"Vasco," called his mother to him early one morning a few days later, "I want you to get up and go to market for me."

"Oh, dear, I don't want to get up now," said Vasco.

"No matter," replied his mother, "you'll want something to eat by and by, so hurry up."

Vasco knew it was no use to protest further, and, as the process of dressing was a very short one with him, he soon was ready to do his mother's errand.

"What do you want me to get this morning?" he asked.

"I want you to get some potatoes and peas and rice and half a yard of beef," his mother replied, as she handed him a basket.

It sounds strange to hear about a yard of beef, doesn't it? Vasco did not think so, though, for in Panama beef, instead of being sold by the pound, is often cut into long strips and sold by the yard.

By the time Vasco was all ready to start his sister Inez was up.

"May I go with you?" she asked.

"Of course, if you want to. Come on."

So together they trotted out of the house and off to market.

Inez looked about her with wide-open eyes, for her visits to the market, especially in the early morning, had been very rare.

"See what a lot of donkeys standing over there," said the little girl, pointing across the street.

"Yes; they belong to the fruit-sellers you see here. The animals stand there all day long, and at night, when their masters and mistresses have sold all their stock, they ride home on the backs of the donkeys. Some of them go many miles into the country, too."

But other sights soon attracted Inez's attention, and the donkeys were forgotten.

Many of the buyers were women cooks dressed in red and yellow and green and bright colours of all sorts. They made the place look very brilliant.

Soon, however, Vasco had done his errands and with Inez hurried home for breakfast.

Sometimes, in the evening, Vasco would go out with his mother and Inez and little Carlos.

On Sunday evenings, as you have already learned, they went to the plaza and listened with rapt attention to the band concert.

Quite often, on these occasions, Vasco's father, the lieutenant, would have a leave of absence from his military duties, and would go with his family. Then Vasco was supremely happy, for he was extremely proud of the gorgeous uniform which his father wore, and felt as if some of the military glory were reflected upon him.

Since Panama had become an independent nation, much patriotic music had been played at these concerts, and the large crowds were always enthusiastic.

On one Sunday evening, soon after the boy's visit to Old Panama, all the members of the family except little Carlos were listening to Vasco's tales of the sights he had seen in the old city. He also was repeating the story of the buccaneers that Harlan had told him.

Lieutenant Barretas was especially interested in what Vasco said about the treasure buried amid the ancient ruins.

"Our ancestors," he said to his son, "were not the only ones who left their wealth buried in the ground about here. The pirates who so cruelly robbed the early settlers of the country often hid their ill-gotten gains in caves in the sand on the shore or upon some barren island. Then they sailed away, and sometimes never returned to secure their treasure. If the stories were to be believed, all we need to do to obtain untold wealth is to take picks and spades and turn up the earth along the coast of our country or on the islands near its shores.

"Years ago a good many people actually spent much time searching for hidden gold. I remember hearing my grandfather tell of a neighbour who formed one of a party that went to Cocos Island for such a purpose.

"It seems that many years before a dying pirate had confided to an old countryman, a carpenter by trade, that a vast store of gold was buried on Cocos Island."

"I have heard of that place," interrupted Vasco. "Some of the sailors whom Enrique and I know have mentioned it. The island is several hundred miles from Panama, and there are no people living on it."

"That is true," said the lieutenant. "Well, this carpenter was nearly mad with joy at the information the dying pirate gave him. He thought surely that his fortune was made. No more hard work for him! All he needed to do was to dig up the treasure, and for the rest of his life enjoy ease and freedom from care."

"I don't much blame him, father, do you?" asked Vasco.

"I can't say that I do," was the reply. "I'll admit I wouldn't mind digging up a pot or two of gold myself, though I don't believe that we take so much stock in the stories of hidden wealth as our fathers and grandfathers did.

"With this carpenter, however, it was a pretty serious question how he was going to get to Cocos Island and secure the treasure. He knew the island was a desert place and far from shore. It would be necessary to have a ship, a good store of provisions, and tools with which to do the digging, to say nothing of a company of men to help him. All this required much money, and our poor carpenter had none. But he was possessed of a large amount of courage and perseverance, and he managed after a time to enlist the help of men of means, who furnished the capital for the expedition.

"Many hardships were endured by the little band of men who made up the carpenter's company, but they finally arrived at the island.

"The pirate had not made very clear the exact location of the hidden gold, and as the island was covered with a dense growth of trees and vines, the search was a heartless task from the beginning. The men, however, got to work, and with picks and spades and gunpowder managed to uncover a large part of the island."

"And did they find the gold?" asked Vasco, his face now aglow with excitement.

"Not any," replied his father. "Several months they dug and blasted, but all in vain. No sign of chest, box, silver, or gold was found. Day after day the search continued. Finally the provisions became exhausted, the men grew disheartened, and a weary, disappointed company of men returned to Panama."

Just as Vasco's father finished his story a strange rumbling noise was heard. You would have wondered what it was, and perhaps have been a little frightened. The Barretas family, however, knew in a moment what had happened.

"An earthquake!" cried Vasco.

Even as he spoke two or three tiles fell from the roof into the street. A startling clatter breaking the stillness of the evening proved that the tiles had been shaken loose from neighbouring houses, also.

"We'd better get out quick," cried the lieutenant, and he made a dash for the door.

Vasco and his mother were more thoughtful about the younger children, and, while the mother rushed into the bedroom after Carlos, Vasco took Inez by the arm and followed closely on his father's heels.

In a moment the whole family was in the street.

"Get away from the house!" shouted Vasco's father. "The tiles are likely to fall upon you if you don't."

To the middle of the street they all dashed, where they were quickly surrounded by a noisy, chattering mob of men, women, and children.

Again the earth seemed to shake and to shiver, and the shrieks and moans of frightened women and children were accompanied by the sound of more falling tiles and cracking timbers.

The experience was truly fearful, even to the older and wiser ones. The terror of the young children was something to excite pity in the most hardened breast. It was only by the utmost efforts and constant reassurance that no harm would come to her that Vasco was able to quiet his sister Inez. Even after her cries had become stilled she trembled like a leaf.

Fortunately the shock was a light one and the shaking and trembling of the earth were soon over. Lieutenant Barretas and his family returned within their house none the worse for the adventure, and went to bed, but many of their neighbours lingered in the street for hours—some even until daylight, when the terror of the night was dissipated by the cheerful rays of the rising sun.

The earthquake had been a mild one compared with some instances of previous years. In September, 1882, the city had been visited in the night by a terrible shock. The darkness always adds intensely to the terror of the people. On this occasion men and women of all classes—high and low—had rushed to the street. Great hotels were emptied in a few moments, many guests not stopping even to put on clothing.

The great plaza was one vast mass of shouting, crying people, while the earth heaved and the air quivered as it had never done in the memory of the inhabitants. Many houses were ruined, much property destroyed, and it is said that some even died from fright.

At daybreak new courage revived the hearts of the people, but for several nights the plaza was occupied by tents and all sorts of rude shelters for thousands who dared not sleep in their houses.