Charles Reade (1814-1884) was born at Ipsden,
England, and educated at Oxford. He wrote plays and
novels, the latter usually with some purpose of
reform. Compare this story with "Ali Hafed's Quest"
(page 13) as to setting, characters, ending, and
moral.
Once upon a time there was an old farmer that had
heard or read about treasures being found in odd
places--a potful of gold pieces or something of the sort--and
it took root in his heart till nothing would satisfy
him but he must find a potful of gold pieces too. He spent 5
all his time hunting in this place and in that for buried
treasures. He poked about all the old ruins in the neighborhood
and even wished to take up the floor of the church.
One morning he arose with a bright face and said to his
wife, "It's all right, Mary. I've found the treasure." 10
"No! Have you, though?" said she.
"Yes!" he answered; "at least it's as good as found.
It's only waiting till I've had my breakfast, and then I'll
go out and fetch it in."
"Oh, John! How did you find it?" 15
"It was revealed to me in a dream," said he, as grave
as a judge.
"Oh! and where is it?"
"Under a tree in our orchard--no farther than that."
"Oh, how long you are at your breakfast, John! Let's 20
hurry out and get it."
They went out together into the orchard.
"Now which tree is it under?" asked the wife.
John scratched his head and looked very sheepish. "I'm
blessed if I know!"
"Oh, you foolish fellow," said the wife. "Why didn't
you take the trouble to notice?" 5
"I did notice," said he. "I saw the exact tree in my
dream, but now there's so many of them, they muddle
it all."
"Well, I think you're stupid," said the wife angrily.
"You ought to have cut a nick in the right one while you 10
were there."
"That may be," answered John; "but now I see that I'll
have to begin with the first tree and keep on digging till I
come to the one with the treasure under it."
This made the wife lose all hope; for there were eighty 15
apple trees and a score of cherry trees. She heaved a sigh
and said: "Well, I guess if you must, you must. But
mind you don't cut any of the roots."
John was in no good humor. He abused the trees with
all the bad words he could think of. 20
"What difference does it make if I cut all the roots?
The old fagots aren't worth a penny apiece. The whole
lot of them don't bear a bushel of good apples. In father's
time they used to bear wagonloads of choice fruit. I wish
they were every one dead!" 25
"Well, John," said the woman, trying to soothe his
anger, "you know that father always gave them a good deal
of attention."
"Attention? Nonsense!" he answered spitefully.
"They don't need attention. They've got old, like ourselves. 30
They're good for nothing but firewood."
Then, muttering to himself, he brought out pickax and
spade and began his work. He dug three feet deep all
around the first tree, and finding nothing but earth and
stones went on to the next. He heaped up a mound half
as high as his head--but no pot of gold did he strike.
He had dug round three or four trees before his neighbors 5
began to notice him. Then their curiosity was awakened,
and each one told another about his queer actions. After
that there was scarcely an hour in the day that seven or
eight were not sitting on the fence and passing sly jokes.
Then it became the fashion for the boys to fling a stone or 10
two or a clod of dry earth at John.
To defend himself, John brought out his gun, loaded with
fine shot, and the next time a stone was thrown he fired
sharp in the direction it came from. The boys took the
hint, and John dug on in peace till the fourth Sunday, when 15
the parson alluded to him in church. "People ought not
to heap up to themselves treasures on earth."
But it seemed that John was only heaping up dirt; for
when he had dug the fivescore holes, no pot of gold came
to light. Then the neighbors called the orchard "Jacobs's 20
folly"; his name was Jacobs--John Jacobs.
"Now then, Mary," said he, "you and I will have to
find some other village to live in, for the jokes and gibes
of these people are more than I can bear."