“I had paid for my purchases out of my pocket-book, or I should have found that half-dollar before. However, as I had promised you, I whipped about and drove back to the goldsmith’s. He was just shutting up shop. I told him what I wanted. He went behind his counter, lit a lamp, looked at your half-dollar, cut into it, and then flung it into his drawer.”
“Kept it!” gasped out Jack.
“Yes; ’t was as good a half-dollar as ever came from the mint, he said. He gave me another in its place.”
Jack could not utter a word in reply to this announcement, which, notwithstanding his utmost hopes, astonished and overjoyed him beyond measure. As soon as he had recovered a little of his breath and self-possession, he grasped the deacon’s arm, and was on the point of exclaiming, “O Mr. Chatford! I have found a trunk full of just such half-dollars as that!”—for he felt that he must tell his joy to some one, and to whom else should he go? But already the deacon’s other hand was on the latch of the kitchen door, which he opened; and there sat the family round the table within.
“What is it, my boy?” said Mr. Chatford, as Jack shrank back and remained silent. “Oh! you want your half-dollar. Of course!” putting his hand into his pocket.
“I don’t care anything about that,” said Jack. He took it, nevertheless,—a bright, clean half-dollar in place of the scratched and tarnished coin he had given Mr. Chatford that afternoon.
Mr. Chatford stood holding the door open.
“Ain’t you coming in?”
“No, sir,—not just yet.”
Jack felt that he must be alone with his great, joyful, throbbing thoughts for a little while; and he wandered away in the moonlit night.