But here was Jamesby with designs against me!  He had dashed my fond hopes of rest; although he was somehow always considerate and endurable.  I could never become impatient with him, even if I knew he was going to make demands upon me for more information concerning Money Island.

“What is Uncle Henry telling you, Jamesby?” I asked on drawing closer to them.

“Oh,” he answered in a somewhat self-conscious manner, “he was about to tell me of an experience of his in money digging.”

Now, I had heard old Henry tell that story before.  It was one which seemed to justify his very sober ideas as to money getting by any other means than by one’s daily work.

“Well, Henry,” I said, taking my seat also on the box, “did you really ever dig for money?”—­as if I had never before heard him say anything about it.  The implied doubt would, I knew, make him all the more ready to talk.

He replied promptly, with a grin of interest, “Yes, sah, cose I tried money diggin’.”

Then he paused as if to await an invitation to proceed.  “Go on, Uncle Henry,” urged Jamesby.

Henry shifted his position, and, leaning upon his cane from another angle, went on:  “‘Twas dis away.  Once uponer time me an’ John Gomus an’ John Flowers, we was round at Mr. Holmes’ stables, right back of Mr. Kidder’s whey I uster keep my horse and kyart; dere was woods right dare den, sah, an’ a graveyard; an’ I had a horse and kyart of my own.  So one evenin’ an ole white ‘oman come fum de Sound, an’ she tole us that a sperit had done tole her whey some money was buried; an’ she wanted us to come down dere and dig it up; she couldn’t dig for it, but she knowed whey ’twas—­de sperit had tole her.  So we got togedder and made a club to go down—­three of us.  De place was on Wrightsville Sound, not fur from Mr. Wright’s place.

“De sign was, dat one read de Bible back’ards, and no one speak—­all hadter go by signs, an’ dat’d keep de sperits fum pesterin’ us.  John Gomus, he had de rod goin’ roun’, an’ fonn’ a place to stick it.  I dunno why he stick it whey he did.  De rod pinted right down dere; and right whey de rod pinted we digged.  When we commence diggin’, it was about half-past eight o’clock, and we worked hard, sah.  We digged a hole big enough to set a small house in.  John, he kep’ bearin’ on de rod, an’ de rod it kep’ goin’ down.  Den de rod at las’ struck sumpn; and we was so glad, thinkin’ we’d struck de pot!  Every one was rejoiced!  We didn’ talk, but jes fling up de dirt!  An’ when we dig down dere, sah, what you spose ‘twas.  Nothin’ but a big ole cow’s horn.  An’ after all dat diggin’!  We done an’ digged a hole ’bout fifteen or twenty feet across, and goodness knows how deep; an’ ’twas ‘bout four in de mornin’ before we quit.  We pack up an’ come back home, feelin’ jes as cheap as a wet chicken.

“De ole ’oman come ‘roun agin, an’ tole us dat de money was dere; fer de sperit had tole her agin ’twas dere.  But we warn’t anxious to try for it agin.  We thought we done enough.”