Bab nodded.
"Then it must refer to Thomas Warrington Presby. He is the gentleman who is supposed to have been scalped by the Indians, the man who buried the treasure that we have had all the fuss and excitement about. What is the book?"
"It is his journal. His diary, I think we would call it. May I read it?"
"Of course. I hope you may find something interesting in it."
The reading of the diary was not easy. The ink was faded and the writing was so peculiar that Bab deciphered it with some difficulty. Bab curled up on a pile of old clothes under a window and buried her nose in the old diary. She found it fascinating to read the diary of the man who actually buried the treasure that had made the name of Treasureholme well known in all that part of the country.
The entries in the diary dealt with the routine affairs of the life of the owner. Then there were other and more absorbing passages. One that made the girl's pulses quicken was the following:
"Rumors of Indian troubles are afloat. Jake was wounded by an arrow to-day, shot from somewhere in the forest back of the house. But no Indians were seen. We shall soon have to seek safety in the fort, I fear. What to do with my worldly goods when we go is the question that is troubling me now."
"Oh!" breathed Barbara.
"Does it blow hot or cold?" questioned Olive.
"It seems to be getting warm," replied Bab. "He is talking about the treasure."