The Rival Campers Ashore Part 25

Tim Reardon looked at it intently and rubbed its sides on his trousers leg.

"Say, Bess," he said earnestly, "do you know what I think--I guess it's gold. Yes, I do. 'Tisn't American money, though. It's got a queer head on it, see, a man with some sort of a thing on his head like a wreath.

Oh, my, but that's too bad. Look, Bess, there's a hole been bored in it.

P'raps you can't spend it."

Near the edge, there was, in truth, a tiny depression, nearly obscured by dirt and corrosion, which seemed to indicate that the coin had at some time been pierced, as though it might have been worn by someone as an ornament.

"Let's scrub it," said the girl. "Perhaps it'll brighten up, so we can see it better."

They went in with it to the kitchen sink, where Bess Thornton, getting a basin of warm water and soap, proceeded to polish the coin with a small brush. It soon brightened sufficiently to reveal the unmistakable gleam of gold, and was a foreign coin of some sort, possibly of Austrian coinage; but the letters which it had borne, and the figures, had been worn much away; and one side was worn quite smooth, so as to give no clew to what had been stamped there.

"Well, I can wear it, if I can't spend it," said Bess Thornton. "There's the hole to hang it by. Isn't it pretty?"

"Isn't what pretty?" said a voice, suddenly interrupting them. Old Granny Thornton was peering over the girl's shoulder. "What are you two doing? What have you got there?"

"See, gran'," replied the girl. "Look what we found. It's money, gran', and it's gold."

The old woman took the coin in her thin fingers and held it up close to her eyes. Then she started and her hand shook tremulously. A pallor overspread her face. She sank back into a chair, staring at the coin, which she clutched tight as though it had some strange fascination that held her gaze.

"Where did you get that?" she cried hoa.r.s.ely. "Where was it?"

"We dug it up just now, gran', out in the yard. Why, what's the matter?

Can't I keep it? What makes you act so queer, gran'?"

The old woman hesitated for a moment and seemed lost for a reply. Then she said, hurriedly:

"No, girl--no, not now. You shall have it some day. You can't have it yet. It isn't time. You wore it once when you were little--but it was lost. Oh, how I've hunted for it! You'll get it again. I'll keep it safe, this time."

She was strangely agitated and spoke in broken tones. Then, to their surprise, she arose and hurried from the room, waving the girl back and bidding her go and play. They heard her go stumbling up the stairs to the floor above.

"Mean old thing!" exclaimed Bess. "Well, I don't care. Let her keep it.

I'll find where she hides it, see if I don't. Come on, let's go out doors."

Granny Thornton, peering out an attic window at the boy and girl, going up along the brook, turned and felt along a dusty beam until her fingers rested on a key. With this she unlocked a drawer of an old bureau, that stood in a dark, out-of-the-way corner. There were some odds and ends of clothing there, and some boxes and papers. From out the stuff, she drew, with trembling fingers, a small gold chain, such as children wear.

Fumbling over this, she unclasped a tiny clasp and affixed the golden coin. Then, holding it up to her eyes, she gazed at it long and earnestly; replaced it in the drawer, locked this, hid the key again and stole down the stairs.

CHAPTER XIII

A SAILING ADVENTURE

John Ellison, a youth of about fifteen, but of a st.u.r.dy build and manner that might lead one to suppose him older, stood by the gateway of the Ellison farm, looking down across the fields towards the mill. It was busy grinding and, as its monotonous tones came up to him, the boy shook his head sadly. An expression as of anger overspread his manly young face, and his cheeks flushed.

"It's wrong," he exclaimed, speaking his thoughts aloud; "I'll bet there's some trick about it. Father always said we should run the mill some day. It makes me mad to see old Witham sneaking about, afraid to look any of us in the face; but I suppose there's no help for it."

He went up the driveway to the house, got an axe from the woodshed and began splitting some pieces of sawed oak and hickory from a great pile in the yard. It was a relief to his pent-up feelings, and he drove the axe home with powerful blows. He was a strong, handsome youth, with face and arms healthily bronzed with work in the open air. He laid a big junk of the oak across the chopping-block, swung the axe, and cleft the stick with a single blow that sent the halves flying in either direction.

