"Just as many pennies as you have fingers on your hands, or toes on your feet," said the man.
"Oh!" said the little boy, and as soon as he went out of the store he counted his fingers. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten." He could not count his toes then, for he had on his shoes and stockings, but he remembered to do it when he undressed that night; and he had just as many toes as he had fingers. The little red hatchet cost ten pennies. "If I had ten pennies," he said to his mother, "I know what I should do. I should buy me a little red hatchet."
"How nice that would be," said his mother; "and where would you get it?"
"From the storekeeper," said he; "and I could pound nails and split boards and build houses. I wish I had one."
"So do I," said his mother; "but now you must go to sleep, for to-morrow is your birthday, and you will want to be up with the sun."
The sun was up before the little boy, though, and so was his mother. She was sitting on the bed when he waked up, and on the table, close by the bed, were—what do you think? Ten pennies, all in a row.
"Now you can buy the little red hatchet," said his mother, giving him a birthday kiss.
TEN PENNIES.