“Byron,” said the squire, solemnly, “I’d like to speak with you before you go out.” And he led the way to his office-room.
“Now what?” thought Byron, anxiously. “Is he going to tell me I’ve been here about long enough, and had better pack up my trunk and clear?”
“Byron,” said the squire, closing the door behind them, “it’s a subject I ought not to bring up on the Sabbath day, but it weighs upon my mind, and I’ve concluded I’d better speak to you about it. See what you think of this.” And he took from the corner behind the bureau the meal-bag with its compact but weighty contents, which he set down with a heavy chink before his nephew.
Byron, feeling greatly relieved, peeped curiously into the sack as Peternot opened it. “By mighty!” said he, surprised at what he saw, and thrusting in his hand. “Where did ye get this?”
In a few words the squire told the story. Byron in the mean time carefully tested one of the coins, cutting it with his knife and ringing it on the hearth.
“All right,” said he; “you’ve got possession. But what’s the use? ’Tain’t good for anything.”
“You think so?”
“I’m sure of it. Very well done, for counterfeiting,—but, of course!” And Byron tossed the piece back into the bag with a smile of contempt.
“Wal, that’s jest the conclusion I’ve come to,” said the squire. “I thought all along it might be bogus; and as soon as I got it fairly into my hands, I was sartin on ’t. What provokes me is the trouble it cost,—and more ’n all, the money them pesky Huswick boys gouged out of me!” And the old man groaned.
By this time Mrs. Peternot, her curiosity excited regarding the conference of uncle and nephew, came into the room, for an excuse exclaiming, “Why, squire! what have you got the house shet up so tight for?” and proceeded to open the window. “Massy on us! what ye got in the bag?”