For his dimpled
fingers were shut so tightly over the wad that Morton could not at first
undo them, and the baby, wrenching his hand away, crept rapidly to Sara,
half crying, half laughing, then, with a sudden thought, turned when in
front of the fireplace, and with a wild little giggle of mischief and
rebellion tossed the thing into the very midst of the blaze.
The three were all laughing in sympathy, Sara on her knees before the
rag-bag, Molly with knife and potato suspended in air, and Morton just
as he had tipped over sidewise on the floor when the baby broke away,
when suddenly Sara gave a quick, piercing cry.
"See! see! O Morton! Morton!" and reached out her arms in a desperate
way, too paralyzed for the instant to rise.
Morton, following her wild glance, echoed the cry, for the supposed wad
of tobacco, uncurling in the heat, was now plainly seen to be--a roll of
greenbacks!
Morton sprang forward and made a lunge for them; Sara, regaining her
wits, did the same, while Molly shrieked and whirled like a dervish, but
alas! it was too late! Their scorched fingers clutched only a crumbling
blackened roll, which fell to pieces in their grasp, and the day's
search for that money, which meant all the difference between comfort
and privation, had ended in a tiny heap of ashes, which a breath would
blow away.
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