FullReads

They turned about and went out of the tent; they crossed the old road and climbed the stone-wall. Flora spoke as she picked her way across the meadow. “Guess I’ll buy that basket when my money comes next week,” said she.

Nancy said nothing; she looked gloomy. She stepped in an oozy place and wet one foot, but she did not mind it. She thought of her eight cents, and did an example in mental arithmetic. “Eight from fifty leaves forty-two,” she calculated. For the first time she was envious of Flora. Everybody finds some object to grudge to another. Nancy had found hers–the sweet-grass basket. If she had expressed her feelings, she would have said, “Must she have all those pretty dresses and hats and the sweet-grass basket, too?”

The girls went home silently; they were never great talkers. Flora sat down in the sitting-room with her aunt; Nancy went up-stairs to the chamber where she slept with Flora, and got her little purse out of the corner of her bureau drawer. She counted the eight cents, and puzzled over the problem how to increase it to fifty. She puzzled over it all the rest of that day until she went to sleep at nine o’clock. The next day was Sunday; she puzzled over it as she sat in the pew in church, but she could not arrive at any solution.

However, the next morning she had an inspiration. Her mother sent her over to Aunt Lucretia’s on an errand. Flora was not allowed to go; it was a very hot morning, and she was rather delicate. Nancy on her way to Aunt Lucretia’s thought of a way to swell eight cents to fifty. She trudged down the sunny road in a cloud of dust, her face was scarlet with the heat, but she ignored all little discomforts.

Aunt Lucretia lived in a nice square white house with a green lattice-work porch over the front door. She was an elderly lady and quite rich. She had a Brussels carpet in the parlor and kept a servant-maid.

Nancy went in the side door, and through the sitting-room into the front entry. The parlor door stood open. Aunt Lucretia and her servant, Henrietta, were in there. Nancy stood looking in.

“Aunt Lucretia,” said she.

Aunt Lucretia came forward, with Henrietta following.

“Well, Nancy, what do you want?” said Aunt Lucretia. She was quite a majestic old lady, very tall and large and short-waisted. She wore her gray hair in two puffs each side of her face.

“Mother sent your Stanford paper back,” replied Nancy.

“Well, you can lay it on the sitting-room table,” said Aunt Lucretia. “Is your mother well this morning?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Nancy laid the Stanford paper on the sitting-room table; then she followed on into the kitchen after Aunt Lucretia and Henrietta.

“Is there anything else you want, Nancy?” asked Aunt Lucretia.

“I wanted to know if–I didn’t know but–you’d like to have me pick some blackberries for you, Aunt Lucretia.”

“Blackberries?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Aunt Lucretia stared reflectively at Nancy. “Do you suppose your mother would be willing? The sun’s pretty hot.”

“Yes, ma’am. I know she wouldn’t care.”

“Well, I do want two quarts of blackberries dreadfully, and there ‘ain’t a boy been along. I’m going to have the minister and his wife to tea to-night, and I want to have blackberry shortcake. Do you suppose you could pick me two quarts before four o’clock this afternoon?”

“Yes, ma’am. I know where they’re real thick.”

“Well,” said Aunt Lucretia, “you can go home and ask your mother, and if she’s willing, you can go and pick them. Mind you keep out of the sun all you can. I’ll give you seven cents a quart; that’s a cent more than the boys ask.”

“Don’t you want more’n two quarts, Aunt Lucretia?” asked Nancy, timidly.

“I guess two quarts will be about all you’ll want to pick,” returned Aunt Lucretia, grimly.

“No, ma’am; it won’t.”

“Well, we’ll see how you hold out. I want four quarts for jell the last of the week; but you pick two quarts first, and see.”