We crossed the river and took the train. But the fun was over. Even our
pas was quiet. Mitch fell asleep in his father's arms. I couldn't talk,
somehow. The summer was fading, we could see that. We could hear the
crickets in the grass whenever the train stopped. Sleep was falling on
the earth. The fields were still and bare. No birds sang. And the train
moved on. And we were going home; and to what? No more digging for
treasure; no more belief in Tom Sawyer. School would commence soon. The
end of the world seemed near. I myself wanted to die; for if Mitch and
me had to keep goin' through this same thing until we was old like our
pas, what was the use? We got back to Petersburg; and Mitch and his pa
stepped off the train and started on before we got off. They stopped
after a little bit and waited for us. Then they went on; and when we got
to the square, they said good-by and started for home. And my pa went to
his office and took me.
When we got there we found a man in the hall, walkin' up and down. He'd
been there for three days waitin' for my pa. And so pa unlocked the
office and went in. The man follered and sat down. He was an old,
farmer-like feller, but it seemed he lived in a town down in Pike
County. He'd come up to get Nancy Allen's money, the treasure Mitch and
me had found. He said he was a third cousin of Nancy Allen's, and her
only livin' relative. Well, the advertisement that pa had put in the
paper for relatives had expired, and no one had turned up to claim the
money but this man. His name was Joe Allen, and he had his proofs with
him that he was Nancy Allen's third cousin. He said his wife was dead;
that he had no children; that he did a little draying in his town; that
he wanted to get a new wagon and a span of mules, cost about four
hundred dollars; and this money came in awful handy for him. Then he
looked around the room and saw pa's books. And he said that he never had
much schoolin', that he wanted schoolin' and never had it; and that if
he'd had it, he'd been a lawyer too, maybe, instead of running a dray.
And then pa went over to the safe and got the money, for he hadn't
turned it in to the treasury yet. He counted the money and left it on
the table. And then the man was interested in how it was found. And pa
told him and says: "This is one of the boys that found it; this is my
boy. And the other boy is preacher Miller's boy, one of our best
citizens," meaning Mr. Miller, of course, and not Mitch. "And they're
poor, and Mitch is one of the most wonderful boys you ever saw--very
smart and reads all kinds of books."
[Illustration: Counting the Treasure]
Then the man took the money and counted it and put it in his pocket. But
my pa says, "We'll have to do a lot of things about papers and receipts
and things before you can have the money." So the man took it out and
put it on the table; and then he counted it again. And finally he
separated it and handed part of it to my pa and says, "Count it." So pa
did. And the man says, "Is that a thousand dollars? I don't reckon very
well." "Yes," says pa. "It's a thousand dollars and ten dollars more."
And the man took the ten-dollar bill and put it on the other pile.
"Here," says the man, "take this thousand dollars and take your fee out
of it."
My pa says, "No--you don't owe me nothin'. The county pays me for my
work, and it wouldn't be right, and you need it more than I do."
"Well," says the man, "what I meant was for you to take your fee out of
it, and then split the difference between these two boys."
"No, you don't owe them nothing," says pa. My heart sank. I said "I--,"
and was about to say something, I don't know what; but pa waved at me to
keep still and says, "This money is yours, and if you'll come with me,
we'll attend to everything, and you can take it and go home."
Then the man said: "But you say one of these boys is poor and is smart.
And I know what it is to be poor when you're a boy, even if you're not
smart, as I warn't; and to want to get up in the world and not be able
to, as I have. And I know what it is to feel it all your life, what you
didn't have when a boy. And, as I said, I have no one in the world but
myself, and I don't need nothin'; and after I buy this wagon and span of
mules then I'll have more'n six hundred dollars to lend out. It's enough
for me. It makes me well fixed, with my house, which I own. And here I
have a good chance to do good to a couple of boys who found the money,
and may use their sheer to make men of 'em--and you just take this
$1,000 and if you don't want any of it, give it all to 'em."
Then he said, "Where is this boy, Mitch Miller? I'd like to see him. You
say he's a smart boy." So my pa says, "Run up and get him." And I
ran--ran all the way--breathless to tell Mitch that we had struck it at
last. When I got to his house, no one was there but a woman doin' the
washin'. She didn't know where any of the family was. That she saw Mitch
go away with his fishin' pole. So I ran back and told pa, and he says,
"Never mind--let it go--it's just as well." While I was gone, the man
and pa seemed to have come to terms. Pa was goin' to take the thousand
dollars. He did and gave the rest to the man and he said good-by and
went.
Then pa turned to me and says: "I'll put this in the safe. But mind you,
you're not to say a thing to Mitch or any one about it. It will be a
Christmas gift, which ain't far off. And if you tell, I'll keep your
half for my fee. I'll find it out, sure, if you tell. Promise me now
not to tell." And I promised.
Then pa locked the money up in the safe. And he said: "Go home, now; and
tell your ma I'll be home for supper. She's back from her visit and will
be glad to see you."
So I went home.