are secrets in all families.”  These secrets the world commonly affects to know all about, but we think few will have reached the age of threescore without becoming convinced of how much pretending ignorance there is in this assumption of the world. “Tot ou tard tout se scait” is a significant saying of our old friends, the French, who know as much of things, in practice as any other people on the face of the earth; but “tot ou tard tout ne se scait pas.”

“Is the door shut?” asked the deacon, tremulously, for eagerness, united to debility, was sadly shaking his whole frame.  “See that the door is shut tight, Mary; this is our own secret, and nurse must remember that.”

Mary assured him that they were alone, and turned away in sorrow from the bed.

“Now, Gar’ner,” resumed the deacon, “open your whole heart, and let us know all about it.”

Roswell hesitated to reply; for he, too, was shocked at witnessing this instance of a soul’s clinging to mammon, when on the very eve of departing for the unknown world.  There was a look in the glazed and sunken eyes of the old man, that reminded him unpleasantly of that snapping of the eyes which he had so often seen in Daggett.

“You didn’t forget the key, surely, Gar’ner?” asked the deacon, anxiously.

“No, sir; we did our whole duty by that part of the voyage.”

“Did you find it—­was the place accurately described?”

“No chart could have made it better.  We lost a month in looking for the principal land-mark, which had been altered by the weather; but, that once found, the rest was easy.  The difficulty we met with in starting, has brought us home so late in the spring.”

“Never mind the spring, Gar’ner; the part that is past is sartain to come round ag’in, in due time.  And so you found the very key that was described by Daggett?”

“We did, sir; and just where he described it to be.”

“And how about the tree, and the little hillock of sand, at its foot?”

“Both were there, deacon.  The hillock must have grown a good deal, by reason of the shifting sand; but, all things considered, the place was well enough described.”

“Well—­well—­well—­you opened the hillock, of course!”

“We did, sir; and found the box mentioned by the pirate.”

“A good large box, I’ll warrant ye!  Them pirates seldom do things by halves—­he! he! he!”

“I can’t say much for the size of the box, deacon—­it looked to me as if it had once held window-glass, and that of rather small dimensions.”

“But, the contents—­you do not mention the contents.”

“They are here, sir,” taking a small bag from his pocket, and laying it on the bed, by the deacon’s side.  “The pieces are all of gold, and there are just one hundred and forty-three of them.—­Heavy doubloons, it is true, and I dare say well worth their 16 dollars each.”