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there was nothing in his fist but a parcel of old rags.""Hold your tongue, you silly old Tabby!" cried Peter in greatwrath. "They were as good golden guincas as ever bore the effigiesof the king of England. It seems as if I could recollect the wholecircumstance, and how I, or old Peter, or whoever it was, thrust in myhand, or his hand, and drew it out all of a blaze with gold. Old rags,indeed!"But it was not an old woman's legend that would discourage PeterGoldthwaite. All night long he slept among pleasant dreams, andawoke at daylight with a joyous throb of the heart, which few arefortunate enough to feel beyond their boyhood. Day after day helabored hard without wasting a moment, except at meal times, whenTabitha summoned him to the pork and cabbage, or such other sustenanceas she had picked up, or Providence had sent them. Being a truly piousman, Peter never failed to ask a blessing; if the food were none ofthe best, then so much the more earnestly, as it was more needed-nor to return thanks, if the dinner had been scanty, yet for thegood appetite, which was better than a sick stomach at a feast. Thendid he hurry back to his toil, and, in a moment, was lost to sightin a cloud of dust from the old walls, though sufficiently perceptibleto the ear by the clatter which he raised in the midst of it. Howenviable is the consciousness of being usefully employed! Nothingtroubled Peter; or nothing but those phantoms of the mind which seemlike vague recollections, yet have also the aspect of presentiments.

He often paused, with his axe uplifted in the air, and said tohimself- "Peter Goldthwaite, did you never strike this blowbefore?"- or, "Peter, what need of tearing the whole house down? Thinka little while, and you will remember where the gold is hidden."Days and weeks passed on, however, without any remarkable discovery.

Sometimes, indeed, a lean, gray rat peeped forth at the lean, grayman, wondering what devil had got into the old house, which had alwaysbeen so peaceable till now. And, occasionally, Peter sympathizedwith the sorrows of a female mouse, who had brought five or sixpretty, little, soft and delicate young ones into the world just intime to see them crushed by its ruin. But, as yet, no treasure!

By this time, Peter, being as determined as Fate and as diligent asTime, had made an end with the uppermost regions, and got down tothe second story, where he was busy in one of the front chambers. Ithad formerly been the state bed-chamber, and was honored bytradition as the sleeping apartment of Governor Dudley, and many othereminent guests. The furniture was gone. There were remnants of fadedand tattered paper-hangings, but larger spaces of bare wall ornamentedwith charcoal sketches, chiefly of people's heads in profile. Thesebeing specimens of Peter's youthful genius, it went more to hisheart to obliterate them than if they had been pictures on a churchwall by Michael Angelo. One sketch, however, and that the best one,affected him differently. It represented a ragged man, partlysupporting himself on a spade, and bending his lean body over a holein the earth, with one hand extended to grasp something that he hadfound. But close behind him, with a fiendish laugh on his features,appeared a figure with horns, a tufted tail, and a cloven hoof.

"Avaunt, Satan!" cried Peter. "The man shall have his gold!"Uplifting his axe, he hit the horned gentleman such a blow on thehead as not only demolished him, but the treasure-seeker also, andcaused the whole scene to vanish like magic. Moreover, his axe brokequite through the plaster and laths, and discovered a cavity.

"Mercy on us, Mr. Peter, are you quarrelling with the Old Scratch?"said Tabitha, who was seeking some fuel to put under the pot.

Without answering the old woman, Peter broke down a further spaceof the wall, and laid open a small closet or cupboard, on one sideof the fireplace, about breast high from the ground. It containednothing but a brass lamp, covered with verdigris, and a dusty piece ofparchment. While Peter inspected the latter, Tabitha seized thelamp, and began to rub it with her apron.

"There is no use in rubbing it, Tabitha," said Peter. "It is notAladdin's lamp, though I take it to be a token of as much luck. Lookhere, Tabby!"Tabitha took the parchment and held it close to her nose, which wassaddled with a pair of iron-bound spectacles. But no sooner had shebegan to puzzle over it than she burst into a chuckling laugh, holdingboth her hands against her sides.

"You can't make a fool of the old woman!" cried she. "This isyour own handwriting, Mr. Peter! the same as in the letter you sent mefrom Mexico.""There is certainly a considerable resemblance," said Peter,again examining the parchment. "But you know yourself, Tabby, thatthis closet must have been plastered up before you came to thehouse, or I came into the world. No, this is old Peter Goldthwaite'swriting; these columns of pounds, shillings, and pence are hisfigures, denoting the amount of the treasure; and this at the bottomis, doubtless, a reference to the place of concealment. But the inkhas either faded or peeled off, so that it is absolutely illegible.

What a pity!"

"Well, this lamp is as good as new. That's some comfort," saidTabitha.

"A lamp!" thought Peter. "That indicates light on my researches."For the present, Peter felt more inclined to ponder on thisdiscovery than to resume his labors. After Tabitha had gonedownstairs, he stood poring over the parchment, at one of the frontwindows, which was so obscured with dust that the sun could barelythrow an uncertain shadow of the casement across the floor. Peterforced it open, and looked out upon the great street of the town,while the sun looked in at his old house. The air, though mild, andeven warm, thrilled Peter as with a dash of water.