EXCAVATING
A HUSBAND

Katherine Boulby had reached her fiftieth year, and all these years had been spent in single blessedness. It is true that she had not realized the entirety of the perfect calm and peace that abides in the maiden state, for her brother Joseph and she lived together. But Miss Katherine—as she was commonly called in her native town—was of a cheerful disposition and said that she felt she was indeed blessed among women, as she had graciously been endowed with sense enough to choose a free and unfettered life, and the vexations and limitations contingent upon the proximity of one of the male sex, had been mitigated as much as possible for her as her brother was a quiet, fairly pliant man who rarely interfered with her plans for broadening and enriching her mind.

This mental culture was Miss Katherine’s chief aim in life, and it was not a selfish one. She never refused to give abundantly of her knowledge, and ever strove to correct and purify the literary and artistic tastes of her friends. It would be quite impossible to state upon what lines Miss Katherine pursued her mental cultivation, for, like the great geniuses, she was extremely versatile, and in almost every subject she described an avenue which, if followed to the end would lead at last to the goal whither she was bound. As Miss Katherine strayed from one path to another in the great labyrinth of learning, it is very probable that she was inextricably lost and didn’t know it. But she found pleasure and sustenance therein, and never sought to find herself.

Now, it is far from my purpose to represent my heroine as a blue-stocking or as other than a most charming person. Had she pursued her studies methodically and scientifically she might not have been the same delightful woman that she was, but she flitted from romantic prose to didactic poetry and from poetry to astrology, and thence to architecture, history or biology. In Miss Katherine you found a person who possessed a rare instinct concerning hobbies. She never became so abstruse as to be unintelligible to her friends who were not hobbyists. She dealt in interesting and easy generalities.

In fact, Miss Katherine was one of a type the world cannot spare. Of good, sound, common sense she possessed the usual allotment, but in rare, child-like enthusiasm and love of romance she was richly endowed. It is true that at times everything but romantic fancies seemed expelled from her mind, but the complications thus arising were of no moment when all the brightness and zest she infused into life were considered. It was psychologically impossible for Miss Katherine to view the commonplace occurrences of everyday life in the same light as do most of us. She found in a very ordinary event the nucleus of something interesting and romantic. So you see there was nothing of the blue-stocking about my heroine.

There is another matter upon which the reader must be clear. One might think from Miss Katherine’s fervent thankfulness for her single state that she had an aversion to men. Such was the case only in theory. It seemed more fitting for a single woman of artistic temperament to avow a distaste for the society of the coarser sex, but in reality she got along rather better with men than women. As a rule, men are better listeners than women, and Miss Katherine found them more disposed to listen to her latest ideas and freshest aspirations than were women. She did not credit these listeners with ability to understand all she was saying and this incapacity in man was the reason she had never married. She had a susceptible heart, but it would respond only to him who would understand her. She was not at all averse to marriage and kept a vigilant eye upon the horizon that she might catch the first possible glimpse of the romantic figure she confidently expected would one day loom thereon. His appearance was long delayed, and, while Miss Katherine did not mourn because of this, still she wisely considered moving to where she would view a new and broader horizon.

One day she came upon the following advertisement:

“For Rent—Furnished house, property of Captain Peter Shannon; delightful situation, attractive and comfortable house; garden contains very choice plants and shrubs. Apply, W. J. Skinner, Ocean View.”

“There!” exclaimed Miss Katherine to her brother, “isn’t it delightful to find just what we want with so little trouble?”

“How do you know it’s just what we want?” asked Joseph, who had partially consented to his sister’s suggestion that they rent a house near the sea during the spring and summer.

Miss Katherine did not possess any occult power by which she could visualize the property advertised, but she did have a remarkable faculty for reading between lines. It often happened that she found there that which defied every other interpretation, but this was possibly owing to her highly developed imagination. She had so often urged her brother to develop this quality, that now his utter lack of imagination made her reply crisply—

“How do I know? Because my mind has certain qualities that I see yours will never possess, and besides I think a little. Now consider this advertisement with the aid of a very little imagination and common sense. The owner is a sea captain. That is a volume in itself to me. Sailors are very fond of the picturesque, so I should expect Captain Shannon’s house to be delightfully situated, quaint and comfortable. I can’t imagine anyone from whom I’d rather buy property than from such a man as Captain Shannon must be,” concluded Miss Katherine.

“Why don’t he live in it himself, then, if it’s such a fine place?” inquired Joseph with an attempt at sarcasm which was quite beyond him.

“Can he live in a house on the land and sail on the sea at the same time?” demanded his disgusted sister.

“Well, if I had such a place as you say it is I wouldn’t be risking my neck on the sea. I’d stay right there and raise vegetables,” returned Joseph.

Joseph was several years older than his sister and as he had just retired from business with the intention of spending the remainder of his days in peace and calm, he thought it wise not to jeopardize this residue of his life by running counter to any fixed idea of his sister. But in yielding to Miss Katherine’s strong desire to spend the spring and summer near the sea, Joseph was not solely actuated by fear of her displeasure. He thought that a few months of undisturbed gardening would be the purest possible happiness, so readily consented to Miss Katherine’s going to view the place for rent. She went, she saw and she was captivated. Such a view! Such a garden! Nothing could be more delightful.

Ocean View was not far distant from their home, so the day after his sister’s return Joseph set out to see the house for himself. He found Miss Katherine’s praise very just. It was indeed a most pleasant place, and though the garden sadly needed care, that fact, in Joseph’s eyes, did not detract from the desirability of the place. Beneath a very impassive exterior he concealed a tenderness and real passion for flowers and a garden. He had passed his days in his hardware shop among unlovely objects, and had never gratified this one passion, which was still strong. But now Joseph thought of the long spring and summer days spent in the garden, and went in haste to interview the agent.

“Captain Shannon’s place, eh?” said Mr. Skinner. “It used to be a pretty place when the Captain lived there, and I have had good tenants who have kept it up pretty well, but we didn’t rent it last year so it’s grown up rather wild. Would you happen to be fond of flowers, now?”

Upon Joseph’s replying that he was, Mr. Skinner continued:

“Captain Shannon lived there only two years when he took to sea again. I don’t know whether he’s dead or alive, for that’s seven years ago, and I’ve never seen or heard from him since. I send the rent to his bank in New York, but it’s my opinion that he’s gone where he don’t need money, for if he was alive why wouldn’t he come back and spend the rest of his days here? He ain’t a young man by any means, about sixty, I think. But I was going to tell you why I asked if you were fond of flowers. The Captain was crazy about them and kept a record of all his choice plants. That book’s in the library now. Well, when he told me he was going to sea again and asked to rent the place, he said to get a tenant that would look after the plants. It just seemed to me he wanted to stay, but the sea pulled too strong for him and he had to go. But now if you like pottering round in a garden, that’s just the place for you.”

Joseph felt it was but did not express himself too strongly until he had concluded a very good bargain.

To Miss Katherine’s extreme delight Joseph was ready to move to Ocean View without delay. She had drawn from him all the information concerning Captain Shannon that he had obtained from Mr. Skinner. She had immediately jumped to the conclusion that the Captain had been lost at sea. To tell the truth, although she had as tender a heart as woman ever possessed, the owner’s tragic end rather increased her delight in her surroundings. It wasn’t every day one had the opportunity of handling things that had belonged to one for whom fate had destined such a tragic end.

It was towards the books in the library that she felt most reverently. Not for a moment could she forget that these books had been selected, read and loved by Captain Peter Shannon, victim of the cavernous seas. But soon she came to value the books for themselves, for she found them much to her taste. There was nothing in literature that so captivated Miss Katherine as tales of daring on land or sea, and of these the Captain’s library was full.

“Captain Shannon must have been a very interesting man,” she remarked rather sadly to Joseph. “I can tell by his books. His tastes were just like mine,” she added naively.

“Don’t let your mind run on him too much, Katie,” advised Joseph. “It would only lead to disappointment, for he’s most likely drowned or dead, it don’t matter which.”

“I’d try to exercise a little common sense, Joseph Boulby,” returned his sister acidly.

“Why, ain’t I?” asked Joseph. “I don’t see anything unreasonable about warning you not to set your heart upon a dead man. There’s not much chance of a corpse coming to life these days.”

