Chapter 16
By the time the following Sunday rolled around, Pippa had added $.05 cents to her horse fund, a paper cup filled with fruit punch purchased by Linda Hasting's son when he'd pulled into his mother's driveway and been ambushed by Pippa at the mailbox. The sale netted $.50 cents, but I'd made her compute the cost-per-cup as one of my sneaky math drills. It cost $.10 cents for the cup and $.35 cents for the fruit punch, not an exceptionally fruitful profit margin. After two days spent standing in 35 degree heat at the edge of an untraveled back country road, Pippa finally agreed we should try something more productive.
She leaned over her new chores list, her small, pink lips pursed into a moue, as she counted the money in her piggy bank.
"If I do more chores, do you think I can
