“I told ye I had somethin’ to think on, this arternoon,” said Peternot; “and this is it.”
“It has cost him five dollars,” remarked Byron, pleasantly, “and it’s worth, as old metal, about fifty cents!”
“Wal, you have been fooled, complete!” exclaimed the old lady. “I don’t wonder ye kep’ it to yerself! Five dollars! have ye lost yer wits?”
“Come, come! I’m feelin’ uncomf’table enough about it, a’ready!” said the squire. “But there’s a possibility, yet, that it may be good money. Can’t tell. I should do jest so agin, under the sarcumstances, most likely. Any way it’s better to have it in my possession, than to leave bad boys to carry it off and pass it, as they undoubtedly would. I don’t want it to make trouble ’twixt me and my neighbors, though; and, Byron, if you are going over to the deacon’s, you might see what he has to say about it; tell him it’s counterfeit, and that I thought so—kind o’ thought so—all along, but considered it my duty—you understand?”
Byron understood, and smilingly replied that he would “make it all right” for his uncle.
CHAPTER XV
JACK AND THE HUSWICK BOYS.
Jack—no longer the bright and cheerful lad whom we so lately saw picking up stones in the hilly pasture—went home, brooding darkly over his wrongs, and refused to be comforted by anything the good deacon and his wife could say to him.
“He robbed me, and hung up my dog by the heels,—got the Huswick tribe to help him; and here I am, alone against all of ’em, and nobody lifts a hand or says a word to help me!” was his bitter complaint, as he took the milk-pails after supper, and went out of the kitchen, shutting the door after him (I am sorry to say) with something like a bang.