So they set out, hand in hand, spade and pitch-fork on shoulder, and presently were come to the orchard.

“It’s an awful big place to dig up a fortune in!” said Small Porges, glancing about.  “Where do you s’pose we’d better begin?”

“Well, Shipmate, between you and me, and the pitch-fork here, I rather fancy ‘King Arthur’ knows more than most people would think.  Any way, we’ll try him.  You dig on that side, and I’ll prod on this.”

Saying which, Bellew pointed to a certain spot where the grass looked somewhat uneven, and peculiarly bumpy, and, bidding Small Porges get to work, went round to the other side of the great tree.

Being there, he took out his pipe, purely from force of habit, and stood with it clenched in his teeth, listening to the scrape of Small Porges’ spade.

Presently he heard a cry, a panting, breathless cry, but full of a joy unspeakable: 

“I’ve got it!—­Oh, Uncle Porges—­I’ve found it!”

Small Porges was down upon his knees, pulling and tugging at a sack he had partially unearthed, and which, with Bellew’s aid, he dragged forth into the moonlight.  In the twinkling of an eye the string was cut, and plunging in a hand Small Porges brought up a fistful of shining sovereigns, and, among them, a crumpled banknote.

“It’s all right, Uncle Porges!” he nodded, his voice all of a quaver.  “It’s all right, now,—­I’ve found the fortune I’ve prayed for,—­gold, you know, an’ banknotes—­in a sack.  Everything will be all right again now.”  And, while he spoke, he rose to his feet, and lifting the sack with an effort, swung it across his shoulder, and set off toward the house.

“Is it heavy, Shipmate?”

“Awful heavy!” he panted, “but I don’t mind that—­it’s gold, you see!” But, as they crossed the rose-garden, Bellew laid a restraining hand upon his shoulder.

“Porges,” said he, “where is your Auntie Anthea?”

“In the drawing-room, waiting for Mr. Grimes.”

“Then, come this way.”  And turning, Bellew led Small Porges up, and along the terrace.

“Now, my Porges,” he admonished him, “when we come to the drawing-room windows,—­they’re open, you see,—­I want you to hide with me in the shadows, and wait until I give you the word—­”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” panted Small Porges.

“When I say ’heave ahead, Shipmate,’—­why, then, you will take your treasure upon your back and march straight into the room—­you understand?”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

“Why, then—­come on, and—­mum’s the word.”

Very cautiously they approached the long French windows, and paused in the shadow of a great rose-bush, near-by.  From where he stood Bellew could see Anthea and Miss Priscilla, and between them, sprawling in an easy chair, was Grimes, while Adam, hat in hand, scowled in the background.

“All I can say is—­as I’m very sorry for ye, Miss Anthea,” Grimes was saying.  “Ah! that I am, but glad as you’ve took it so well,—­no crying nor nonsense!” Here he turned to look at Miss Priscilla, whose everlasting sewing had fallen to her feet, and lay there all unnoticed, while her tearful eyes were fixed upon Anthea, standing white-faced beside her.