"Of course—for twenty dollars in gold," replied the driver.
Prescott walked farther up the street, but he watched the man, and saw him fulfil his bargain, a task easily and quickly done. He tipped the coal into the little back yard of the wooden cottage, and drove away, obviously content with himself and his bargain. Then Prescott, too, went his way, feeling a pleasant glow.
He came back the next morning and the coal lay untouched. The board fence concealed it from the notice of casual passers, and so thieves had not been tempted. Those in the house must have seen it, yet not a lump was gone; and the feeble stream of smoke from the chimney had disappeared; nothing rose there to stain the sky. It occurred to Prescott that both the women might have fled from the city, but second thought told him escape was impossible. They must yet be inside the house; and surely it was very cold there!
He came back the same afternoon, but the coal was still untouched and the cold gripped everything in bands of iron. He returned a third time the next morning, slipping along in the shadow of the high board fence like a thief—he did have a somewhat guilty conscience—but when he peeped over the fence he uttered an exclamation.
Four of the largest lumps of coal were missing!
There was no doubt of it; he had marked them lying on the top of the heap, and distinguished by their unusual size.
"They are certainly gone," said Prescott to himself.
But it was not thieves. There in the snow he perceived the tracks of small feet leading from the coal-heap to the back door of the house.
Prescott felt a mighty sense of triumph, and gave utterance in a low voice to the unpoetic exclamation:
"They had to knuckle!"