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He spread an embroidered cloth on the floor and pitched his treasure trove into it working feverishly, choking and gasping, until the flames began to crackle through the wall, and the ceiling above him split across.
None of them could remember afterward quite how they acted in those first few minutes of unchained emotion. But they laughed and sang, cheered and shouted, and it was a long time before the rioting of their blood ceased and they regained a measure of self-control. There was no attempt made to measure the value of the treasure trove. There would be time for that later on.
"Like preserves!" said Polly, soberly, as if she were not able to see the point. Against the protest of Polly and her mother, Trove went to sleep in the sugar shanty, a quarter of a mile or so back in the woods. On his first trip with the drove he had developed fondness for sleeping out of doors. The shanty was a rude structure of logs, with an open front.
I should regard it as treasure trove if one were forthcoming in the same way that brought to light the authentic one of Stein's. As, however, Backers' intimate friends, and his assistants in carrying out the invention, were John Broadwood and Robert Stodart, we have, in their early instruments, the principle and all the leading features of the Backers grand.
There was not one of us who did not know secret satisfaction at the occurrence of each death. Luckiest of all was Israel Stickney in casting lots, so that in the end, when he passed, he was a veritable treasure trove of clothing. It gave a new lease of life to the survivors. We continued to run to the north-east before the fresh westerlies, but our quest for warmer weather seemed vain.
An' what think you, sor, I've travelled sixty miles an' tinkered forty clocks in the week gone." "I think you yourself will need tinkering." "Ah, but I thank the good God, here is me home," the old man remarked wearily. "I'm going to school here," said Trove, "and hope I may see you often." "Indeed, boy, we'll have many a blessed hour," said the tinker.
Sherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. "By Jove, Peterson!" said he, "this is treasure trove indeed. I suppose you know what you have got?" "A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts into glass as though it were putty." "It's more than a precious stone. It is the precious stone." "Not the Countess of Morcar's blue carbuncle!" I ejaculated. "Precisely so.
"I am so ashamed of myself I'd like to go lie in your wood box while I talk to you." "'What hempen homespun have we swaggering here?" Darrel quoted in a rallying voice. "I'll tell you." Trove began. "Nay, first a roundel," said the tinker, as he began to shuffle his feet to the measure of an old fairy song. "If one were on his way to the gallows, you would make him laugh," said Trove, smiling.
"Put away thy unhappiness," said he, gently, patting the boy's hand. "No harm shall come to thee 'tis only a passing cloud." "You're right, and I'm not going to be a fool," said Trove. "It has all brought me one item of good fortune." "An' that is?" "I have discovered who is my father." "An' know ye where he is now?" the tinker inquired.
Trove inquired eagerly. "In the Blessed Isles, boy, in the Blessed Isles. Imagine the infinite sea o' time that is behind us. Stand high an' look back over its dead level. King an' empire an' all their striving multitudes are sunk in the mighty deep. But thou shalt see rising out of it the Blessed Isles of imagination. Green forever green are they and scattered far into the dim distance.
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