“I wish you could remember where the cabin stood,” said Bee as he returned the coin. The man chuckled hoarsely.
“I’ve often wished the same myself. Likely there’s where he hid his money, mate. Well, I’ll be goin’. Good luck to you, mates; I’m hoping you find them yellow clams. Be you goin’ to stay here long on the island?”
“Until we find that treasure,” replied Bee determinedly.
The man chuckled. “Ho, bully boy! Keep at it, mate, keep at it. You can’t never tell when your shovel’ll strike wood. Then you’ll all be rich, eh? Think o’ them red fellows a-glitterin’ at you, and jewels, red an’ white an’ green an’ blue, a-tricklin’ through your fingers, eh? Aye, aye, good luck to you, mates!”
“Do you live around here?” asked Jack.
The visitor waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the winding river. “Up there when I’m to home. Bill Glass is my name, mate. Lots o’ folks knows Honest Bill Glass. Poor I be, but honest; which is due to my attendin’ Sunday school reg’lar, mates.”
“Fishing, are you?” Jack nodded at the dory pulled up on the beach.
“I do a bit at times. Clammin’, too. Maybe you’d want some clams, mates? I sell ’em cheap. I’ll bring some around to you some day soon. Don’t buy if you don’t want ’em. Honest Bill Glass don’t take money without givin’ complete satisfaction. Poor I be, but honest, mates. Good day to you.”
He went off down the slope, slowly, with an odd drag to his feet, and again stopped at the trench. After a moment he looked up and back and waved a hand. Then he went on. They watched him push off his dory and scramble aboard with an agility surprising in one who looked to be fully fifty-five or -six years old, and settle at the oars. He rowed with short, slow strokes up the river. For several minutes they could follow the course of the old dory, and then it was lost to sight behind the bank at a turn.