As I passed over the crest of the last hill in the road, I saw something in the distance that looked very much like another boy with a bundle over his shoulder. I waved my hat. It waved its hat. We met at the horse-block, each carrying a broad grin the last few rods of the way.
“Let’s see your fortune,” said I, as I laid my bundle on the block.
“Let’s see yours,” said he, as he laid his beside it.
“You started the plan,” said I; “so you tell your adventures first.”
Thereupon Fred told his story, which I give nearly in his own words.
He traveled a long distance before he met with any incident. Then he came to a house that had several windows boarded up, and looked as if it might not be inhabited. While Fred stood looking at it, and wondering about it, he saw a shovelful of earth come out of one of the cellar windows. It was followed in a few seconds by another, and another, at regular intervals.
“I know how it is,” said Fred. “Some old miser has lived and died in that house. He used to bury his money in the cellar; and now somebody’s digging for it. I mean to see if I can’t help him.”
Going to the window, he stooped down and looked in. At first he saw nothing but the gleam of a new shovel. But when he had looked longer he discerned the form of the man who wielded it.
“Hello!” said Fred, as the digger approached the window to throw out a shovelful.
“Hello! Who are you?” said the man.