THE TRAMP TURNS UP AGAIN.
When Peter Brant was laid away under a tree not far from the cabin
where he had ended his days, Ernest felt that he was at liberty to
begin the new life that lay before him. Despite the natural sadness
which he felt at parting with his old friend, he looked forward not
without pleasant anticipations to the future and what it might have in
store for him.
Oak Forks had few attractions for him. Time had often dragged wearily
with him. He had a literary taste, but could not get hold of books.
Peter Brant had about a dozen volumes, none of which he had read
himself, but Ernest had read them over and over again. None of the
neighbors owned any books. Occasionally a newspaper found its way into
the settlement, and this, when it came into Ernest's hands, was
devoured, advertisements and all.
How, then, was his time passed? Partly in hunting, partly in fishing,
for there was a small river two miles away; but one could not fish or
hunt all the time. He had often felt a vague yearning to go to
Chicago, or New York, or anywhere where there would be a broader field
and large opportunities, and he had broached the subject to Peter.
"I can't afford to go, Ernest," the old man would reply. "I must live
on the little I have, for I am too old to work."
"But I am young. I can work," the boy would answer.
"A boy like you couldn't earn much. Wait till I am dead and then you
can go where you like."
This would always close the discussion, for Ernest did not like to
consider such a contingency. Peter represented his world, for he had
no one to cling to except the man whom he supposed to be his uncle.
Now, however, the time had come when he could go forth and enter upon
a career. Accordingly he declined Joe Marks' offer to take him into
the store. He understood very well that it was only meant in kindness,
and that he was not really needed.
"You don't need me, Joe," he said. "You are very kind, but there must
be real work for me somewhere."
"Well, my lad, I won't stand in your way, but I've known you a long
time, and I shall hate to lose sight of you."
"I'll come back some day, Joe--that is, if I am prosperous, and can."
"If you are not prosperous, if you fall sick, and need a home and a
friend, come back, then. Don't forget your old friend Joe Marks."
"I won't, Joe," said Ernest heartily.
"You've got another friend here, Ernest," added Luke Robbins. "I'm a
poor man, and my friendship isn't worth much, but you have it, all the
same."
Ernest grasped the hands of both. He felt that each was a friend worth
having.
"You may be sure that I won't forget either of you," he said.
"When do you expect to go, Ernest, and where?" asked Joe Marks.
"I shall get away to-morrow, I think, but where I shall go I can't
tell yet."
"Do you need any money?"
"No; my uncle left me some."
Ernest had not yet secured the gold, but he knew exactly where it was,
and now that all his business was ended, he felt that it was time to
possess himself of it. Accordingly he took a spade from the house and
bent his steps in the direction of the old oak tree.
He went alone, for he thought it best not to take anyone into his
confidence. Indeed the only persons whom he would have thought of
trusting were Joe Marks and Luke Robbins, and they were both employed,
Joe in his store and Luke on a hunting expedition.
Arrived at the tree, Ernest measured off five feet in the direction
mentioned by Peter and began to dig. It did not take him long to reach
the box, for it was only a foot beneath the surface of the ground.
It proved to be a cigar-box, for Peter was fond of smoking, though he
usually smoked a pipe, as being more economical. Ernest lifted the lid
and saw a small roll enclosed in brown wrapping-paper, which, on being
removed, revealed twenty five-dollar gold pieces. He regarded them
with satisfaction, for they afforded him the means of leaving Oak
Forks and going out into the great world which he had such a curiosity
to enter.
But Ernest was not the only one who regarded the gold pieces with
satisfaction.
Hidden behind a tree only a few feet away was a person with whom we
are already acquainted. It was Tom Burns, the tramp and vagabond.
He, too, was out in search of gold. He had come from Daneboro and was
prowling round the neighborhood, searching for old Peter's hidden
treasure. He had deliberated as to whether the cabin or the fields was
the more likely place to have been selected. He had nothing in
particular to guide him. He did not, however, venture to approach the
house just yet, as it would probably be occupied by Ernest.
"I wish I knowed where the old man hid his boodle," soliloquized Tom.
"I can't dig all over."
In fact digging was not in Tom's line. It was too much like work, and
if there was anything to which Tom was bitterly opposed it was work of
any kind.
"The boy must know. Likely the old man told him," he finally
concluded. "I'll watch the boy."
He feared he might be too late. Had it been his own case, he would
have searched for the gold immediately after the funeral. He naturally
supposed that Ernest would do the same. He therefore lost no time in
prowling around the cabin, with the especial object of watching
Ernest's movements. He was especially favored, as he thought, when
from a distance he saw Ernest leaving the cabin with the spade in his
hand.
The tramp's heart was filled with joy.
"He is going to dig for the treasure," he said. "I'll keep him in
sight."
Tom Burns had no difficulty in doing this, for Ernest bent his steps
in his direction.
"I hope he won't discover me," thought Burns; "at any rate, not till I
find out where he's going to dig."
All things seemed to favor the tramp. Ernest stopped when he came to
the oak tree, and it was evident this was the spot of which he was in
search.
"Why, that's where I was lying the other night!" thought Burns. "If I
had only knowed! Why, the gold was right under me all the time. If I'd
found it then, I should have gone off with it before this time. How
ever, it isn't too late now."
He watched with subdued eagerness while Ernest was digging. He no
longer doubted that this was the place where the gold was hidden.
Ernest could have no other object in digging in this place.
"I wonder how much there is," thought Burns. "There ought to be as
much as a thousand dollars. Perhaps there's two or three. But even if
there is only a thousand, it will set me on my feet. I'll soon get out
of this neighborhood. I'll go to Chicago or New York, and I'll live in
clover. I'll make up for lost time. I've been a vagabond long enough.
I'll buy some new clothes, and set up as a respectable man."
When Ernest found the roll of coins, and taking them out, put them in
his pocket, he was not disappointed, for he knew what to expect, but
Tom Burns was in dismay.
"Only a hundred dollars?" he soliloquized. "What's a hundred dollars?
The old man ought to be ashamed of himself. Why, it isn't
respectable!"
However, one thing was certain. A hundred dollars was better than
nothing. It would take him to Chicago, and enable him to live in
comfort for a while. Besides, he might multiply it many times at the
gaming table, for Tom Burns had been a gambler in his day. He
certainly did not propose to disdain the sum which fortune had placed
in his way simply because it was so small. Oh, no, Tom Burns was not
that sort of a man.
Ernest put the gold pieces in his pocket and turned to go back to the
cabin, when a voice reached him.
"Look here, boy, I'll trouble you to hand over that money."