“The light is breaking,” he said, gladly, “and you are coming out all right, thanks to Rob, here.”
“Not more to me than to our friends,” said Little Hickory.
The deacon had aged in appearance more than ten years since the others had last seen him, and the hearts of all went out to the kind-hearted man, who had done so much for them, and had himself suffered so much.
But the moment of darkness was already fleeting, and a new light was coming into their lives.
The iron-bound box was soon broken into, and the overjoyed spectators beheld a sight which made them fairly wild with strange visions of joy and of mystery.
It was a treasure box indeed.
Made up of bank notes, government bonds, gold and silver, it held the equivalent of over fifty thousand dollars.
Is it a wonder there were dancing and wild exclamations?
The more sober of the party could not realize it as true, while the others did not try to realize anything but their joy.
At last, when something like rational feelings again held sway, Rob suggested that it belonged to Deacon Cornhill, but he would not admit it. But there was a happy compromise.