The next morning Rosa and Edith came to school with money to buy chairs, and at recess all their special friends went with them to Harrison's to make the purchase. When Marty had a nearer view of the chairs and handled them, she was more anxious than ever to possess one. This anxiety increased as the days passed and the chairs gradually disappeared.
Nobody gave her any money and her mother did not offer her any more “paid” work. She was very, very sorry that she had spent all of her allowance on Monday morning—at least all but two cents and the one in the red box. That, of course, she took with her to the meeting Saturday afternoon.
Saturday evening she received her next week's supply, and that, with the two cents she had over, was exactly enough to get the longed-for toy. But one cent was tenths.
“That just spoils the whole thing,” she said to herself. “I might as well have none at all as only eleven cents.”
Then she wondered if it would not do to borrow that tenth. She had not thought of taking out any of the money when she was in such straits about Cousin Alice's ribbon, but this seemed different. It was only one penny, and she was sure of being able to replace it.
But borrowing was against the rule, and it must be especially wrong to borrow missionary money. She felt ashamed and her cheeks burned when the thought came to her.
“I s'pose I'll have to give up the chair,” she sighed; “at least unless I get a little more money somehow. I wish papa wasn't so strict about borrowing. A penny wouldn't be much to borrow.”
Sunday morning she took out her money and counted it over again very carefully. Yes, there was exactly twelve cents. Then she slowly took up one cent to drop in the box. As she did so the temptation to borrow it came again.
“No, I wont do that,” she said resolutely, but after looking at the penny for a while, concluded not to put it in the box until after she came from Sunday-school.
After Sunday-school she tried it again, but still hesitated.