“Her mother smiled.
“‘Why, mamma? do you think there wouldn’t any poor child come along?’
“‘I should like to see that day, dear Nanny. But your cent might fall into the grass in the courtyard, or into the mud, or a horse might tread it down among the paving-stones; and then no one would be the better for it.’
“‘But it’s only one cent, mamma,’ said Nanny,—‘it don’t matter so much, after all.’
“‘Come here Nanny,’ said her mother, and the child came and stood at her side. The lady opened her purse and took out a little gold dollar.
“‘What is this made of?’ said she.
“‘Why of gold, mamma.’
“‘Think again.’
“So Nanny thought and couldn’t think—and laid her head against her mother, and played with the little gold dollar. Then she laid it upon me to see how much smaller it was, and how much brighter. Then she cried out,—
“‘O I know now, mamma! it’s made of a hundred cents.’