Joseph’s delight in his garden was actually making him facetious.

However strongly Miss Katherine became convinced that, had he lived, there would have been a strong affinity and perhaps something more between Captain Shannon and herself, she did not become depressed. But without doubt there entered into Miss Katherine’s heart a sentiment that she had never experienced before.

In a closet full of rubbish she found a portrait of a seamanly looking, heavily whiskered man. This she rightly conjectured to be a feeble attempt to reproduce on canvas Captain Shannon’s noble countenance. She tastefully framed the portrait and hung it over the books she fancied he had best loved.

Having made an exhaustive examination of the books on the library shelves, Miss Katherine turned her attention to the papers which the table and desk contained. She felt no compunction in doing this, although she rarely meddled with the affairs of others. But to Captain Shannon’s personal papers she felt she had a peculiar right, a sort of spiritual right.

What she found among these papers was of such interest and import that she rushed at once to find her brother.

“Joseph! Joseph Boulby!” she gasped. “You’ll never guess what I’ve found! The log of a schooner! Captain Shannon’s schooner. He was shipwrecked and the schooner was lost but—I’ll read it to you, Joseph: ‘Log of Schooner Fare-thee-well’—isn’t that a fine name—‘Peter Shannon owner and master.

“‘May 17, ’05.

“‘Sailed from Manzanilla with cargo of lumber for Panama. Wind blowing strong from N. W.

“‘Made 105 miles.

“‘May 18.

“‘Wind increased in volume. Still running with wind on starboard beam. Unable to make an observation. Made 190 miles by dead reckoning.

“‘May 19.

“‘Wind veered slightly to westward and continued to freshen. Glass falling rapidly. Made 204 miles.

“‘Above is log of schooner up to May 20, from which time it was impossible to keep further record until she was beached. Following is story of the last voyage of the Fare-thee-well. It was written after landing on Cocos Island.

“‘May 20. Hurricane struck us at four bells in the afternoon watch, as nearly as I can remember. Called all hands to close reef the mainsail, intending to run before wind under storm jib and mainsail reefed down, when enormous sea struck us washing away mate and two seamen, leaving only myself and boy. Schooner heeled so far to port that I feared she could not right herself, and water covered half the desk. Strain on mainsail so great that it snapped about fourteen feet above deck carrying sail and top hamper with it. Boy and I managed to cut away all stays and shrouds and cleared away the wreckage, after which we scuddled before the wind under bare poles. With help of boy I managed to rig spare topsail from stump of mainmast and with storm jib we managed to keep steerage way upon her.

“‘May 21. Still running before the wind.

“‘May 22. Do.

“‘May 23. Do.

“‘May 24. Just before midnight, as near as I can remember, schooner struck with terrible force and waves swept her from stem to stem. Boy carried overboard. Was unable to do anything to save him.

“‘May 25. When morning came the sea had gone down somewhat and I discovered an island about one hundred fathoms on port bow. Was afraid vessel would break up so made a raft with what spars and lumber I could get together, and taking the log book, a few tools, instruments and provisions, I endeavored to reach the land. After great difficulty I landed on what proved to be Cocos Island.’”

For a moment or two after she had ceased reading, Miss Katherine remained silent as if overpowered. She soon recovered speech however.

“I thought I had estimated Captain Shannon correctly when I said that he was no ordinary man, but I don’t believe I did full justice to him. Did you notice the style of this narrative, Joseph? It is so direct and simple, but forceful and compelling. I don’t think I would be going too far to say that there is the stamp of genius upon this manuscript. And his modesty, Joseph! Nothing about his wonderful seamanship that kept the ship afloat or about the quick wittedness and strength that saved him, or about his sojourn on the island or his daring escape from it!”

“I suppose a ship came along and took him off,” said Joseph. “I don’t see any daring in that.”

“Well, if you don’t, I do,” retorted his sister. “The idea of a man like Captain Shannon waiting for a ship to take him away!”

“Well, it would be more sensible to wait a spell before he started out,” observed Joseph.

Tenderly disposed as she was to the memory of Captain Shannon, Joseph’s remark grated upon Miss Katherine, and she made a very cutting remark about people who had no fine sensibilities themselves and could not feel for others who had. However, she forgave and forgot very quickly, and the next evening she confided to Joseph a most important discovery.

“You remember that I read last night that Captain Shannon had been on Cocos Island?” she asked.

Joseph replied that he remembered all she had read to him.

“Well,” continued Miss Katherine, “the name of that island bothered me all night, and to-day I set to work to find out what I had heard about it. This is what I found in the encyclopedia:

“‘Cocos Island, volcanic island in the Pacific Ocean, S. W. of Costa Rica, with steep rugged coasts and quite level interior; comprises about nine square miles, is uninhabited and is reported to have been the place of concealment of treasure, jewelry and plate sent there by wealthy inhabitants of Spanish colonies on the neighboring mainland early in the nineteenth century, during the wars in which they achieved their independence from Spain. The belief that many of these valuables have never been recovered led to a number of unsuccessful search expeditions.’

“They have never been recovered, Joseph,” repeated Miss Katherine with glistening eyes. “Did you note the significance of that? The treasure was there when Captain Shannon landed on the island, and there he was alone on the island, with provisions enough to enable him to remain there a considerable time, with tools to aid him in a complete search, and with a raft to carry him to the mainland when he had found the object of his search. What do you think now, Joseph?”

“He must have had a devil of a time landing on that island in a raft if the coast is rugged and steep, as it says,” remarked Joseph irrelevantly.

Miss Katherine wanted to shake her brother, but she brought wile instead of strength to her aid. Joseph was known among his neighbors to be “a little close.” He certainly regarded with respect and almost reverence whatever represented a good sum of dollars.

“That treasure must have been worth millions of dollars,” began Miss Katherine. “Even if Captain Shannon discovered or brought away only a small part of it, there would have been great wealth in that part.”

“But he might not have known anything about it,” interposed Joseph, who was becoming interested.

“The idea!” exclaimed his sister, “Captain Shannon not to know all about Cocos Island!”

But Joseph wasn’t to be scorned off well taken ground, and maintained that the Captain had had too much sense to put dependence in such yarns as that.

Miss Katherine began very patiently:

“It isn’t a yarn, but a well substantiated fact that every sea captain would know. But I have good reasons for believing he found it,” concluded Miss Katherine mysteriously.

Miss Katherine closed her lips tightly as if she knew a great deal but was resolved to make no more disclosures to a skeptic. She acted very wisely, for curiosity is not confined exclusively to females. Joseph resisted as long as he could and then said in a gruffly apologetic tone:

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Katie; but I was trying to see all sides of the case. Would you have any idea where he put the money and valuables, if he found them?”

Miss Katherine was quite mollified.

“I wouldn’t want to say that I knew exactly where he put them, but I’ll tell you what I’ve deduced from the facts of the case. One would suppose that Captain Shannon had put all his money into his schooner which was lost, but notwithstanding that he immediately settles here and spends a good deal of money upon this property. I am convinced that that money was part of the treasure he found on Cocos Island.”

Miss Katherine paused impressively.

“Where is the rest?” asked her brother in almost child-like faith.

“Fate destined the Captain to be a victim of the sea, so he had to leave, and he thought to himself that he wanted his treasure to fall into the hands of some kindred spirit, should he never return. Captain Shannon is a man whom few understand, but I am convinced that I do. He was a man of strong human sympathy—”

“Yes, Katie, dear,” interrupted Joseph meekly. “What you say is perfectly correct, but what were you going to say about the treasure?”

“I was just about to explain it all, Joseph. He wanted his treasure to fall into the hands of some kindred spirit, should he never return, some one who would be able to deduce his idea from the clews he left behind. First he leaves instructions that only congenial people are to rent this property, then he leaves his diary. Then he says to himself, ‘If the person that reads this diary is really interested in me, that person will find out the history of Cocos Island and infer my discovery of the treasure.’ And then he thought it would be but a short step to the actual finding of the treasure.”

“Humph!” grunted Joseph. “A short step? In what direction I’d like to know?”

“I am not prepared to say exactly where it is,” explained Miss Katherine, “but my theory is that it is secreted about the house or garden.”

