"Then get to work!" cried Kit. "And don't waste so much time! This is our busy day. No parking here!"

"Slave drivers! No hand-out, and not a minute to collect our thoughts!"

"You don't need to worry, Bob, it won't take you that long to collect your thoughts! One second will be enough," retorted Joy.

"And we don't get anything to eat?" asked Phil.

But while the merry nonsense went on the two boys were preparing the paint and getting ready to work. Phil took a step ladder and began on the outside of the store, painting the frame of the window in bright orange.

"There now that stands out, all right," he exclaimed as he finished the job. "You can see that a mile off."

Bob finished the frame on the inside, about the same time and together they started on the broad strip that was marked off around the walls.

"Say lady, it's eleven o'clock. Can't we have that hand-out?" cried Bob Evans.

"Not yet. Why you've only been working an hour!" exclaimed Bet indignantly. "Who ever heard of such a thing!"

"Let's strike!" Phil dropped his paint brush and settled himself in an easy chair. "No hand-out, no more work!"

"That's right!" agreed Bob, capturing another chair.

"Oh you terrible boys! We might as well do it ourselves if we've got to stop every hour and feed you. There's nothing ready yet anyway."

Bet frowned on her friends.

But just at that moment Uncle Nat appeared with two very large hampers and Bob and Phil each secured a basket.

"Now who's to say when?" laughed Bob. "Who's boss now, answer me that?"

"We are in the power of two tyrants who won't work!" said Kit dramatically.

"Take that back, Kit Patten, or you'll not get a bite of lunch. Say you're sorry!" teased Phil.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'll take it back!" laughed Kit.

"I'll tell you what, boys." It was Shirley's voice from the rear room, where she was cleaning out the big closet for a dark room. "We do want that strip painted before lunch. It won't take you more than ten minutes. While we are fixing up this table and unpacking the baskets, you finish that."

"Right-O, Shirley!" The boys were on their feet instantly and they went to work without another word.

"Oh girls, doesn't it look perfectly wonderful!" exclaimed Bet, coming into the room just as the two boys laid aside their brushes. "Now you shall eat!"

"A crust of bread and a gla.s.s of water, I suppose!"

"You suppose nothing of the sort. You know Auntie Gibbs put it up and therefore it has to be good!" exclaimed Kit. "But you boys won't get a bite to eat until you've washed your faces."

"Now we rebel! This is the limit. The worm turns at last. We're going to eat this way." And they did.

Auntie Gibbs had outdone herself on the lunch. There was fried chicken and apple fritters, still piping hot. There was jelly and hot biscuits. The table was loaded.

"Here Kit, open up that box of marshmallows. And put one in each cup of cocoa."

"One! Why you stingy thing. I'll not drink it unless I have three!"

exclaimed Bob.

"All right, give the child what he wants!" Bet agreed.

"Auntie Gibbs must have thought we were going to feed all of Lynnwood.

Sending down a lunch this size!" laughed Shirley.

"But that's so much better than not having enough. Wait until we've finished it, there won't be much left. I know what kind of an appet.i.te I have, and when Bob gets to work he'll eat about half of what's here."

"Aren't you going to wash that orange streak off your face, Phil?"

asked Bet.

"No. It's a beauty mark."

While the young people were making merry over their lunch, the door of the shop opened and shuffling feet were heard outside in the front room.

Bet jumped up excitedly, "Maybe it's a customer! Oh girls!"

"Oh, I hope it isn't!" exclaimed Shirley. "We haven't got anything for sale yet."

"Oh, how do you do, Mr. Gruff," Bet's voice was heard from the back room. "You are our first visitor."

"What you doing here?" Peter asked abruptly.

"Listen to the old grouch," whispered Joy to Shirley. "One would think he owned this store."

"Ssh! Keep quiet, Joy. Let's hear what he's saying."

Bet answered the old man in her sweetest manner. "We're opening an art shop. We'll be your next door neighbor, Mr. Gruff."

"What are you going to sell? Antiques?"

"Not just at present. Perhaps later we may," answered Bet.

"Don't do it. There's no money in antiques! Not a penny. Of course if you want them, I'll be able to get them for you. I go to all the auctions. I went away out to Connecticut the other day to get some old lamps."