And she got her purse, and they counted
out forty-two cents. Twenty-two of them were in pennies.
"Now I hope you're satisfied," said Aunt Lucretia, sharply. "Did your
mother know you came over here?"
"No, ma'am."
"Well, you're a naughty girl. I'm surprised at you. I sha'n't want to
hire you to pick berries again if this is the way you do. Go right home,
and mind you tell your mother you've been here."
The forty-two cents, twenty-two of which were pennies, jingled and
weighed heavily in Nancy's pocket. She was not happy going home. She had
meditated going to the Indian encampment that night to buy the basket,
but it looked so dark over the fields that she was afraid to; so she
went straight home. Her mother had returned from the neighbor's; there
she stood in the front door, watching for her.
"Nancy Mann, I want to know where you've been," she cried out, as soon
as Nancy opened the gate.
"Over to--Aunt Lucretia's."
"You went over there, after all the times I told you not to?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"What for?"
"I wanted my--forty-two cents."
"Forty-two cents! What do you suppose your Aunt Lucretia thinks of you,
dunning her up this way? Now you come in and light your candle, and go
straight up-stairs to bed."
It was only half-past eight o'clock. Nancy went to bed. Flora sat up and
read her story-book, and did not go up-stairs until after nine. Nancy
pretended to be asleep when she came in, but she was not.
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