"That was a good stroke--a corker," exclaimed a youth who had entered the yard and come up quietly behind him. John Ellison turned quickly.

"h.e.l.lo, Henry," he said. "Where'd you come from?"

"Just had a swim," replied Henry Burns. "I see where you get all that muscle, now. That's good as canoeing, I guess."

"Well," responded John Ellison, looking rather serious, "I reckon I'll do more of it from now on than canoeing; though I've done my share of work all along. I'm running the farm now--that is, what we've got left.

Witham's got a good part of it. I suppose you know, don't you?"

Henry Burns nodded. "It's a shame," he said. "But perhaps it'll come out right in the end."

"I don't see how," said John Ellison. "Witham's got the mill, and the big wood lot where we used to cut most of the wood we sold every fall, and the great meadow up opposite old Granny Thornton's, with the hayfield in it. We've got enough left close by here to keep us from starving, all right; but it isn't what it ought to be. We've had to sell half the cows, because we can't feed them."

Henry Burns whistled. "It's tough," he said, and added, doubtfully, "How about that week up at the pond? Can you go?"

John Ellison looked downcast. "I'd forgotten all about that," he said.

"We did plan for a week at Old Whitecap, didn't we? I'm afraid it's all up for me, though. There's haying to be done, a lot of wood to be cut, and ch.o.r.es. I guess you'll have to count me out. I might let Jim go for a couple of days, though," he added, speaking as though he were a dozen years older than his brother, instead of only one.

"No, you're the one that was going," responded Henry Burns; "you could go if the work were done, couldn't you?"

"Perhaps," replied John Ellison; "but there's enough there to take us more than a fortnight. Benny don't count for much; he's too lazy."

"Well, we'll get the work done, all right," said Henry Burns; "and then we'll take you with us."

John Ellison laughed. "You city fellows wouldn't like farm work, much, I guess," he said.

He hardly took Henry Burns seriously, especially as the latter spoke but little more about the project; but, the next day, looking up from his work, at the sound of wagon wheels, he saw a cart coming up the hill, laden with baggage and a party of boys. Tom Harris was driving, and beside him on the seat were Bob White and Henry Burns. In the body of the cart were Jack Harvey and Tim Reardon. These two were seated amidst a pile of camp stuff.

"Well, we're here," said Henry Burns, laughing, as the boys piled out of the cart. "Hope you've got something for us all to do. You'll find us green, but we won't shirk."

John Ellison stared at them in amazement. "You better go on out to the pond," he said. "I don't want to keep you fellows. Perhaps Jim and I can get out for a couple of days before you come in. Besides, you want to look out for Benny," he added, winking at Henry Burns. "He says he's going to thrash you some day."

"Oh, I'm all right," laughed Henry Burns. "I've got Jack here to help me out now. What'll we do, John? Come on, we're losing time."

"Well, if you really want to," replied John Ellison, somewhat reluctantly, "two of you can go down in the haying field and help Jim; and there's this wood's got to be split, and the corn and potatoes to be hoed." He pointed, as he spoke, to two great fields of the latter.

"We'll set Tim catching potato bugs," he added, smiling.

"I'll catch 'em," responded Tim, heartily. "I wonder what kind of bait they'd make for trout."

They divided up then, Tom and Bob, equipped with pitchforks, starting off for the haying field; Henry Burns and Tim following John Ellison into the garden; while Harvey, his waist stripped to a faded sleeveless jersey, attacked the woodpile with a strength and energy that made up for his lack of familiarity with the work.

He was busily engaged when Mrs. Ellison looked out at the kitchen door.

"Why," she said, in surprise, "I didn't know we had a new hand. Oh, I see, you're one of the boys' friends."

Harvey explained.

"Well, I call that good of you," exclaimed Mrs. Ellison, her pleasant, motherly face beaming. "Let the boys go after it's done? Why, of course.