“This is a little better than being shut up in the closet, isn’t it?” asked her companion.
“Oh, yes, ever so much.”
“You see you’ll have a very good time of it, if you do as I bid you. I don’t want to do you any harm.”
So they walked along together until Peg, suddenly pausing, laid her hands on Ida’s arm, and pointing to a shop near by, said to her: “Do you see that shop?”
“Yes,” said Ida.
“I want you to go in and ask for a couple of rolls. They come to three cents apiece. Here’s some money to pay for them. It is a new dollar. You will give this to the man that stands behind the counter, and he will give you back ninety-four cents. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” said Ida, nodding her head. “I think I do.”
“And if the man asks if you have anything smaller, you will say no.”
“Yes, Aunt Peg.”
“I will stay just outside. I want you to go in alone, so you will learn to manage without me.”
Ida entered the shop. The baker, a pleasant-looking man, stood behind the counter.
“Well, my dear, what is it?” he asked.
“I should like a couple of rolls.”
“For your mother, I suppose?” said the baker.
“No,” answered Ida, “for the woman I board with.”
“Ha! a dollar bill, and a new one, too,” said the baker, as Ida tendered it in payment. “I shall have to save that for my little girl.”
Ida left the shop with the two rolls and the silver change.
“Did he say anything about the money?” asked Peg.
“He said he should save it for his little girl.”
“Good!” said the woman. “You’ve done well.”
The baker introduced in the foregoing chapter was
Singularly, Abel Harding was a brother of Timothy Harding, the cooper.
In many respects he resembled his brother. He was an excellent man, exemplary in all the relations of life, and had a good heart. He was in very comfortable circumstances, having accumulated a little property by diligent attention to his business. Like his brother, Abel Harding had married, and had one child. She had received the name of Ellen.
When the baker closed his shop for the night, he did not forget the new dollar, which he had received, or the disposal he told Ida he would make of it.
Ellen ran to meet her father as he entered the house.
“What do you think I have brought you, Ellen?” he said, with a smile.
“Do tell me quick,” said the child, eagerly.
“What if I should tell you it was a new dollar?”
“Oh, papa, thank you!” and Ellen ran to show it to her mother.
“Yes,” said the baker, “I received it from a little girl about the size of Ellen, and I suppose it was that that gave me the idea of bringing it home to her.”