“If it’s in that garden,” began Joseph, energetically but was interrupted.

“We must be very guarded and no one must suspect our purpose,” cautioned Miss Katherine. “We cannot tell to what ends people might go if it was discovered that there was a great treasure concealed here. We will have to be careful about admitting strangers to the house or garden. It is very probable that some sailors, friends of Captain Shannon’s, might have suspected this, for I never read a treasure story yet where someone didn’t make trouble.”

Twice that night, after Miss Katherine had retired to rest, she almost rose from her bed at the thought that the house was in a most unfortified state. Whether she expected to see John Silver, wooden leg, urbanity and all, climbing in at the window, I can not say, but she felt so insecure that it was long after midnight when she fell asleep. She dreamed that Captain Shannon and she were sailing away to Cocos Island and he was telling her that all the jewels there were hers if she would only take him, too. Ah! the futility of the sweetest dreams!

But the next day Miss Katherine had the treasure searching problem well in hand. Her mind had at once turned to the classic on this subject, and she hastened to find Poe’s “Purloined Letter” and “Gold Bug.” Therein she found many possible methods and studied in detail the house-searching methods of the Parisian commissaire de police. She imparted something of what she had learned to Joseph, but he didn’t have any faith in ‘yarns.’ His fingers were itching to use the spade and pick-axe, but this Miss Katherine strictly forbade as yet.

The next day she continued her studies and was in a most interesting and instructive part when the door bell rang. She knew that Mrs. White, their only maid, was so employed that she could not go to the door. Reluctantly she laid down her book and answered the ring. A well-built, fresh, clean shaven man of about sixty regarded Miss Katherine pleasantly as he inquired if Mr. Boulby were home. Upon being informed that Mr. Boulby was not home, the stranger said that with permission he would step in and explain his business. The line of thought upon which Miss Katherine had been intent for the past few days had inclined her to be suspicious, and she regarded the stranger with a distrustful eye. He, however, was quite unobservant of this attitude toward himself, and he stepped into the hall. Miss Katherine was compelled to conduct him to the library, the other rooms being in the throes of house-cleaning. As the stranger entered that room his eye fell immediately upon Captain Shannon’s portrait which occupied a very conspicuous place. He seemed struck by it, and as Miss Katherine turned to offer him a chair she saw him gazing at it with great interest.

“Ah, you observe Captain Shannon’s portrait,” said Miss Katherine in a pleased voice. “We have just come here, but I am greatly interested in the Captain. I found the portrait in a closet and framed it. I think it is a remarkable face, don’t you?”

The question seemed to confuse the stranger.

“I—er—do you?” he stammered. “I—er—I believe I have met the Captain, oh, I mean I knew him quite well. Now, er, well really what is remarkable about the face?”

“There is so much remarkable about it, to me,” returned Miss Katherine. “There is unusual strength in every feature, it seems to me, and the face is a most interesting and attractive one.”

The stranger’s hand crept to his face where it went through the motions of clutching a beard, an adornment which he lacked. He gazed stupidly from the portrait to Miss Katherine and back again to the portrait. He spoke in a very hesitating and uncertain way.

“Did you say—that you—er—found the portrait in a closet—er—and went to the trouble of framing it?”

“Yes, that is quite correct. But it was no trouble, only a pleasure and the contemplation of those features has amply repaid me,” replied Miss Katherine.

“It—er—will naturally be very gratifying to—er—the Captain—ah—when he returns—ah—to find his portrait so—er—highly valued,” observed the man.

“I’m sure I couldn’t say about that as the poor Captain was drowned, at least he is supposed to have been lost at sea. But I believe him to have been a very modest man, and I doubt whether it would really gratify him to see his portrait there.”

The stranger’s hand again went to his face, and as it was a large hand almost covered the features.

“I hadn’t heard,” he began in a very throaty voice, “I—I—didn’t know that the Captain—ah—wasn’t—er—what you just said, you know.”

Miss Katherine observed the stranger sympathetically. He had evidently been a friend of the Captain and felt his loss.

“Sit down, sir,” she said kindly, “I see you feel this, and no wonder. Of course in cases like this one is never sure just what has happened; but it is believed that Captain Shannon must have met with some misfortune as he has not been heard from for seven years.”

“Oh! seven years!” repeated the man. “Ah, I see.”

“It is a pity that such a man as Captain Shannon should be cut off in his prime,” sighed Miss Katherine.

“Ah, you think that the late Captain was—er—a—ah—some good in the world?” inquired the stranger.

“I am very sure he was that and a most charming man besides,” replied Miss Katherine, her eyes dwelling admiringly and wistfully on the portrait.

“The Captain should be hap—ah, I mean—er—it is pleasant—er—I should say, madam, that—ah—in fact I am detaining you,” he lucidly concluded.

“Not at all,” returned Miss Katherine affably. “If you would explain your business I might serve in place of my brother, or I can tell him you called, Mr. ——”

“Oh—a—Murphy,” supplied the stranger hastily. “I knew this place was for rent but didn’t know whether it had been taken or not so I thought I’d see about it. It would suit me splendidly. Would you—ah—could you consider a lodger, madam?”

“Well, really,” replied Miss Katherine very pleasantly—the man was very gentlemanly and not at all ordinary—“really, I’m afraid not, although I should very much like to accommodate you.”

“Oh, that’s alright,” Mr. Murphy assured her. “It’s a nice healthy spot and I think I’ll spend a few months here—to—er—recover my health.”

Miss Katherine looked at his fresh face and vigorous frame in some surprise, whereupon Mr. Murphy made haste to explain:

“I am feeling very much better now, but not quite right. I—ah—should be able to lift five hundred pounds. Well now, I’ll just say good morning and I’ll see if I can get suitable lodgings somewhere near. I feel—er—that our common friendship for the late Captain Shannon should be—ah—a sort of bond, so to speak, between us, so I shall drop in to see you again.”

Miss Katherine gave him a very cordial invitation to come and see her brother and herself frequently.

When the door had closed upon Mr. Murphy, a shade passed over her face and she betook herself again to the library. Could it be that this stranger was a spy? Had he really known the Captain and suspected the existence of the treasure? Was he going to stay in the vicinity to keep watch upon them? Miss Katherine trembled as she thought of what might have become of Joseph and herself if she had taken him as a lodger. But here poor Miss Katherine’s heart suffered a pang, for she thought of the gentlemanly deportment and attractive appearance of her visitor. He had seemed quite impressed with her, too. There was no denying it. She rose from the chair with a sigh and walked about the room.

“I must hide the book, anyway,” she exclaimed aloud. “There’s no telling what that man was after and I’d better put it in a safe place.”

She took the treasured volume—Capt. Shannon’s diary—and, after glancing out of the window to make sure she was not watched, she stole cautiously from the room as if the house were full of spies. When she reached the floor above she stood still, wondering what hiding places the house afforded. There were not many, she knew, but now she could think of none. Downstairs was out of the question. Anyone could come in there at night and carry it off. The second floor was little better for the windows were all open and anyone could enter them by means of a ladder. The attic! Yes, that was the only place and Miss Katherine flew up the steep stairs to the attic.

There was a very little light admitted through a small window, and when her eyes became accustomed to the dim light, she saw a trap door in the ceiling. Of all places in the world this was the most desirable. As luck would have it she found an old ladder among the rubbish. One end of this she placed against the trap door, then, pushing with all her might at the other end, she succeeded in raising the door and liberating clouds of dust, spiders, dead flies and cob-webs. Though half choked and blinded she proceeded to execute her scheme. Placing an end of the ladder in the opening she endeavored to make it secure from slipping. Of its strength she was fairly satisfied, but she could not feel confident of its equilibrium. She did the best she could and then began the perilous ascent. She held the book in one hand and with the other clung fearfully to the rickety ladder. She stood in need of another prehensile member for the rungs of the ladder were worn smooth as glass and every upward step was fraught with danger. The ladder creaked ominously beneath a weight that was far from trifling. However, she made a steady progress, and when she had climbed as far as she dared, she very cautiously reached upward and placed the book upon the rafters. In her relief at having placed the book in safety she forgot caution and gave the ladder the excuse it was looking for. She felt the ladder going and frantically grabbed the side of the trap door. It was well her arms were not slender ones for they had to support her entire weight. The very ceiling creaked. A severe fall was to be preferred to bringing the roof down upon her, so she suddenly let go her hold and came crashing down upon the floor that quivered to receive its burden. But it was only a moment before Miss Katherine was sufficiently recovered to assure herself that, as the book was securely hidden nothing else was of consequence.

