irrepressible outburst of feeling from the grand panjandrum.—he enlarges upon the dignity of his office.—spades again.—digging once more.—at the old place, my boy.—resumption of an unfinished work.—uncovering the money-hole.—the iron plate.—the cover of the iron chest—a tremendous but restrained excitement.

such, then, was the explanation of the mystery of the discordant, the hideous roar. to those who have heard the bray of a donkey it will be intelligible how such a noise, sounding suddenly in the still midnight, to inexperienced ears may have been full of terror; while to those who have not heard it, a simple assertion of the above fact will, it is hoped, be all that is necessary. it was the donkey’s bray which, according to the fable, terrified the animals of the forest, after he had put on the lion’s skin. now, this donkey was clothed in something more dreadful than a lion’s skin: he was clothed in the darkness and the gloom of night, and his roar might well terrify those who heard it under such circumstances, without knowing whence it came.

after the first surprise they all burst into a roar of laughter. it was an immense relief to them all; but their merriment was a little intermingled with feelings of shame, as the dark and dreadful mystery thus resolved itself into the ridiculous form of a poor little donkey.

as for solomon, the effect produced on him was greater than on the others. as the first peal of the bray struck his ears, he started, his jaw dropped, his eyes rolled up. then, as the whole truth came to him, he dashed his hat to the ground, threw his head back, and burst into a perfect thunder-peal of laughter. there he stood, while the donkey brayed, swinging his aged frame and his grizzled head backward and forward, tossing his arms, and at last holding his aching sides.

and it was,—“o, dis sight! de jackass! o, de gracious sakes! shades an powers ob darkness! sich a succumstance! an’ dis nigga a gwine mad wid feah about dat! an all de blubbed breddern ob de double bubble: de mos’ wossfle, de patrick, de venebubble wodden, an all de ress, a flyin on de heels ob de granjer pander drum! wid a small jackass a chasin all dem high an’ mighty ’ficials! tinkin him de vengin sperrit ob a ole cajian slashin an swingin a pot ob gold ober our bressed heads! o, dis erf alive! nebber did dis nigga spec to fin out sich a succumstance! an de stonishing way we did put! gracious! how my ole heels did kick up! reglar ravin stracted wid terror we was; mind, i tell you! an dar come a juvenile jackass out ob de wood to devour us up! say, blubbed breddern, whar’s dat ar minral rod? spose you get dat ar stick for a ridin whip; wonder ef ’twouldn’t make dat ar jackass gee up. tell you what now, mas’r bart, you jest get on dat ar animal’s back wid mas’r bruce, an’ sing one or two ob dem dar cantations, an de rest ob you get some magic candles an set fire to de top knot on de end ob dat ar tail. tell you what, dat’ll make him gee up—will so! yah! yah! yah! yah! yah! ye-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-p!”

“solomon, my son,’ said bart, as the old fellow, after giving a wild yell, was getting ready for another outburst.

“yes, mos wossfle,” said solomon, with a grin. “would it be too much to ask you to be kind enough to allow us to finish our rustic repast? as it was interrupted by the noise of this quadruped, we think that it would be very desirable to resume it, unless you prefer remaining here for the rest of the day imitating the animal before us.”

“all right, mos possible,” said old solomon, catching up his basket. “couldn’t help it. had to let out strong. bust if i hadn’t did so. fust man dat mentions de name ob a donkey to me, dis ole niggall bust. dat’s so!”

saying this, solomon kicked up one leg, then slapped one hand down hard on his knee, and stood for a moment with his head bent down, while his whole frame shook with internal laughter. at length he raised his head, and presented to the view of the boys a face as grave, as demure, and as solemn as the visage of a judge who is about to pronounce a sentence, only there was an irrepressible twinkle in each of his small black beads of eyes which took a little from the mask of gravity with which his face was covered.

then he took up the basket, and walked back towards the old french orchard. the boys passed him, reaching the cellar first. then they all sat down again, and solomon, for the third time, spread the table before them.

“dis heah,” said he, “chil’en, am de third and de lass time. ef any ob you runs away, he’ll lose his bressed dinna, now an forebbermore. amen. so you go ahead, an eat, fass as you can. de visions ain’t gwine to spile your ’gestions.”

the boys were hungry, and ate in silence. solomon stood apart unobserved, with a broad grin on his face, occasionally muttering to himself, and shaking all over with laughter. after each of these silent explosions, he would suddenly recover his gravity, mutter to himself some solemn rebuke, and look awfully grave for about half a minute, till a new explosion came.

that discovery had been too much for him. he had seen the donkey when it came, but he had never heard it bray. the terror over him had been tremendous. every night since then had been a night of fear, and it was the violent revulsion of feeling from his former panic which brought on this joyousness. it took him all the rest of the term to get over his tendency to burst forth on all occasions into fits of laughter.

at length the repast was over, and solomon at last had the satisfaction of feeling that his efforts had been fully “’preciated.” the boys felt like giants refreshed, and solomon looked with great complacency upon the bones of the fowls and the empty dishes.

