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. 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. 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."
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