Poor Miss Katherine was bruised all over and had considerable difficulty in hiding her physical sufferings from Mrs. White, who was a native of Ocean View, and therefore it would never do to arouse her suspicions. When that lady asked Miss Katherine how she got such a bruise on her arm, she replied that her flesh bruised at a touch and she must have struck it against something. But when Mrs. White inadvertently touched Miss Katherine upon quite another part of her body and she flinched before she recollected caution, the aforementioned lady began to wonder, and when a woman begins to wonder she soon has something to tell.

When Joseph returned his sister related all that had occurred during his absence.

His evident uneasiness concerning Mr. Murphy’s motives was quite comforting. It is so gloomy to be the only anxious one in the house.

“He can’t set foot on the property if we forbid him,” said Joseph with a determined countenance.

“But we can’t do that, at least it wouldn’t be wise,” remonstrated his sister gently. It was soothing to her bruises to note Joseph’s anxiety. “He is a perfect gentleman, a man we couldn’t treat rudely. He mightn’t be spying at all and then we’d look ridiculous, or we might arouse suspicions in him by over caution. Now my plan is to let him call if he cares to, but never to leave him alone and to watch all his movements very carefully. He might unconsciously give us a clew if he has any exact knowledge of the whereabouts of the treasure. Now don’t you think that’s the wisest course to pursue?”

Joseph had no wile in his makeup, so would have preferred a pugilistic encounter at the gate, as the best way of dealing with a spy, but his sister was undeniably the leader in this affair, so he agreed to remain passive while she matured her plan.

It was well that they made their decision concerning the stranger when they did for the next day, in the afternoon, as Joseph was digging among the flowers in the front garden, Mr. Murphy appeared at the gate. Joseph’s interest in his work had driven all thoughts of treasure and treasure seekers out of his mind. He supposed it to be one of his neighbors and merely looked up and nodded to the caller to enter.

“Good afternoon neighbor,” said Joseph with what breath his unwonted exertions allowed him, “could you tell me whether it’s too late to separate these roots and transplant them? I think they’re too thick, but I don’t want to spoil ’em for blossoming this year. I think a piny is as pretty a flower as grows.”

“Why, now, I’d think this was about the right time to separate the roots, but you want to do it right. Now, if you’d just give me the spade I’ll show you how to handle it and not cut the roots and I’ll separate them, too,” replied Joseph’s neighbor, throwing off his coat and seizing the spade.

Joseph stood by and watched for a few moments and then trotted off to get himself a spade. The two men spaded and puffed until all the peony roots lay on the fresh earth. Then the work of separation began. The supposed neighbor acted as teacher and Joseph was an interested pupil.

“Bless my soul!” exclaimed Miss Katherine, as she looked out of the window. “Mr. Murphy!”

For almost the first time in her life she experienced a pang of jealousy and pique. When she had advocated tolerancy towards the suspect, it must be confessed that Miss Katherine was influenced by more than one consideration. She had been inclined to think that if the stranger came again, she would be the magnet and not the treasure. And now here he was pottering around with Joseph!

She didn’t stay vexed long, for soon she thought he might have been coming to see her and Joseph in his stupid way had stopped him with questions about his flowers. And then he very likely was fond of flowers and gardening. All nice men were. The Captain had been passionately fond of them.

Finally Miss Katherine sallied out with her most engaging countenance.

“So you have pressed Mr. Murphy into service, Joseph?” she asked brightly.

“Eh?” returned Joseph. How did Kate know this neighbor’s name?

“I haven’t even introduced myself to your brother, Miss Boulby,” explained Mr. Murphy. “We have been working so hard I clear forgot.”

“I mentioned Mr. Murphy’s calling, if you remember,” said Miss Katherine to her brother, nudging him sharply.

“Oh, Mr. Murphy,” repeated Joseph. He recollected it all now, and being no actor, dared do nothing but stare.

“You must come in to tea,” said Miss Katherine to Mr. Murphy, who accepted promptly.

When his sister became leader in this scene, Joseph retired to the background and subsequently to the back yard. Miss Katherine conducted her guest to the library. Supper would soon be ready.

“You remind me somewhat of Captain Shannon,” remarked Miss Katherine.

Mr. Murphy looked rather startled.

“I mean that you are fond of gardening. I have been told that it was a passion with the Captain,” explained Miss Katherine.

“I heard something like that, too, about the Captain,” returned Mr. Murphy, who seemed more fluent than upon his first visit.

“How are you feeling to-day, Mr. Murphy?” inquired Miss Katherine kindly.

“Feeling,—feeling?” repeated her guest in a puzzled way.

“Do you think Ocean View will completely restore your health?” explained Miss Katherine.

“Oh! Ah, yes!” hastily began Mr. Murphy. “To tell you the truth I have been so hearty lately that I forget I came here for my health.”

“Isn’t that lovely!” exclaimed Miss Katherine delightedly.

“Ah—er—yes, it is,” replied her guest helplessly. He was unaccustomed to feminine effusiveness.

“I—ah—really I find that Captain Shannon interests me. Would you tell me something more about him?” asked Mr. Murphy.

“I suppose it is some years since you knew him?” interrogated Miss Katherine, and, as her guest made a rather unintelligible reply, she continued:

“I have gathered very little from others concerning Captain Shannon, but I have deduced a great deal. I don’t think there is any class of people so interesting as sailors, and especially captains. They are daring, picturesque, romantic, don’t you think?”—Mr. Murphy scratched his head as if he would make an inlet for these new ideas.—“Paul Jones, Long Tom and even Captain Kidd were such captivating characters.”—Mr. Murphy changed off to the other hand.—“On this account I was disposed to admire Captain Shannon, and when I noticed the books he had read and loved I admired him much more. I have always told my brother that a man is charming in proportion to his love of tales of daring and chivalry and romance.”

Here the tide of Miss Katherine’s eloquence was interrupted by an eager gesture from her listener.

“If Captain Shannon set such store by those books, I believe I’ll have a try at them,” he said.

Miss Katherine’s face glowed. Here was a man! She went to the shelves and read over the names. Seeing Mr. Murphy’s lips moving as if he were committing them to memory she offered to make a list for him. This was too great a kindness! How much he would value it!

All this and more that followed on the same lines raised Mr. Murphy to a great height in Miss Katherine’s estimation. Through strict vigilance he succeeded in maintaining this exalted position.

Though other matters might temporarily thrust aside her central subject of interest, Miss Katherine invariably returned to it. The morning after Mr. Murphy’s second visit she set to work in earnest to obtain a clew to the hiding place of Captain Shannon’s treasure. Where was she to begin? She was well informed on the subject of secret drawers and closets and she knew that one was apt to stumble upon them unawares. An inadvertent touch upon a panel, the slightest pressure on some bit of carving might expose the most cleverly concealed hiding place.

For this reason Miss Katherine experienced more or less uneasiness when Mrs. White was not directly under her eye. She found excuses to follow her about constantly, until that honest woman, being of ordinary penetration, concluded that she was not thought strictly trustworthy. As she was a very sensible being she decided that it was not unreasonable for Miss Boulby, an entire stranger, to keep an eye on her. She had heard of such substantials as butter, meat and flour disappearing through the back door, through the agency of the domestic, so she offered to get a testimonial from the minister. Miss Katherine saw her mistake at once and lied glibly but not well. She explained that since coming to that house she had been strangely timid and didn’t like to be alone, and if Mrs. White had noticed her following her about it was for that reason and no other. To give weight to her assertion, she threw in a ghost or two that she had suspected the house of harboring. Miss Katherine would not have congratulated herself upon the success of her explanation had she known that Mrs. White was saying to herself that perhaps all that was true and perhaps it wasn’t, but it would be wise for her to keep an eye on Miss Boulby.

Miss Katherine had not yet made a sufficiently exhaustive study of Poe’s Prose tales and was thus employed in the library the next morning, when, happening to glance up from her book, her eyes fell upon the great fireplace that occupied almost the entire end of the room. Miss Katherine received an inspiration. She sat up, straight and alert.

