Uzziah's troubles were not over, and he had still to learn that the way of the transgressor is a tiresome one. He fumbled desperately in the snow, for he wanted fifty cents above all things in the world just then, but he was destined not to find it; and at last, cold, weary, and yet with all his faults not inclined to wreak his wrath on the pony who stood patiently watching him, he threw himself into the sleigh and sped gloomily homeward. His mother had the shawl, but he had nothing for his trouble, for he counted as nothing and worse than nothing his experience of the maxim that one sly trick inspires another.