“The pirates left them,” said Tom doggedly. “I’m going to work a little longer. Say, will you fellows dig for ten minutes more? Then if we don’t find anything I’ll agree to give it up.”
“All right,” said the other two.
Once more they set to work with tired arms. They dug and they dug through the dust of broken clam shells, of which there seemed to be no end. But still there was no sign of the iron-bound box. It was very discouraging. All they found was a few more arrowheads and some knobby stones with grooves about the top. They were hardly worth picking up, it seemed. The boys tossed them aside in a little heap with the other stone things. Then they threw down their spades, rubbing their aching backs and arms. All these pains for nothing!
“It’s no use,” said Charlie. “There can’t be anything here. We shall have to give it up.”
“It is long after dinner time. Perhaps we shan’t get any, and they will scold us,” said Kenneth ruefully.
“Huh! Only a lot of old stone things!” growled Tom, kicking the heap spitefully. “They aren’t worth taking home, are they?”
“Oh, yes! We must show them all to father. Perhaps he can tell us what they are,” said Kenneth.
“Well, come on, then,” urged Charlie. “I wish we had gone an hour ago. I hate cold dinners. Oh, what a wasted morning!”
Tom lingered wistfully. “It looks just like a treasure place,” he said, “and I felt somehow as if we should find it here. There must be some mistake.”
“Oh, come on, Tom!” called the others impatiently; and he hurried down to the beach where they had carried the stone things. Soon they were rowing back to their own island. But they were very silent and sulky all the way. Their treasure hunt had not been a success, and they were hungry and cross. Tom was the gloomiest of the three. He felt that they blamed him for their disappointment. But it had mattered most to him.