“It is a most likely place,” she said aloud.

She went over to the fireplace, looked at it carefully and began a careful examination of the old-fashioned iron ornamentations. In the centre of the mantle was a dog’s head in gilded iron. She pinched and pushed him, trying to find a spring in his eyes, nose, ears or tail. He remained immovable, however, as did everything else pertaining to the mantle. But there was still hope. She lightly tapped the brick walls for she had been reading Poe’s frightful tale of the black cat, and she had learned that an unusual space in a wall could be detected by a light rap upon it. Miss Katherine’s ear was not trained to this sort of divination, but she persevered, testing first a wall she was certain was solid and then working on a suspected area.

Mrs. White had not forgotten her suspicions of the previous day and was on the alert. She knew Miss Boulby was in the library and when she caught the sound of a gently repeated, mysterious rapping in that room, she tiptoed to the door and applied her eye to the keyhole. What she saw would have made anyone inquire whether Miss Boulby were in possession of her senses or if she never had had any. She was down upon her knees before the hearth, gently tapping the bricks and listening intently to the sound she produced.

“My stars alive!” whispered Mrs. White to herself as she rose on trembling limbs, “what’s she after or is she crazy? It’s my belief she’s stark crazy.”

Unable to satisfactorily answer her own query she crept back to the kitchen, where she sat down and faced the situation. Was she not in danger by remaining there with a lunatic? She shivered when she thought that she very likely had been within an inch of death when Miss Boulby had taken to following her around. Thank goodness, she had taken to tearing the house to bits and not her! Mrs. White resolved to have a bad attack of sciatica that very night and to leave the next morning. Meanwhile she would be constantly on guard.

All unsuspecting this attitude on Mrs. White’s part, Miss Katherine was preparing for bed that night and thinking about the unfortunate impression she had made upon Mrs. White.

“She is a good and sensible woman,” said Miss Katherine to herself. “I should be very sorry to hurt her feelings or awaken any suspicions in her, but—I declare to goodness I’ve never searched the cellar and that’s one of the likeliest places. I can’t possibly do it in the daytime for she goes there so frequently. I’d just better slip down now and have a look.”

So saying, Miss Katherine slipped a heavy wrapper over her night dress, drew on her stockings and slippers, and with the extreme caution that makes every board in a floor creak and every joint in one’s body crack, she proceeded down the stairs.

Now this stealthy tread was just what Mrs. White’s ears was expecting.

“She’s prowling round the house,” whispered that lady to herself. “It’s a mercy I didn’t fall asleep.”

Having located the enemy, Mrs. White slipped out in cautious pursuit. She heard Miss Katherine enter into the kitchen and open the cellar door and start down the stairs. She stole out the front way and went round the house to a cellar window. When she arrived at that vantage point she beheld Miss Katherine standing in the centre of the cellar, holding a lamp above her head that she might first get a good general view before beginning particular investigations.

“This is a difficult task,” she said aloud, “the cellar is so large that it would take me all night to sound all the walls. Now, would there be an old iron-bound sea-chest, the kind sailors hide things in, in a corner here?”

Holding her lamp well above her head, she slowly turned herself about that she might see every corner.

Now it happened that old Tabby had just presented the thankless household with a family of kittens. She had thought that some straw that lay in a corner of the cellar would be a soft, safe bed for her babies, and as a broken window provided ingress and egress for herself, she had taken possession of the corner. Old Tabby’s guard over her family was most vigilant, but she had not been disturbed until this strange figure made its appearance in the centre of the cellar.

As Miss Katherine brought her light to bear upon Tabby’s corner, the watcher at the window, who knew nothing of the family in the cellar, beheld the lamp dashed to the ground and heard a terrified but half-suppressed shriek and then flying footsteps. She did not wait to see or hear more but stole upstairs as fast as she could in a panic, not knowing but that she might meet the maniac on the stairs.

“I’ll be crazy, too, if I stay here any longer,” she said to herself. “If I’m spared till morning I’ll get out of this.”

She put all the movable furniture in her room against the door, sent up a fervent prayer for protection and got into bed, but not with the intention of sleeping.

The next morning she informed Miss Boulby that she was far from well, was all crippled with sciatica and would have to leave. Her pale face corroborated her words and reluctantly Miss Katherine let her go.

I should like now to turn the reader’s attention to our friend, Mr. Murphy. That gentleman had found comfortable lodgings and seemed to be getting much attached to Ocean View. By watching rather closely one might suspect that he wished to avoid the adults of Ocean View, excepting Mr. and Miss Boulby. He called upon them pretty frequently. The boys of the neighborhood found his society very entertaining and followed in a pack at his heels. He did not always welcome this following, however, for he often put a book in his pocket and rambled along the shore until he found just the right spot where he could sit and read undisturbed. He had taken to doing this immediately after his second call at the Boulbys’. The books he carried at first bore the mark of Ocean View Public Library. But one afternoon when he had found his favored spot, he drew from his pocket a glistening new volume.

“Gosh darn it!” muttered Mr. Murphy, as he regarded the book, “if I’d ever thought I’d come to this I suppose I’d ’ve drowned myself.”

He leafed over the book and looked at the illustrations.

“It ain’t dull reading anyway. It might be worse. They say Cooper was a clever man so I guess it won’t spoil my intellect to read ’em. But it does beat all how tenants use things. To think of those brand new books looking like that!”

Mr. Murphy turned to the first chapter and began “The Pilot.” He became very much interested therein and read on till the greyness of the page told him that it was growing late. He closed the book, put it in his pocket, stretched out his legs and gazed across the water.

“I’ll be damned if it isn’t the best of any of ’em, and I’ve read upwards of two dozen now. Well, I’d never have believed it. You’ll come to almost anything in this world, that’s my belief. But it does take a woman to give you the push that starts you down.”

He meditated silently for sometime, but began again to hold audible commune with himself. “I wonder if I’ve got the correct picture in my head of that knight of the waves hanging up in that library? It would be a good pattern to model myself after if the elements of all those high qualities ain’t in me already. By darn, that’s it! They are in me all the time, too, and I don’t realize it. They just need bringin’ to the surface, excavating ’em so to speak. ‘Daring’ was one of ’em—well, I never was called a coward. ‘Picturesque’—that’s a hard one to come at. Now an Indian dressed up in his war togs, or a Mexican or even a cowboy would have some claim on that quality, but I’ll be darned what a plain, sober, God-fearing man can do to be it and keep the respect of his mates. I’m doubtful of making that one. If I remember right she claimed he was ‘romantic.’” Mr. Murphy kicked the pebbles about and then resumed his monologue. “It wouldn’t be as hard to make that one as the other one. I’ve got half a dozen to steer by in any one of the books I’ve been pouring down me. Let me see, though, she mentioned two or three: Captain Kidd was among ’em, I remember. I’d hate to have to carry on my conscience all he must have had on his, if that’s necessary to qualify. But I’ve heard he wore stunning whiskers and that’s probably what took her eye. I can’t call the others to mind but I’m bound to hit on them soon if my eyes don’t give out.”

The lengthening shadows warned Mr. Murphy that it was past supper time, so he rose, stretched himself and started homeward.

All this time we have been ignoring Joseph, who had again fallen into the even tenor of his way. The vision of gold that had for a time disturbed his tranquility had vanished almost as suddenly as it had arisen. Such flights of imagination were not for him and he was leading a life of perfect content when a malicious sprite stumbled upon him and marked him for her own.

Joseph and Willie Brown, a neighbor’s boy, were spading up the ground where he had decided to replant his currant bushes. Mr. Murphy had been sauntering about and had pulled a book out of his pocket and departed when Joseph’s unlucky spade threw up something which, in hitting against a stone, had given forth such a clear, ringing sound that he stooped down and felt about in the fresh earth. His fingers closed upon something cold, flat and round. He rubbed it against his overalls until a piece of gold milled like a coin came to view. In a moment his mind had made the connection between his sister’s theories and his discovery. He stood gazing at the piece of gold. “Holy Moses!” he softly ejaculated.

