“Tell me the story of our great-grand-folks and what they buried. Please. It would be interesting, I think.”
“Very well, child, I’ll try. But just keep an eye on Billy. Is he comf’table? I don’t ask if he’s happy. He isn’t. Nobody is.”
“Beg pardon, but you are mistaken about that mule. No matter what the boys and Captain Hurry try to do with him, he manages to get his nose back to the ground again and eat—Why, he hasn’t really stopped eating one full minute since he came. That makes me think. Will the man who owns that grass like to have him graze it that way? Isn’t grass really hay? Don’t they sell hay up home at Baltimore? Won’t it cost a great deal to let Billy do that, if hay is worth much?”
“You ask as many questions as—as I’ve heard your folks always do. But it’s no use worryin’ over a little hay. It ain’t wuth much. Nothing’s wuth anything in Annyrunnell. The only thing in the whole county wuth a continental is what your great-grandfather’s brother buried in the woods on Ottawotta Run. Deer-Copse was the spot. Buried it in a brass-bound chest, kept the key, and then forgot. Ah! hum.”
“Ottawotta Run? Deer-Copse! Why, that’s the very place the boys said the man said that you say—Oh! Aunt Betty! Aunt Betty! There’s a buried fortune belonging to our family out in the woods! We’ll find it, we must find it, and that will save all your Old Folks their Home and you won’t have to sell Bellvieu!” almost shrieked Dolly, running to her aunt’s stateroom and flinging wide the little door, regardless of knocking for admittance. But disappointment awaited her—the stateroom was empty.
CHAPTER IX.
FISH AND MONKEYS.
Farmer Wickliffe Stillwell proved a friend in need.