Then opening the door, she called gently, "Come in, children."
"Mother! Mother! See here!" shouted Hans.
"Holy Saint Bavon!" exclaimed the dame, springing over the
doorstep. "What ails the boy!"
"Come quick, Mother," he cried in great excitement, working with
all his might and driving in the ysbreeker at each word. "Don't
you see? THIS is the spot--right here on the south side of the
stump. Why didn't we think of it last night? THE STUMP is the
old willow tree--the one you cut down last spring because it
shaded the potatoes. That little tree wasn't here when Father. .
.Huzza!"
Dame Brinker could not speak. She dropped on her knees beside
Hans just in time to see him drag forth THE OLD STONE POT!
He thrust in his hand and took out a piece of brick, then
another, then another, then the stocking and the pouch, black and
moldy, but filled with the long-lost treasure!
Such a time! Such laughing! Such crying! Such counting after
they went into the cottage! It was a wonder that Raff did not
waken. His dreams were pleasant, however, for he smiled in his
sleep.
Dame Brinker and her children had a fine supper, I can assure
you. No need of saving the delicacies now.
Pages:
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333