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Rebecca Mary took another stitch. Then another. "Ninety-sevvun, ninety-eight," she counted aloud, her little pointed face gravely intent. She waited the briefest possible space before she took ninety-nine. It was getting very close to the Time now. "At the hundred an' oneth," Rebecca Mary whispered. "It's almost it." Her breath came quicker under her tight little dress.
"You ought to be sorry for me, because if you hadn't crowed I shouldn't have sewed the hundred and oneth. But you're not really to BLAME," she added, hastily, mindful of Thomas Jefferson's feelings. "I should have done it sometime if you hadn't crowed. I knew it was coming. I suppose now I shall have to starve. You'd think it was pretty hard to starve, I guess, Thomas Jefferson."
A work written on another man's subject and under another man's guidance is called something different...." The doctor says nothing. I fly into a rage and jump up from my seat. "Why is it you all come to me?" I cry angrily. "Do I keep a shop? I don't deal in subjects. For the thousand and oneth time I ask you all to leave me in peace! Excuse my brutality, but I am quite sick of it!"
When you've been lookin' head to the hundred and oneth so LONG and you get the very next door to it, it scares you a little. I'll wait until oh, until Thomas Jefferson crows, before I sew the hundred and oneth." Thomas Jefferson was prospecting under the currant bushes. Rebecca Mary could see him distinctly, even with her nearsighted little eyes, for Thomas Jefferson was snow-white.
Between her thin, light eyebrows a crease deepened anxiously. "Ninety n-i-n-e," she counted, "one hun-der-ed" it was so very close now! The next stitch would be the hundred and oneth. Rebecca Mary's face suddenly grew quite white. "I'll wait a m-minute," she decided; "I'm just a little scared.
She pointed belligerently at her tormentor with the hand that held the brush. "Being the scrub-lady's stalwart son, you wouldn't understand. But I can write. I sha'n't go under. I'm going to make this town count me in as the four million and oneth.
So I escaped with her and Milly to the nursery, where I stayed as long as I dared, letting my cheeks cool. "The twee ith mine and Mamma'th," said Joy; "we're the only oneth young enough to have Christhmath twees, Papa thayth." "Hoh, guess I'm younger'n Mamma, ain't I?" scoffed my other little cousin who had been sent to inquire into our delay.
Thus, and not in treacled cadences, intrigued Mariar and Sir Thomas in the back alley. "Do you like it here?" asked the doctor. "Yop. But sometimes I feel wasted " "You don't look wasted " "No " after a hasty glance in the wall mirror. "Don't you get sick of the sight of food?" "Here, oh, no! I don't know any lovelier sight than our kitchens yes, yes, sir, I'll get your pied frotatoes at oneth."
Here is one of them, dated from Baltimore without signature: "Dear F th! Thankth for the happy contenth! thothe Dithpatched to J.G.K. and Thonth, and that thmall letter you inclothe from Parith, from my dearetht oneth!