“I—I—someway it don’t look right.”
“Phoo-ee!” chuckled Uncle Billie. “That ain’t no chest. That’s a poundin’ mill. What hit’s doin’ stored up here is more’n I know.”
“A pounding mill? What’s that?” demanded Florence as she held her candle above a great cylindrical block of wood on which there rested a similar block of smaller dimensions.
“A poundin’ mill’s used for poundin’ out corn meal. They ain’t used now on account o’ water wheels, but they was a powerful help in their day. You all never seed ’em work? Well, hit’s this way.”
Uncle Billie lifted the smaller cylinder and dropped it into a hole in the larger block, which was some three feet high and four feet across.
“You put your corn in that there holler, then you tie this block to a saplin’ to help you teeter hit up an’ down, an’ you pound your corn until it are meal. That’s all there are to hit.”
“That’s a powerful heavy block!” he exclaimed, trying to tip it. “Must be made out o’ first growth hickory, as sizeable as hit is.”
“But where’s our gold?” asked Marion. Her voice dropped off into a little disappointed wail.
“Peers to me like we’d been barkin’ up the wrong tree,” said Uncle Billie with a sad shake of his head.
“Might be hidden around somewhere among the rafters,” said Florence. “Let’s have a good look.”