Chapter XII
Bearding the Lion
Little sleep did I get that night. Minute by minute, I heard the old clock ticking away, while I lay there and thought and thought. I had told nothing of my suspicion to anyone—I hadn’t the heart; but I was absolutely sure that Silas Tunstall had stolen into the grounds the evening before, knowing that we were away, and had secured the treasure.
But where had it been hid? We had searched everywhere so thoroughly. Evidently not in the house, for the thief would scarcely have dared enter it while mother was there, nor would he have chosen the early evening for such a venture. He could not have approached the barn or stable-yard unseen, for Abner and Jane were milking there. Indeed, it was difficult to see how he could have come undetected any farther than the orchard. Perhaps the treasure had been concealed there somewhere—and I remembered the old rose of Sharon apple-tree leaning over the pasture fence. Yet we had made it the starting-point of a very careful search. I resolved that I would go over the ground once again the first thing in the morning.
I was out of bed with the first peep of dawn.
“Why, Cecil,” said mother, waking up and looking at me in surprise, “what are you getting up for?”
“I don’t feel at all sleepy, mother,” I said, “and I thought I’d like to walk around over the place just at dawn.”
Mother made no objection, so I slipped down the stairs, and out the front door. Without pausing an instant, I hastened toward the orchard. I could soon tell whether Silas Tunstall had disturbed anything there.
I made straight for the old tree, and then walked slowly toward the spot whence I had first descried that shadowy figure slinking through the gloom. I went over the ground in the vicinity carefully, but could not see that it had been disturbed, except where we ourselves had disturbed it. I was not woodsman enough to follow footprints, even had any been distinctly visible on the soft turf of the orchard, and I began to realize with despair what a hopeless task it was that I had undertaken. And I began to realize, too, how absurd it was that I should have supposed for a moment that the treasure was concealed anywhere underground. I had allowed myself to be influenced by a sort of convention that treasure was always concealed there—the word “treasure” itself, which grandaunt had used, was largely responsible for it; but Mr. Chester had unquestionably been right. No one would think of burying such treasure as stocks and bonds; no woman, especially, would place any of her belongings in such a position that she would have to use a pick and shovel to get at them.
I had been walking aimlessly back and forth through the orchard, and my eye, at that instant, was caught by a bright spot of light some distance off among the trees. I could see that the rays of the rising sun were reflected upon some white object, but what it was I could not guess, and I instinctively turned toward it to find out. As I drew near, I saw that it appeared to be a round white stone, lying at the foot of one of the trees, but it was not until I stooped over it that I saw just what it was. It seemed to be a round piece of cement stone, about ten inches in diameter, and about an inch thick. It looked as though it had been cast in a mould. For a moment, I was at a loss to understand where it came from or how it got there—then, suddenly, I remembered!
More than once, as I had passed through the orchard, I had seen this tree. A hollow had begun to form about five feet above the ground, probably where a limb had been ripped off years before in a wind-storm. The decay had evidently made considerable progress, but at last it had been detected, and the hollow cleaned out and filled up with cement. Now, as I stood hastily upright and looked at the hole, I saw that it had not been filled at all, but that this cement lid had been carefully fitted over the hollow. I looked into it, but could not determine its depth. I plunged my arm into it, and found that it extended about two feet down into the tree, that it had evidently been carefully hollowed out, and that the cement cap had kept it dry and clean. One movement of my arm was enough to tell me that the hollow was quite empty.