Dickie was quite sure. Her mind was bent on dropping the penny into the slit. When, however, the china-house was lifted down, and she saw her money disappear through the roof for ever, she burst into sobs and tears, and refused comfort till the box was opened and the money returned. In this way Pennie became aware of the very low state of the funds; there was indeed hardly anything beside her own contributions, and at this rate Miss Unity would never get her new mandarin. So far her plan had failed.
“If only I could earn some money!” she said to Nancy.
“P’r’aps father will want some sermons copied when he comes back,” suggested Nancy, “or mother may want some dusters hemmed.”
“I should love to do the sermons,” said Pennie; “but, oh,” with a face of disgust, “how I do hate needlework!”
“Well,” said Nancy composedly, “if people want to be paid they’ve got to work, whether they like it or not.”
“But there’s nice work and nasty work,” said Pennie; “now, to write books—that must be splendid!”
“I should hate it,” said Nancy. “I’d much rather dig potatoes, or make chairs and tables.”
“Girls can’t do that sort of work,” remarked Ambrose, who was sitting in the window-seat with a book. “Girls can’t do many things. They’re not brave enough, or strong enough, or clever enough. Boys and men earn money, not girls.”
Nancy never wasted words on Ambrose when he talked in this way. She at once looked round for the nearest thing to throw at him. Quite aware of her intention, he quickly added holding up one arm to shield himself:
“Boys can do everything better than girls.”