Folded with these bills of all denominations from one to fifty dollars was a legal paper yellowed by age, with a red seal still glowing like a spot of blood.
It was an innholder’s license, authorizing one Thomas McGuire to furnish food, shelter, and entertainment for man and beast.
With eyes almost tear-dimmed and heart throbbing at having found poor Chip’s splendid heritage, Old Cy now gazed at it.
The sharp stones upon which he knelt nearly pierced his flesh, but he felt them not.
The glint of sunlight from the crack above caressed his scant gray hairs and white fringing beard, forming almost a halo, yet he knew it not.
He only knew that here, before him, on this rude stone table, lay thousands of dollars, all belonging to the child he loved.
“Thank God, little gal,” he said at last, “I’ve found what belongs to ye, ’n’ ye hain’t got to want for nothin’ no more. I wish I could kiss ye now.”
Little did he realize that at this very moment of thankfulness for her sake, poor Chip was lost to all who knew her, and, half starved and almost hopeless, knew not where to find shelter.
