But it did come at last, and after what was, in reality, no very long waiting. On a certain afternoon—to be precise in our dates, it was the fifth of May—Tom walked over to Pincote, in search of the Squire. He found him in his study, wearying his brain over a column of figures, which would persist in coming to a different total every time it was added up. The first thing Tom did was to take the column of figures and bring it to a correct total. This done, his next act was to produce something from his pocket that was carefully wrapped up in a piece of brown paper. He pushed the parcel across the table to the Squire. “Will you oblige me, sir,” he said, “by opening that paper, and giving me your opinion as to the contents?” “Why, bless my heart, this is neither more nor less than a lump of coal!” said the Squire, when he had opened the paper. “Exactly so, sir. As you say, this is neither more nor less than a lump of coal. But where do you think it came from?” “There you puzzle me. Though I don’t know that it can matter much to me where it came from.” “But it matters very much to you, sir. This lump of coal came from Knockley Holt.” The Squire was rather dull of comprehension. “Well, what is there so wonderful about that?” he said. “I dare say it was stolen by some of those confounded gipsies, and left there when they moved.” “What I mean is this, sir,” answered Tom, with just a shade of impatience in his tone. “This piece of coal is but a specimen of a splendid seam which has been struck by my men at the bottom of the shaft at Knockley Holt.” The Squire stared at him, and gave a long, low whistle. “Do you mean to say that you have found a bed of coal at the bottom of the hole you have been digging at Knockley Holt?” “That is precisely what I have found, sir, and it is precisely what I have been trying to find from the first.” “I see it all now!” said the Squire. “What a lucky young scamp you are! But what on earth put it into your head to go looking for coal at Knockley Holt?”