“Oh, I hope so, miss!” he cried. “I do hope so! We’d hate t’ leave the old place; an’ you’ll excuse me, miss, fer sayin’ so, but we like you all; we like you more’n I kin say. If they was only somethin’ we could do t’ help!”
His face was touching in its simple earnestness.
“Thank you, Abner,” I said, my eyes a little misty. “I’m so glad you like us, and perhaps you can help. You may be sure I’ll call upon you if I need you.”
“Do, miss,” he answered. “An’ upon Jane, too. Now I must be gittin’ t’ my work. Is they anything else?”
“Yes, one thing. May I have the spade I had yesterday?”
“What’d ye do with it, miss?”
“I—I—oh, yes!” I cried, overcome with contrition. “I left it where I was digging. I’ll get it!” and I ran away toward the garden, feeling the reproachful glance he cast after me, and vowing to myself never again to be so careless.
I found the spade lying among the tangle of vines where I had left it, and I sat down on the bench to review the scene of my previous day’s work. Mr. Chester had said that, in his opinion, the treasure was not in the yard at all, but somewhere in the house. So it had been; and my hands trembled a little at the memory of the morning’s disappointment. But it was there no longer—grandaunt had removed it to another and less easily found hiding-place—a hiding-place which the rose of Sharon still guarded. The picture on the calendar had proved that there might be roses of Sharon of many and unexpected kinds. I must look for them; I must get everyone around the place to help me; and I must exhaust the possibilities of each one before passing on to the next. My search must be thorough and systematic. That was my one chance of success.
Plainly, then, it would be wise to begin at once with the rose of Sharon before me; and so, discarding the rule of four to the right and three diagonally—for the four and three might mean inches or feet or even yards—I proceeded to pick up carefully all the stones arranged around the shrub. They made a circle perhaps two yards in diameter, and the task of getting them out of the way was no light one; but I kept steadily at work, not minding bruised fingers, and finally I had all the stones heaped on one side out of the way.
Then, after a short rest, I went to work with the spade and began to dig up the dirt which the stones had covered; but my back was aching and my hands smarting long before the task was accomplished, and more than once I glanced at the top of the wall, hoping to see a boy’s figure there. But none appeared, and I laboured on, reflecting bitterly upon perfidious human nature. He had said he was a good digger; he had offered to help; and we had clasped hands upon it! Oh, how one may be mistaken in a boy! Nerved by such reflections, I did not stop until the whole circle of ground had been well spaded up. Evidently there was no treasure concealed about the roots of this rose of Sharon!