Farmer Wicky was flattered by the confidence which she had always reposed in him, and sided with her entirely.
“If I had any rights to any hid treasures, which I haven’t; and I expected to find it, which I don’t; I wouldn’t be the feller to go publish it broadcast this way. I’d keep it to myself an’ do my own diggin’; onless, course, I’d tell Lizzie. Why, Ma’am, Mrs. Calvert, I ’low ’t the hull state o’ Maryland’s been dug over, ten foot deep, from Pennsylvania to old Virginny, with the hull Eastern Sho’ flung in, a-lookin’ for what hain’t never been put there—’ceptin’ them same shovels. Maybe that’s what makes our sile so rich an’ gives us our wonderful crops! Ha, ha, ha!”
Aunt Betty was “ha, ha, ha-ing,” too, inwardly; for despite himself, a great eagerness had lighted the farmer’s face at mention of this last digging-excursion. As soon as he could do so he rose and hastily struck off into the woods.
She made her mirth audible as the branches closed behind him, exclaiming to Mrs. Bruce:
“There’s another one! I’m afraid I’m responsible for this last crack-brain; and—and—the disease is catching. I declare I’d like to pin up my skirts and travel the road the rest have taken! But I’ll read a little in Don Quixote, instead. I wonder when they’ll be back!”
Meanwhile, the trail was growing “hot” in the depth of that old forest, or grove. It was, indeed, part of a great private park known as “Cecilia’s Manor,” and it was the pride of its owners to keep it intact as it had come down to them.
Captain Jack held the floor, so to speak, with the less talkative but more deeply interested—if not excited—Colonel, occasionally interrupting and correcting.
“Yes, siree! We’ve struck the gulf-stream ’at leads di-rect and straight, to the spot! Woods, says you? Here they be. Stream o’ water? There she flows! Ford an’ deers feedin’? Course, they’s the very identical! Tracks an’ all——”
“Them’s cow tracks,” corrected farmer Wicky, while Corny laughed and nudged his brother to let the farce proceed.
“Well, now, mate, how d’ye know them’s cows’ tracks? You don’t see cows around, do ye? No, I don’t see cows, nuther; so, ’cordin’ to ship’s law what you don’t know you can’t prove. Ahem. Path? If this here we’ve come ain’t a crooked-zig-zag I never stumped one. Here’s a tree, been struck by lightin’, ’pears like; a-holdin’ out its arms to keep the hangin’ vines on ’em, exactly like a cross. Or nigh exactly.”