“dat’s about de ticket,” he said, as he piled the dishes into the basket. “didn’t want to carry back such a hebby load to de ’cad’my. been tuggin at it all day. got to hurry back now.”

“what, solomon! you’re not going?” said bart.

“got to—must.”

“nonsense! we can’t spare you yet. we want to talk to you.”

“can’t spar de time now,—mos ’portant business. de doctor allus specks me punct’ly. got to get him his dinna. dis is all very well for play; but business is business, an dat’s what me’n’ de doctor’s got to tend to. we’ve got de ’portant business ob life—de dinna ’partment.”

“o, he’ll get his dinner all right,” said arthur.

“what dat? he—de doctor—widout me!”

solomon rolled up his eyes till only the whites were visible, and stood lost in wonder at the preposterous idea.

“sich chil’en as you,” said he, loftily, “don’t ond’stan de serious business ob life. wait till you get to be sixty, an hab cooked as many dinnas as me; den you may talk.”

“that’s hard for us,” said tom, “if we have to become cooks and get to be sixty.”

“course it is—an i mean it to hit hard. a dinna’s a dinna, an no mistake. me’n’ de doctor knows dat. why, whar’d de ’cad’my be, ef i wasn’t to give de doctor a rail fust-rate dinna ebery day? me’n’ de doctor keep de ’cad’my goin. he’s de mas’r, an i’m de one dat keeps him a goin, an so we bofe ob us keep de ’cad’my goin.”

“solomon,” said arthur, “you ought to be one of the teachers.”

“‘teachas!” said solomon; “ain’t i somefin more? what’s a teacha? i’m a pro-fessa. i’m de ’fessa ob de cool an airy ’partment.”

“culinary,” said bart.

“no,” said solomon; “cool an airy. dat’s what de doctor said. ses he, ‘solomon, you hab a ’portant ’sition,—you preside ober de cool an airy ‘partment.’ ‘what’s dat ar?’ ses i. ‘o,’ ses he, ‘it’s only de injin’ fur cookin.’ an i ups an tales him ef he’d ony stay down on some broilin, hot day in auguss in de kitchen, he’d’fess dat de injin langidgo didn’t spress de idee, ef it called sich a oven of a place ‘cool an airy.’ dat’s what i tale him,—an’ now, blubbed breddern, farewell!”

saying this, solomon took his basket, and retired from the scene.

“there’s a great lot of these cellars about,” said arthur at last, after some silence, during which they had been sprawling on the grass beside the cellar. “there’s a great lot of them. i wonder how many there are?”

“o, two or three hundred, at least,” said bruce; “perhaps more.”

“well, for my part,” said bart, “i believe that there’s money buried in some of them; and though our adventure was awfully ridiculous, yet that doesn’t alter the sober fact, and i think the general belief is right.”

“i go in for digging again,” said phil. “i don’t believe in finding money, but we may find something.”

“bones, for instance,” said bruce.

“yes, bones, if you like; and then we’d give them to the museum. anything at all would be acceptable. it would take the edge off our disappointment of the other night.”

“there’s a great deal in that,” said bruce.

“i don’t like giving it up altogether,” said bart. “we’ve begun it—let’s finish it.”

“and there’s the hole,” said tom, “inviting us to come along.”

“besides,” said bruce, “don’t you remember we struck something hard? and i know it wasn’t a stone.”

“no,” said arthur; “that’s a fact,—all our shovels touched it. we all heard the dull, ringing sound it gave. it was metal. let’s go to work, i say.”

“when?” said bart.

“tomorrow morning,” said phil, “early—”

“no—i say now,” said arthur.

“so say i.”

“and i.”

“all right,” said phil; “i say so, too. but what’ll we do for shovels?”

“do? why, we can go and get some, i suppose,” said bruce.

“but won’t the fellows see us?”

“what if they do?”

“why, they’ll wonder what we’re up to.”

“what then?”

“they’ll follow us, and see.”

“very well. we’re not going to work in secret this time. we’re working now in broad day. we haven’t any mineral rod, nor any magic ceremonies. we’re merely a plain, hard-working crowd; not of money-diggers, but of archaeologists. we’re not digging for pots of gold, but for curiosities and relics of the acadian french. that’s our position now, my boy; and a very much more dignified position it is than the one we occupied when we were making fools of ourselves the other night.”

so spoke bruce, who felt more keenly than the others the shame of that panic, for the reason that he had been more deeply touched. since then he had, over and over again, vindicated his courage most nobly, on occasions, too, when the exercise of that courage could only be accomplished by a supreme effort of his strong spirit; yet, in spite of this, he felt galled at the recollection of that night, and could not allude to it without bitterness.

“well,” said phil, “if jiggins, and bogud, and the other lot are very inquisitive, i’ll invite them up, and we can get them to do the digging.”

“that’s a very sensible way of viewing it,” said bart. “yes, that’s just what we’ll do. for my part, i’d rather have them come than not, for, if they were to dig, our curiosity would be satisfied all the same, while our various muscles would not have to submit to such very violent exertion as is called forth by the unpleasant process of digging with a spade in such abominably hard ground.”

