As I have said, a large number of stones were arranged symmetrically about the foot of the rose of Sharon. According to the doggerel grandaunt had left us, I must count four to the right and three diagonally, and the treasure would be ours. What could she have meant, unless she was referring to these very stones? Flushed with excitement at the thought, I looked at them more carefully. Four to the right, diagonally three—but from which direction must I face the shrub in determining which was right and which left?
I decided at last that the most sensible solution of this question was to face the shrub from the main path, which led to it across the garden, just as anyone would face it who approached it from the direction of the house. I did so, and then, dropping to my knees, tore away the tangle of vines, cleared away the accumulated refuse, and counted four stones to the right.
Here, again, there was a choice of diagonals—the correct one might be any one of several. I chose one at random and raised the third stone with hands not wholly steady. Then I leaned forward and peered into the hole. The earth from which I had lifted the stone seemed hard and undisturbed. I counted three diagonally in another direction, and lifted another stone, with the same result. Again I counted three diagonally, raised the stone, and found myself peering into a shallow hole with hard dirt at the bottom.
I brought the spade and dug down, as well as I could, in the places from which I had removed the stones; but after a few moments, it was evident, even to me, that the earth had not been disturbed for many years, and that there could not by any possibility be a treasure of any kind buried beneath it.
But I did not even yet despair. It might very well be that grandaunt had approached the rockery from the kitchen garden, in which case I must count in the other direction. I did so, and at the second venture my heart bounded into my throat, for the stone I hit upon was loose in its place, and the dirt beneath it soft and yielding. With hands trembling so that I could scarcely hold the spade, I began to throw the loose dirt out from the hole. I found it was not large enough to work in to advantage, and removed the adjoining stones. The earth under all of them seemed loose, and I worked feverishly, expecting every instant that the spade would strike a metal box or receptacle of some sort, in which the securities had been placed. For a few inches, it was easy digging; then the earth became hard again. But suddenly the spade did hit something that rang sharply against it. I cleared away the earth quickly, and found that I had struck—a rock! It was a large one, as I soon discovered by trying to get around it. And then I saw what I had not perceived before—little tunnels running away under the stones on either side, and I knew that the earth had been loosened, not by Grandaunt Nelson, but by a mole!
It was a heavy blow. I had been so confident that I had solved the mystery; it had seemed so certain from the very situation of the rose of Sharon that it marked the treasure’s hiding-place; I had even fancied myself running to the house with the precious package in my hands, bursting in upon mother with the great news, lying in wait for Dick—and now—now—
Despite myself, the tears would come. I let the spade fall and sat down again upon the seat, and sobbed for very disappointment. Ah, what a triumph it would have been to be able, the very first day, to discomfit that horrid Silas Tunstall by finding the treasure and setting at rest, at once and for all time, the question of the ownership of this beautiful place!
“Oh, I say,” exclaimed a low voice just over my head, “you mustn’t do that, you know! Can’t I help you?”
I jumped up with a little cry, for the voice was so near it frightened me. There, sitting on the wall just above me, was a boy. He had his cap in his hand, and I saw that his hair was brown and very curly.
“I’d like to help you,” he repeated earnestly; “that is, if you’ll let me.”