It was a piece of a spar or ship's mast. As he spoke Bunko pulled it down and commenced to saw it through the centre. When half-way through the tool struck on something hard, and Bunko took a big axe and finished the work the saw had begun.
To his utter astonishment and that of Fred there rolled out a handful of gold coins, and the head of a rusty axe.
"Oh!" cried Fred, "that is the log dear Toddie came ashore on. Daddy would never have it touched, but he couldn't have known of the coins. I'll run and fetch him."
"Leave me, lads, for a few minutes," were the first words old Eean spoke when he entered the shed. Then he sat down on the wood pile. Scarcely could he have stood just then had he tried. His feelings were not altogether those of excitement, though he was much moved. Something told him that the mystery of the little waif Toddie was to be revealed to him. The gold that had fallen from the log he felt sure was but a portion of the store therein, and he felt certain also that he would find papers of some kind relating to the child who had so woven herself round his heart, that to tear her away would be an affliction he could not survive. He tried to pray—this was ever his solace in life; but how hard it was just then to say from the heart those words, "Thy will be done."
Now he nerves himself to action.
Why, he wonders as he proceeds to examine the log, did he not think of doing so at the very first, when it was washed in from the wreck supporting its little burden, that but for his wife's skill in bringing back the apparently-drowned to life would now be slumbering in the quiet kirk-yard?
The axeheads in the old log had not only served as a keel, he soon found, but also to keep in position a piece of wood supporting a long belt of canvas. It was this latter Eean now hauled hastily forth, though with trembling hands. It was damp and decayed, and the gold coins—Portuguese they were, he could see at a glance—that rolled out lay unheeded on the ground, while he quickly unfolded a piece of paper that had lain among them.
It was written in Spanish, a language with which he was well acquainted. Before he began to read it a strong wave of temptation passed through his mind, but was bravely resisted. "Why," whispered the tempter, "not burn the letter before reading it? It could but tell the child's history, and he would have in conscience and honour to give his darling up."
Eean had need of a strong will at that moment, the will that in times of trial like this can boldly say, "Get thee behind me, Satan."
He muttered a word or two of prayer once more, then reseating himself on the wood proceeded to read the document.