“well, bart,” said bruce, “as soon as you’ve taken breath after that long-winded sentence, we’ll start.”

up jumped bart at this, and the others followed his example.

they went down to the academy and obtained spades and a pickaxe without any difficulty. shouldering these they paraded about the yard, in the hope of attracting attention. but to their great disappointment they didn’t attract any attention whatever. the boys were all away, some in front, some out for a walk. so they came to the conclusion that they would have to do their own digging.

“at any rate,” said bart, as they walked back up the hill, “one comfort is, that we dug up the place before, and this time the ground will be softer.”

“i’ve got the old pickaxe,” said bruce, “all ready in case of need.”

“whether we find anything or not, it will satisfy our minds.”

“yes, and then, you know, we can leave the hole open, and explain to the others why we dug it. we can induce them also to do a little more digging, perhaps.”

“but if we find anything there’ll be a still stronger temptation to dig.”

“o, if we find anything, all the cellars in the place will be turned inside out.”

“david digg will have a chance to prove himself deserving of his name.”

“what a joke it would be if pat were to see us! he’d be wild with curiosity, and follow us so as to see.”

“o, there’s no danger. nobody’ll come—that’s just because we want them,” said phil.

chatting in this way they marched up the hill, back again to the old french orchard, which they reached without having attracted the smallest attention from anybody, and at length they all stood once more with their spades by the cellar. very different was this occasion from the last, and they all felt it so. the last had been one of pure fun and nonsense, disturbed, however, by the tremors of some of their number; this time, on the contrary, was an occasion in which business seemed to predominate.

they paused for a little while on the edge of the cellar, before committing themselves to their work.

upon this bart began to whine out through his nose a doleful ditty, to the tune of auld lang syne.

"whene’er i take my walks abroad

how many holes i see!

but how they came upon the ground

completely puzzles me.

"here once the peaceful frenchman dwelt,

and passed his happy days

in draining bogs, devouring frogs,

and cultivating maize.

"these holes, no doubt, were dug by him;

we see them all around;

and all grand pré to me appears

a very holy ground.”

“that’s what captain corbet would call a ‘hime,’” said phil, with a laugh. “it’s too solemn, bart, for this occasion. we want something business-like now.”

“then here goes,” said bart, who had a happy talent for improvising. and he droned out the following, in a whining voice, but to a livelier measure:—

"over minas’s bay

came the french to grand pré,

and they all were remarkable fellers;

they lived upon frogs,

and they wore wooden clogs,

and preserved their potatoes in cellars.”

“there,” said arthur, “that’s enough, bart. if we don’t stop you now, you’ll go on till sundown. if we’re going to dig, we’d better begin, for it’s getting late, and it’ll be dark before we know it.”

“all right, my son,” said bart. “here goes—come along.”

and seizing his spade, he rushed down into the cellar; and plunging it deep into the earth, he began to throw it out.

“hurrah, bart!” cried bruce. “dig away, old man! you’ll turn up the whole cellar, at that rate, before we can get down. leave something for us, though, just for the name of the thing, you know.”

“come along,” cried bart, throwing out his seventh shovelful.

by this time they were all at the hole, and plunged in their spades. out flew the earth. in their zealous work the shovels clashed against one another furiously, and rather impeded their progress; but in spite of this, the earth was thrown out with a rapidity that contrasted in a very striking manner with the slowness of their progress on that former occasion. then, the earth was rigid, and hard bound with the turf that had been accumulating for generations, and bruce’s pickaxe had to prepare the-way for the slow entrance of their spades. but now, their spades went in easily, and the pickaxe as yet was not needed.

but the work of digging was an unusual one, and their violent efforts exhausted them before they had worked for a long time. they paused for a moment and rested.

“we’re almost at the bottom,” said bart.

“that depends on what you mean by the bottom,” said arthur.

“well, i mean, we’re almost as far down as we were before.”

“but i wonder whether we shall strike that metallic substance that we struck before,” said arthur.

“i’ll soon see,” said bruce.

saying this, he took the pickaxe, and giving it a swing, brought it down into the centre of the hole.

it penetrated a short distance, and then stopped short, with a low, dull sound, as though it had struck something hard.

that sound roused the boys once more, and stimulated them to fresh exertions. they again plunged their spades into the earth. all their first energy was now restored. they forgot their fatigue. something was there, they knew. what it was they could not tell; but they knew that it must be the same thing that had excited them once before, and from which they had been driven by the sudden bray of that absurd donkey. now, all that nonsense had been explained; and they knew that this last vestige of the mystery of that midnight hour lay beneath them, and would soon be exhumed and brought to the light of day.

lower and lower they went.

and now their shovels struck it at every stroke. it seemed metallic. the dull ringing sound given forth could not come from wood, or brick, or stone. it must be metal!

but what?

was it a pot, or an iron chest?

pooh!

at any rate they were glad that the other fellow’s were not present. .

such thoughts and feelings passed through their minds as they came down nearer to the object of their search.