Sure enough there was a small roll of thick, vellum-like paper, on which, in a cramped hand, evidently written years before, was the following: 

“Three feet under the Beacon Tree.”

For a minute or two I was puzzled, and then, as if by inspiration, the whole truth burst upon me.

The Beacon Tree was the name of an immense poplar that stood near the mouth of the inlet.  The fish-hawks had builded their nests in the forked tops for a half century.  I remember hearing my father say it was struck by lightning long before and although its upper branches were shattered, and it had been as dead as a fence-post ever since, yet its immense size, great height, and peculiar, silver-like appearance caused it to become a prominent landmark to the vessels when approaching the coast, and long before I was born it gained the name of the Beacon Tree, by which title it was known to unnumbered hundreds of sailors and sea-faring men.

“There is a treasure buried under that tree,” I said to Frank, suppressing my excitement so far as I could.  “More than likely it was placed there by some freebooter a long time ago, and these people were awaiting a chance to dig it up.”

“Maybe Captain Kidd buried it,” suggested the boy.

“Possibly he did, for there is reason to believe that he hid a great deal of treasure along the Atlantic coast.  Now, since Arthur was with you when you found this bottle, he has the same claim to the treasure that you have.  We will not say anything to his father, and you must take particular care not to give a hint to a living soul.  Go over and tell Arthur to come here this evening.  I will furnish the shovels and lantern, and when we are sure that no one will see us, we will slip over to the Beacon Tree and dig.”

I recall that I was never so absolutely sure of anything in my life as I was that valuable treasure lay buried under the old poplar.  My wife, to whom I showed the little roll of paper, expressed a doubt, and smilingly hinted that perhaps I was too much impressed by that brilliant sketch of Edgar A. Poe called “The Gold Bug.”

“Of course,” I answered, “disappointment may await us, and I know these bottles picked up at sea are frequently frauds; but the age of the writing and the peculiar circumstances convince me that this is genuine.  I am sure something will be found under the Beacon Tree.”

Meantime Frank had hurried off to acquaint Arthur with the amazing discovery, and to warn him against dropping a hint to any one.  My son soon returned with the word that his friend was “b’iling” with excitement, but alas! his parents were going to spend that evening with a neighbor, and since they would not be back until late, there was no possible way of his joining us.

The boys were not more disappointed than I, and the impulse was strong upon me to make the venture without the help of Arthur, meaning, of course that such a proceeding should not affect his share in the find; but it did not strike me that that would be exactly right, and Arthur was informed that we three would attend to the business the following evening.