“Ah done did fine a li’l box,” answered Jerry, hesitatingly, “but Ah reckon ’tain’t no gold in it. An’ wen dat ghos’ come at me, Ah frowed it—” At that point, Jerry paused, while the other boys looked at each other curiously. The colored boy remembered his vow to tell the truth. “Ah frowed it hyah,” added Jerry. Signing his companions to follow him, he passed out of the tent, advanced with a candle into the scrub palmetto behind the camp and reappeared with a small black box resembling a glove case. The hearts of the four boys thumped with astonishment. One glance told that the box was old and protected with metal strips. A wave of chagrin swept over Jerry’s tormentors.
“But dat ain’t all,” volunteered the bolder growing Jerry. “De lid o’ de big box done cave in, an’ Ah grabbed de li’l box. Dar’s a big box!”
“Probably some fisherman’s lost kit,” suggested Hal.
But, when Bob took the little box from Jerry’s hands, heard the sound of metal within it, pointed to the hard black wood and the oxydized metal keyhole, bands and corners, all the boys knew it was no common find. With a sigh, the romantic-minded Bob handed the box to its discoverer, and the confused colored boy began the task of opening it.
Now the opening of what may be a real treasure box is no common incident. The keyhole was filled with rust, and while Mac brought the hatchet, a blanket was spread on the ground and extra candles lit. The metal ornamentation did not restrain the colored boy. Before the other boys could stop him, he had smashed the top of the box. As its contents tumbled out on the blanket, there was a groan of disappointment from Jerry. Instead of a shower of money—golden doubloons and silver pieces-of-eight, there was but a confused heap of odds and ends.
“Some woman’s truck,” exclaimed Hal. It was. But when, ten minutes later, the “truck” had been laid out in order, even imaginative Bob was trembling with astonishment. From one of the first articles examined, a little oblong silver card case, it was easily understood that the box was no pirate loot. The case was inscribed: “Marie Ducroix, New Orleans, 1807.”
With trembling fingers, and bulging eyes, the articles in the case, mildewed and discolored but not the less valuable on that account, were examined in turn with feverish eagerness. The next morning, a list was made including these items:
1. Card case and chain, silver, marked: “Marie Ducroix, New Orleans, 1807.” Eight indecipherable cards in the case.
2. Plain gold ring, inscribed within: “J. D. to M. D.”
3. Unset cameo, 1½ inches by 1 inch; figure, girl with vase.