Now Davie was an honest man—at least he had always supposed himself to be—and if you, or I, or another, had insinuated aught to the contrary, he would have been highly indignant. And yet it is a fact that as he went out of the garden with the chest on his wheelbarrow along with the garden tools, the whole carefully concealed with oat straw, he felt like a thief!
Meeting some of his cronies, with whom at ordinary times he would have held a jolly crack, he now hurried by with a mere "Gude-e'en, neebor," and when he saw the minister coming that way he crossed the road rather than speak to the godly man.
As he turned into the lane which led to his own cottage, little Jamie, who had been on the watch for him, came running out to beg for a ride on the wheelbarrow; and instead of catching him in his arms for a kiss, as was his wont, he angrily bade him "gang hame to his mither."
The disappointed child looked up in his father's face, and then, without saying a word, but sobbing bitterly, trotted back to the house.
There was in the barn a closet where Davie kept his garden tools, and which was seldom entered by any one save himself. There he deposited the chest, which had already begun to exercise a baleful influence, and which was destined to work him still further woe.
He had intended—or he had made himself believe that he intended—to restore the box to its owner without opening it; but now that it was in his own possession, he felt an almost irresistible desire to see what it contained.
"Belike it's nae treasure, after a'," said he to himself; "but only some auld trash not worth a groat."
With that he placed his hand on the lid and shook it gently, scarcely dreaming that it would yield without hammer and chisel; but both the rust-eaten lock and hinges gave way at once, and the cover fell to the floor with a startling crash.
Enclosed within the box were the gold and silver plate of the Lanark family.
Forth from their long burial they came to glitter once more in the sunlight, though the eyes that looked upon them last were years since closed upon all earthly scenes, and the soul of him who placed them there had gone, let us trust, to find a better treasure, where neither moth nor rust corrupts, nor thieves break through and steal.