“That’s it!” whispered Hank in his ear, leaning forwards, behind a branch of the lilac-bush.
Peternot opened the loosely tied sack, and uncle and nephew eagerly examined its contents.
JACK AT THE WINDOW.
“It’s the tarnish that makes the silver look so bad,” said the squire. “That deceived both on us. I had all the while a strange feelin’ that the coin was good, though my reason said the contrary. It was only arter I’d got it, and had paid the Huswicks, that my reason got the upper hand, and I felt so sure ’twas bogus. I’m glad you talked with the deacon. It’s astonishing! I didn’t make so bad a bargain with the rogues, arter all! I guess we’d better keep it all together,” added the squire, as Byron seemed inclined to retain the specimens he had been handling.
“Be ye comin’, any time to-night?” called the voice of Mrs. Peternot from the adjoining room.
“She’s waitin’,” said the squire. “We was just goin’ to ’tend prayers, when you come in,—had been delayin’ a little on your account. I’ll put it back here for the present; then, arter prayers, I’ll see what had better be done with ’t for the night.”
Peternot, having returned the bag to its niche, sent his nephew out of the room before him, and followed, bearing the candle, which he blew out, to save it, as he crossed the threshold. The door was left open, however, and a dim light stole into the room from the kitchen beyond.
“Now’s your time!” whispered Hank. “I’ll put ye in there! Pass out the bag,—be still about it,—it’s all right.”