“Good-bye,” said Frank. “Here goes for the spoils.”
And away he dashed down the stairs of the den, ax in hand.
He reached the bottom and smashed into the wood.
Crash!
With a reluctant, scraping sound the stairs gave way.
Another blow knocked the wood aside, and then three small bags lay exposed to the boy’s eager gaze.
He threw away his ax and gathered up the bags in his arms, and fairly staggering under the load of gold he managed to walk up the stairs.
“Hurrah!” he yelled, as he staggered across the doorstep and half fell to the ground along with his gold.
“What is it?” cried Charley.
“See,” said Frank.