Suddenly he remembered Willie. He had found but a clew to the treasure. Where was the bulk of it? Willie suspected something already. Joseph looked at the boy, then at the gold piece, and then at the place where he had found it. I have remarked before that there was no strategy in Joseph’s nature. He seized Willie by the arm and marched him towards the house.

“That ground’s too hard for currant bushes,” he said to the astonished boy. “We won’t work any more to-day.”

However, Willie felt he had no cause for complaint, as Joseph gave him a whole day’s pay and Miss Katherine filled his pockets with cookies.

Brother and sister now held a consultation and decided that they must be up and doing. Miss Katherine believed that they were in imminent danger of having their treasure looted.

“I know boys,” she said, “they’re all eyes and ears. He saw what you found before you did and he’ll tell all the rest of the boys and they’ll come in the night and carry the whole thing away. I think we’d better not go out to that spot again to-day for you can depend upon it, he’s watching. He’ll forget about it by night and then we can go out with the lantern.”

Now, Willie Brown was like all other boys. After being dismissed by Mr. Boulby he sat down in the corner of a fence and thought. A light broke in upon him after a few moments of silent meditation.

“I’ll bet yuh anything!” he almost yelled, slapping his leg, “that’s it!”

True to the terrible oath he had sworn, he was off like a shot to rally the Faithful Band. It happened that he met Mr. Murphy before any of the Band.

“I thought you were helping Mr. Boulby,” said Mr. Murphy.

“So I was but—but—.” Willie’s pride in his secret and mystery was his downfall. From that moment he was an empty vessel in Mr. Murphy’s sight.

That night found the brother and sister plying their spades in the garden. Their lantern was burning dimly, but it gave sufficient light to show the boys all they wished to see.

“What did I tell yuh?” whispered Willie to his comrades of the Faithful Band. “Don’t that beat everything? And here it was all the time and we didn’t know it.”

“I’ll bet the old Captain was a pirate,” whispered Ned Larkins.

“I’ll bet so, too,” whispered another.

There is always somebody to throw cold water on our most cherished theories, as Willie Brown was soon to learn.

“If you didn’t take that thing in your own hands and examine it, you don’t know what it was, Willie,” remarked Tom Parker. “There is a mystery here alright enough, but I wouldn’t say you’re right, Willie.”

When they were a safe distance away they besought Tom to give them the benefit of his theory, but he absolutely refused. There was no good, he said, in his getting mixed up with it, for if he wasn’t mistaken there’d be trouble about this thing yet. Considerably sobered, the band dispersed.

The next day, though dejected and cast down, Willie Brown again circulated the fiery cross among his faithful followers, and did not even except the skeptic. He was fated to again fall in with Mr. Murphy, who had been doing some midnight scouting himself and was therefore in both glee and perplexity. By a few skillful questions and tentative remarks, Mr. Murphy obtained all the information he could desire.

The next day Joseph and his sister were feeling pretty stiff and sore after the unaccustomed exposure to the dew and cold. They decided not to work that night.

“You had better drag that big packing box over the hole, Joseph,” said Miss Katherine. “Somebody might fall in and break a leg.”

The Faithful Band appeared later than the previous night. Mr. Murphy had dropped a hint about the folly of undertaking certain kinds of expeditions at any other time than midnight. They saw the faint outlines of the box but nothing else. At first they were discomfited and then elated. Ned Larkins said that they must climb over the fence into the garden and dig in the exact spot where the box then was.

Tom Parker, the dissenter, being the oldest and biggest, was appointed leader.

“No, sir!” declared he emphatically. “I know better than that. I’ve got too much sense to meddle with that. The biggest detective in New York wouldn’t dare go and leave his tracks around there. Oh, no! they’re too cute for that.”

Tom, of course, meant to imply that he also was “too cute for that.”

Willie had taken one snub from Tom and he was determined that should be the last.

“You’re a calf,” was his polite reply to Tom as he vaulted over the fence. “Who’s goin’ to foller me?”

They all followed, even Tom Parker. They advanced cautiously. Willie’s temerity was moderating and he waited for the rest to come up with him. They advanced in a semicircle. As the wavering line was within ten yards of the box that object seemed to lift itself from the ground and a deep groan arose as from the bowels of the earth. Oh what a fright was that—my Faithful Banders! In a moment the fence seemed alive with terrified and struggling boys. Mr. Murphy crawled out of his cramped quarters and went home.

The boys had, of course, been properly sworn to secrecy, but somehow, the next day an uneasy feeling pervaded the village. No one seemed to possess any definite information, but there were rumors to the effect that there were peculiar folks now in the neighborhood; people weren’t really safe and Mrs. White could tell a good deal if she would. That lady had exercised a good deal of prudence and had said very little about the Boulbys, but the day after the boys’ adventure she was credited with volumes.

It was not long before the strong minded mother of a member of the Faithful Band had obtained from him enough to warrant her sending to all the matrons of the village a pressing invitation to tea that afternoon. It was a formidable group that foregathered that afternoon. The discoveries and adventures of the Band were duly narrated and embellished.

Out of the chaos of frightful tales that flourished exceedingly and waxed more and more fearful, one could have deduced the fact that the Boulbys were nothing more or less than modern Blue-Beards.

Well, their families had to be protected, and if they told the men all they knew it would be all over the country in no time, and for some reason they didn’t think that would be well. As far as they could see the best thing to be done was for them to investigate for themselves that very night.

And so it was that for the third time the Boulbys were to undergo a night attack.

Miss Katherine was not the sort of woman to be caught sleeping. She had been unable to continue the excavation, owing to a slight attack of rheumatism. She felt uneasy about so vast a treasure lying unguarded and begged Joseph to make himself some sort of shelter in the garden and keep watch during the night.

“You wouldn’t have to keep awake all the time,” she said, “you’d hear any noise in your sleep and it would do you good to sleep out in the fresh air.”

But Joseph was not a fresh air enthusiast, and the very idea of sleeping in the garden gave him rheumatic twinges. However, Miss Katherine was not to be balked. She took the faithful old dog Bruno by the collar and led him to the garden where she pointed out the box and explained his duty to him. Bruno understood and consented.

“A woman has always one she can depend on, if she has a dog,” Miss Katherine cuttingly remarked as she re-entered the house.

Just a word about Mr. Murphy before we proceed with the night attack.

He had been very busy all day, walking about the village, chatting with the boys and gossiping with the women. There might have been method in his gossip, as he seemed to elicit just what he desired. Towards evening he took a walk along the shore and held communion with himself.

“I don’t think she’d call it chivalrous to scare them. But she’d rate it pretty high if I kept watch to come to the rescue of the besieged or the besiegers, whichever needs help.”

As Mr. Murphy has reached this satisfactory conclusion we will leave him and return to follow the female posse across the fields to the Boulbys’ garden.

When the group of trembling females had reached the garden fence they beheld the confirmation of the boy’s story.

There was a whispered discussion of the advisability of further investigation. The pros won and the means to this end now stared them in the face.

The picket fence had presented no difficulties to the boys but it was a great obstacle to their mothers. To climb it was impossible. The only other way was to make a breach wide enough to admit a portly form. One picket was gone and they began loosening several on each side of the opening. It was difficult to do this and prevent the loosening nails from screeching. The process was a very slow one as such care had to be exercised.

Meanwhile Bruno was quite cognizant of their presence and with bristling hair and bared teeth was crouching for an attack when further provocation should be given.

The Boulbys had retired early, as neither was feeling very well, but towards midnight Miss Katherine awoke and began to think of poor old Bruno. She thought she would get up and peek out to see if he were all right.

The trespassers were making sure but slow progress and were still hanging on the pickets with their whole weight as Miss Katherine looked out of the window. She was not at all alarmed. She understood her own sex, her faithful dog and her own resources.

The heaviest of the group had now been pressed into service as weights on the loosening pickets which suddenly surrendered with a frightful wrenching sound. Simultaneously with this noise there arose from the box a savage growl and a great, black beast threw himself into the air like an imprisoned spirit released from Hades. From the window had come a sharp report and from the opposite fence a yell that must have been emitted from a savage throat.

At the too sudden surrender of the pickets four heavy females were precipitated against their companions and the whole posse fell in an inextricable mass upon the ground.

