This is all there is
left, an' he threw away some just as I woke up."
Again Toby held the bag up where Ben could see it, and again his
grief broke out anew.
Ben could say nothing; he realized the whole situation -- that the
monkey had got the moneybag while Toby was sleeping; that in his
play he had thrown it away piece by piece; and he knew that that
small amount of silver represented liberty in the boy's eyes. He
felt that there was nothing he could say which would assuage Toby's
grief, and he remained silent.
"Don't you s'pose we could go back an' get it?" asked the boy,
after the intensity of his grief had somewhat subsided.
"No, Toby, it's gone," replied Ben, sorrowfully. "You couldn't find
it if it was daylight, an' you don't stand a ghost of a chance now
in the dark. Don't take on so, my boy. I'll see if we can't make
it up to you in some way."
Toby gave no heed to this last remark of Ben's. He hugged the monkey
convulsively to his breast, as if he would seek consolation from
the very one who had wrought the ruin, and, rocking himself to and
fro, he said, in a voice full of tears and sorrow:
"Oh, Mr. Stubbs, why did you do it? -- why did you do it? That money
would have got us away from this hateful place, an' we'd have gone
back to Uncle Dan'l's, where we'd have been so happy, you an' me.
An' now it's all gone -- all gone.
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