CHAPTER XIII.
HOW CLARENCE FOUND IT OUT.
CLARENCE and his brother had not been under their uncle’s roof more than two or three hours before they found that they had been sadly mistaken in regard to some opinions they had formed, and Marshall was honest enough to acknowledge the fact, at least to himself. The “country bumpkins,” as Clarence had sneeringly called his cousins, proved to be educated young gentlemen, who, before the day was over, put their dashing city relatives to the blush on more than one occasion, and forced them to confess that all the knowledge in the world was not to be gained by simply travelling about Europe. Don and Bert exerted themselves to the utmost to entertain their visitors, and so did all the other members of the family; and they succeeded so well that Marshall told himself that perhaps his forced sojourn in the country would not turn out to be so very unpleasant after all. But Clarence, being entirely out of his element, was homesick already, and consequently could take no interest in anything. He cared little for such amusements and pastimes as were to be found in a happy cultivated family circle. He preferred a game of billiards or cards with some boon companions, and these he could not have so long as he remained under his uncle’s roof.
The day was a long and dreary one to him. He played a few times on his flute while his cousin Lucy accompanied him on the piano; spent an hour or two in walking about the plantation; listened patiently, but without much interest, while Don and Bert talked of the various exciting and amusing incidents that had happened in the neighborhood during the war; and as soon as night came and he could find an opportunity to do so, he slipped away by himself. He wanted to be alone, so that he could think over the plans he had formed for bringing his visit to a speedy termination, and make up his mind what sort of a letter he would write to his mother.
“There’s no fun to be seen here,” said Clarence, as he drew a cigar from one pocket and a match-safe from another. “I can see that with half an eye, and I can’t endure the thought of staying here for six long months. I’d do almost anything to raise money enough to take me away from here this very night. Now, what can I say to mother, in the letter I intend to write to her before I go to bed, that will induce her to send me fifty dollars without an hour’s delay?”
As Clarence asked himself this question he lighted his cigar, and finding that a fence ran across his path, and that he was at such a distance from the house that he could enjoy his smoke without fear of interruption, he leaned on the top rail and went off into a reverie, from which he was aroused a few minutes later by the sound of voices and footsteps. Hastily taking his cigar from his mouth and putting it behind him, he looked up and saw a couple of figures advancing toward him along the fence. It was so dark that he could not see who they were, but it flashed upon him that perhaps they were Don and Bert, who were out searching for him. With an exclamation indicative of great annoyance and vexation, he was about to throw away his cigar, when some words spoken in a suppressed tone of voice fell upon his ear and arrested his hand.
By this time the approaching figures were so close to him that Clarence made out that they were a man and a boy; and from their conversation he learned that they had come there to dig up a barrel. Clarence caught every word they uttered, and could scarcely restrain his astonishment when he heard the man say:
“He done a good thing fur us, ole Jordan did, when he run away without tellin’ his missus whar that bar’l was hid. Now, Dannie, let’s try right here fust. Ye begin, kase yer the youngest, an’ I’ll set down an’ smoke an’ watch ye till yer tired. Now, bar in mind that yer workin’ fur eighty thousand dollars! Throw it out with the fust shovelful, an’ I’ll give ye half!”
Clarence almost jumped from the ground when he heard this, and, like the quick-witted fellow he was, he comprehended the situation perfectly; but we ought to say that he had something besides the conversation to which he had just listened, to aid him in reaching the conclusions he so suddenly formed. During the day his aunt had shown him several articles of value that had long been heir-looms in the Gordon family, and explained to him how she had managed to keep them secreted during the war. The family silver had been buried again and again—every time, in fact, that there was the least rumor of an advance being made by either army—and the work, for the most part, had been done by some of the negroes on the plantation.
“A good many people lost property in that way which they never recovered,” said his aunt. “The negroes, having concealed it, ran away with the Federals without leaving any clue to the hiding-place of the valuables, and so they were never found.”