Miss Katherine let the burst paper bag flutter to the ground as she hung upon the window curtain, helpless with laughter.

Mr. Murphy scudded away from behind the fence ejaculating,

“Bully for her! She doesn’t need a protector. It’s no wonder she’s set her heart on a romantic man.”

When morning came and they could speak more calmly concerning their bruises the same females were again met in conclave.

Some were for placing the matter in the hands of the constable, but this did not meet with unanimous approval.

“Poor old constable Wilson couldn’t get up enough courage to go there,” said one.

“It would be a shame to ask him,” said another. “Everybody knows he isn’t expected to look after anything dangerous. Such a thing as this was never heard of before in this neighborhood, so they just put in old man Wilson for he could keep the boys out of the orchards and ’tend pound and that’s about all there is to do in this neighborhood. Now isn’t there somebody that could handle them Boulbys?”

“I’ve got a plan,” began an earnest faced matron. “I think Mr. Horton’s the man to see to this. If he can’t exhort the evil spirit to come out of them Boulbys, nobody can. And he ain’t afraid of anything either. It’s his duty, too, to look after things like this, for we all know that the Evil One has taken control of the Boulbys, body and soul. But we won’t have to do any urging to get Mr. Horton to do his duty. Just last Sunday he said in his sermon that the scent of the battle and the battle cry was like perfume to his nostrils and music in his ears, when he could wage war upon the forces of evil.”

“That’s a good plan,” agreed a sister in the church. “You’re right in saying he ain’t afraid of anything. His sermon last Sunday was a splendid one. I thought he’d break the old pulpit to pieces, he was that earnest. He preached about Gideon and Gideon always makes a good subject. Do you remember that he said that when he felt he was armed with the sword of the Lord and of Gideon he could face ten thousand foes?”

It was agreed that this fearless spirit would be undaunted by this task and a committee was appointed to place the matter before him.

Mr. Horton was a man, who, had he been of another religious persuasion, would have made one of Alva’s fiercest bloodhounds. He was untiring in his zeal for the cause he espoused. He knew not mercy and he gave no quarter in the battle. And so he listened with hardening face to the tale poured forth by the suffering females, the most faithful of his flock. No need to urge him forward on the path of duty. He gave his word that he would go forth without delay to wrestle with the evil spirit that possessed these unfortunate people.

And thus it was that Joseph caught sight of the ministerial form stalking up the walk just as his sister was concluding a recital of the events of the night before.

“The minister’s coming,” he warned Miss Katherine. “Don’t let him hear you laughing about scaring those women—likely it’s that he’s coming about.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed his sister. “I’d pretty soon tell him to mind his own business.”

Grim and undaunted Mr. Horton stood upon the verandah, awaiting admittance. Not even the pleasant, welcoming smile upon Joseph’s mild and open countenance softened his austerity.

“A wolf in sheep’s clothing, no doubt,” he said to himself.

It was well that he had steeled his heart, for Miss Katherine was at her pleasantest this morning, and she was very charming in that mood. But even she could not soften that heart of adamant.

When he had seated himself he calmly began a searching scrutiny of the two faces before him. Perhaps he was a student of natural history and had learned that this was one way of taming wild animals, and as he had come to cage the roaring lion that walked up and down the world seeking whom he could devour, it would be well to follow approved methods.

Mr. Horton was not a man to hesitate when his duty lay plain before him, so he informed the brother and sister that he had come to inquire after the welfare of their souls and to save them if they felt themselves lost and guilty sinners condemned to a fearful punishment.

Under this attack Joseph was more nettled than his sister. Miss Katherine told herself that he must be a religious fanatic and as they hadn’t yet attended church in Ocean View, he believed them to be godless people.

“I have every sympathy with religious enthusiasm,” she gently informed Mr. Horton, “but, of course, I don’t feel as strongly on the subject as you do.”

This remark confirmed his wolf theory and he began to fear that he had to deal with the wiliest of Satan’s lieutenants. He thought he had better strengthen himself by a word of prayer so informed them that they must kneel with him.

Joseph’s face grew dark, but Miss Katherine imperatively motioned to him to be silent and passive. Mr. Horton implored aid in the task he had undertaken and begged that he might be the instrument to bring these poor, lost, guilty souls to repentance. Under shelter of this storm of words Miss Katherine whispered to her brother that he must control himself and must not be violent.

When they rose from their knees, Mr. Horton was breathless, so Miss Katherine had him at her mercy. She politely asked him to excuse her brother as he was not feeling well, at which Joseph gratefully withdrew.

“A guilty soul is a terrible thing, Miss Boulby,” said Mr. Horton mopping his forehead.

“Yes, I suppose it must be,” she returned calmly, “but what is even worse is to have a mind that is constantly imagining evil in others. Now, Mr. Horton, the ladies of your church have quite ignored us since we came, but I should be very much pleased if Mrs. Horton and some of the prominent ladies in the church would call and we can discuss what I can do and where I can fit in in church work.”

Mr. Horton fairly shone with triumph. Here was a repentant sinner.

“There is joy among—” he began but that was too much for Miss Katherine.

About this time Mr. Murphy was giving the pebbles on the shore the benefit of one of his frequent monologues: “I’ve seen them taken with it before,” he informed himself, “but never so bad as she’s got it. Treasure hunting is like yellow fever. You’ve got to let it burn itself up. I should think her treasure hunting fever would be about cured, but you never can tell with a woman. Perhaps she’s onto a new place by this time. I hope she won’t go tearing the place down to see if there’s a secret chamber anywhere. I like her to enjoy herself, but she’s apt to get into trouble with Skinner if she destroys much property. I’ll have to think up some way of satisfying her or she’ll land in the penitentiary.

“I wonder if she’s found any more qualities in the old Cap’s picture? I think the picture’s got all the strength when she’s around, for darn me if I ain’t as weak as water when she goes talking about him being the kind of man she admires! For I know that there’s just so many qualities that I’ll begin to dig up out of me or to plant in me. But she might come to the end of the choicest characteristics soon and give a feller time to cultivate a few.”

The Captain tugged at a large volume in his pocket. He succeeded in tearing it out. The place where he had been reading was marked by a slip of paper upon which was a long list of books written in a feminine hand. The name of the volume Mr. Murphy was reading was the twenty-first on the slip and was ‘Treasure Island.’

“If I’d ever had a villain like that Silver around me I’d ’ve strung him up. Such dilly-dallying around makes me sick,” commented the reader.

“Why, Mr. Murphy, do you talk to yourself or are you reading aloud? Your expression is wonderful if you were reading,” said the pleasant voice of Miss Boulby who had quite innocently chosen for her afternoon walk Mr. Murphy’s usual direction.

That gentleman jumped to his feet in great trepidation. What had he been saying?

“Oh—why—I believe I was reading aloud. I get so interested in those books you were telling me about—the ones the Captain read so much, you know, that I read aloud before I think.”

Miss Katherine seated herself and motioned to Mr. Murphy to do the same. She picked up the book which had fallen in the reader’s surprise.

“Treasure Island! That is a most delightful book. I am so glad you enjoy it. I do think that a man who can, as it were, live these adventures with Stevenson’s characters is as delightful and interesting a person as,—as even old John Silver himself,” said Miss Katherine with enthusiasm.

“A-hem,” Mr. Murphy cleared his throat and rubbed his chin. “Do you like John Silver?”

“I think he’s just fascinating, don’t you?” returned Miss Katherine.

“Exactly, Miss Boulby. Fascinating’s the word I was hunting for just before you came up. But it’s the subject of the book itself that fetches me. I was always after hidden treasure, Captain Kidd’s and so on. I don’t suppose you were ever taken that way?”

Miss Katherine looked at her questioner out of the corner of her eye, but he was gazing abstractedly over the water.

“Well, yes, I must confess that I have been rather interested in hidden treasures. But, of course, I have never done any actual hunting as I have never had any clues. But I should think it would be very interesting. Did you mean that you have actually sought a specific treasure?”

“Not exactly that,” explained Mr. Murphy, “at least not till I came here.”

Miss Katherine’s eyes grew wide.

“I haven’t done any real diggin’ here yet,” he went on, “but I hope to begin soon. Now I don’t mind telling you for I’d like a partner, one who thinks as I do about it, you understand. It isn’t for the love of the money, you know, but the romance, that’s it, the romance. Now you know all about Captain Kidd?”

