It seemed very like it, for from that day their strange unchildish purpose grew and ripened, and never for an hour was absent from the mind of either. If they had been like other children, living happy lives full of young interests and pleasures, it might have been crowded out by other and nearer things; if they had been of a slighter mental build, and less strong, they might have forgotten it. But they never did. When they had counted the Treasure, and had realised how small it was after all, they had sat and gazed at each other for a while with grave eyes, but they had only been grave and not despairing.
"Fifteen dollars," said Robin. "Well, that's not much after nearly six years; but we saved it, nearly all, by cents, you know, Meg."
"And it takes a hundred cents to make a dollar," said Meg, "and we were poor people's children."
"And we bought the chickens," said Robin.
"And you have always given me a present at Christmas, Robin, even if it was only a little one. That's six Christmases."
"We have nine months to work in," said Robin, calculating. "If you get two dollars a month, and I get two, that will be thirty-six dollars by next June. Fifteen dollars and thirty-six dollars make fifty-one. I believe we could go on that—and come back. I