The girls, now fully feeling the effect of the alcohol, were afraid of losing the money. If they could steal it, someone could take it from them. Clumsily, they dug a hole at the base of the oak and dropped the coins in, burying it before opening their prize.
The old man was roughly shook awake later that morning. There were two girls, he was told, that had died by a tree in the night and needed to be prepared for their funerals. As the only undertaker in town, it was his job.
He trudged up the hill and found the girls, sweet and pure in their youth, made cold and stiff from death.
But that bottle.
It was his. The girls had taken it and killed themselves. They must have also taken the money, as he did not recall seeing it this morning.
The undertaker searched the bodies frantically for his wealth, but it was nowhere to be found. He searched the entire village for his savings for ten long years before he finally thought to dig under the oak.
And now, he was too old to use it to buy passage away from this country and the potato famine. He would die on the voyage over. There was no point in finding the money now other than for closure. That was all he really needed.And it was partially his fault, he'd killed the boys. There was no reasone to live with the guilt anymore, the story was over.
He closed his eyes and took a swig from the bottle.