Miss Katherine nodded.

“Well, I’ve figured it out pretty well, and it’s my opinion that some of his hoard lies right along this shore and not very far from here.” Mr. Murphy’s imagination was pretty well exhausted so he stopped to recuperate.

“Along this shore and not far from here!” exclaimed Miss Katherine. “Dear me! Who’d have thought it? But have you any maps or plans or charts or whatever tells you where to look?”

Mr. Murphy’s imagination had taken a new lease on life.

“I’ve got them hidden carefully in my rooms,” he explained. “I have been comparing them with the physiognomy of the shore here and I believe with a little help on the subject which you can supply I would be able to identify the spot to-morrow.”

“I should love to help you,” exclaimed Miss Katherine. “It’s so very kind of you.”

“Oh, no, no!” returned Mr. Murphy. “It’s only just now since you told me that you were interested in treasure seeking that I have really enjoyed thinking about it.”

“You said you had always been interested in hidden treasures,” Miss Katherine reminded him.

Mr. Murphy’s face grew red. He hastened to explain:

“I mean that the books that I’ve been reading under your direction have been so interesting that I couldn’t bear to stop reading and look for the treasure.”

Miss Katherine beamed.

“We will search together,” she said coyly.

As they were walking home together, Mr. Murphy observed casually—

“A friend of mine who was a great friend of Captain Shannon’s told me once that the Captain had produced a new species of rose and that he had been awarded a gold medal by the American Horticultural Society. The Captain told my friend that he used to wear it on his chain but he lost it while working in his garden here. Wasn’t it a pity? I don’t suppose you have ever come across it?”

“Not that I know of,” returned Miss Katherine composedly.

When she got home she went immediately to the library and to the drawer that held the ancient golden coin that Joseph had found. She took it to the kitchen where she scraped and brushed it well. Behold! there was the name of the American Horticultural Society on one side and on the other the inscription:

“Consequitur quodcunque petit!”

When Mr. Horton returned from his visit to the Boulbys, he told his wife of the gratifying results and of Miss Boulby’s wish that she and other church workers would call upon her.

“The brother was strangely moved,” concluded Mr. Horton, “and the sister was greatly softened.”

Mrs. Horton and her friends did not delay calling upon Miss Boulby. That lady has been walking on air since the above-related conversation with Mr. Murphy and was in a very sweet and forgiving mood. She allowed her callers to talk just as much as they pleased and on the subject dearest to them. They discussed and re-discussed every phase of church work. Miss Katherine professed herself willing to make endless quilts for the missionary box, pin-cushions for the bazaar, socks for the Old Men’s Home and cakes for the sewing circle. The minister’s wife was dazed by such liberality and when Miss Katherine spoke of the number of years her brother had been deacon in their home church, and of her own activities in every conceivable church society, the ladies felt that a terrible injustice had been done this exemplary brother and sister.

When Miss Katherine had seen that her words fell on receptive ground she still mellowed that soil by tempting refreshments after which she proposed a walk in the garden. As Joseph was from home she offered slips, roots and seeds without number. At last she came to a rose tree which, she judged, would do as well as any other and she launched into the story of Captain Shannon’s experiments to produce a new species and final triumph.

“We knew,” said the unblushing Miss Katherine, “that he had been awarded a medal by the American Horticultural Society. Mr. Murphy, who is an old friend of the Captain’s, told us he had lost the medal in the garden, so we began looking for it. Come with me and I’ll show you where we found it.”

Miss Katherine did so, elaborating on the trouble they had taken to discover it.

“It is solid gold,” said she, “and we were afraid that the boys might suspect what we were looking for and come at night and hunt for it, so we set Bruno to watch at night, but fortunately we found it. Come in the house and I’ll show it to you.”

As Miss Katherine watched her visitors go away she said to herself:

“I confess that all I said this afternoon was not strictly true, but there are times when a prudent woman will deviate somewhat from the exact truth.”

When Miss Katherine had bade Mr. Murphy good afternoon, on the day of his startling disclosure concerning Captain Kidd’s treasure, the aforementioned gentleman fell to chuckling.

“I’m in a devil of a fix, but I’ve saved the house from destruction, that’s sure. I’ll trust her to make peace with the neighbors and then I’ll gradually ease her off the Captain Kidd proposition and then there should be plain sailing. But Jehosaphat! What about that chart? Well, I’ll just have to get some paper and a pencil and go back to the shore and draw it, that’s all. I can’t lie worth a darn. I’ve got to get myself in a worse mess every time instead of lying out.”

So saying, Mr. Murphy procured the paper and pencil and retraced his steps to the shore where he labored long and arduously, for he was neither an artist nor a cartographer.

In a couple of days Mr. Murphy informed Miss Katherine that he thought he had located the right spot and that afternoon, they would begin their search. Miss Katherine was to join him at the spot where she had found him the day they became partners in this affair. He would be laden with the necessary tools. Miss Katherine asked if she should bring a bag in case of success, but Mr. Murphy said no, they were more apt to find it if they acted as if they thought they wouldn’t.

At the appointed time and place the junction of the forces was successfully accomplished.

Miss Katherine and Mr. Murphy sat down side by side to study the chart. The latter explained that he had worn out the original and this was a copy he had made. The chart fully came up to Miss Katherine’s idea of a chart.

“Now you can see if you study it,” exclaimed Mr. Murphy, “that it’s this bit of shore that’s meant. See where it juts out here by the pine tree! Well, just look down the shore there and you’ll see the very spot. From there just follow along and compare the chart with the shore. Line for line, ain’t they?”

“Isn’t that remarkable!” exclaimed Miss Katherine. “What a wonderful observer you must be to have noticed the similarity! But wouldn’t you think there would be changes in the shore line since the time this chart was made?”

“Well, you see it’s sheltered here,” returned Mr. Murphy. “That makes a big difference.”

“Oh does it?” cried Miss Katherine.

“Oh, yes!” replied Mr. Murphy.

“And now where is the treasure?” asked Miss Katherine.

“Well, the first place I’d try is right in this little hollow. We’ll go right along to it.”

Mr. Murphy shouldered his spade, pick and axe and directed Miss Katherine to the spot, a little sandy hollow between two little sandy mounds.

“Now you must keep guard while I dig,” said Mr. Murphy. “It wouldn’t do to let others into the secret you know.”

Miss Katherine was quite disappointed, for she had anticipated watching the excavation sink deeper and deeper until the spade suddenly struck the iron lid of a box, and a king’s ransom glowed at their feet. But she realized the wisdom of this request and uncomplainingly complied with it.

In silence and with inward protest Mr. Murphy plied his spade until he was obliged to straighten his aching back. He looked at his task mistress entreatingly, but she was on guard and had no eyes for the toiler. The poor man gazed about him in distress. Would he fall from grace if he took a little rest?

Fortunately for Mr. Murphy, at this moment, Miss Katherine’s eye fell upon the little lunch basket she carried. A pang of remorse shot through her heart as she turned and beheld her hero leaning wearily upon his spade.

At the suggestion of lunch Mr. Murphy climbed out of prison with such alacrity that Miss Katherine’s soft heart suffered another pang. But as pity is akin to another, warmer and tendered passion let us hope all was working for the highest good of Miss Katherine and Mr. Murphy.

Whatever hopes of a prolonged rest that gentleman had at first entertained were soon destroyed by a word or two from his inexorable partner, and again the gentle chuck, chuck as the spade struck against the soft sand, was the only sound that broke the silence.

Miss Katherine, though not watching the digger, kept time with his steady spade and strained her ear to catch a clink instead of a click. That would announce the bursting of an old leather bag or the striking upon an iron box. There it would be! Gold! Gold glittering in the light after years of darkness!

“Damn it!” broke in upon Miss Katherine’s golden dream.

In mild surprise she turned about and beheld her erstwhile obedient partner hurl his spade from him and scramble out of the deep hole he had dug. Rebellion was written on his face, but as he approached Miss Katherine there was something much softer and infinitely agreeable to the female eye in his expression.

“Confound it all!” said Captain Peter Shannon, “let’s stop this foolishness and get married.”

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