And as Mother thought so, too, Sally was forced to wait.
But she was up in the morning early, and after a brisk sweeping of the doorstep, down went Sally on her hands and knees to pull out weeds with all her might and main.
Off and on Sally weeded nearly all morning. Then she swept the doorstep again and proudly dropped her third bright penny into the silver box.
‘I am growing rich fast,’ said Sally.
And so it seemed when she shook the silver box and the three gold pennies rattled gayly about inside.
The next day Sally was so busy about other matters—Alice came to play and Mother had company in the afternoon—that she was able to sweep the doorstep only once. But she finished her weeding, and that night Father gave her a new ten-cent piece, the brightest ever sent out from the Mint, or so, at least, Father said.
In the evening, Sally placed her money in a row and counted her riches over and over again.
‘Ten cents and four cents make fourteen cents.’
It grew to be almost a chant, Sally said it so many times.
‘To-morrow morning I will sweep the doorstep again and earn another penny,’ said she. ‘That will make fifteen cents, and fifteen cents is enough to buy anybody a present, I think.’