"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."