have invested the money better than he did. No
interest! nothing but good security! and the house to be torn down to
come at it! What made him hide it so snug, Tabby?"

"Because he could not spend it," said Tabitha, "for as often as he
went to unlock the chest the Old Scratch came behind and caught his
arm. The money, they say, was paid Peter out of his purse, and he
wanted Peter to give him a deed of this house and land, which Peter
swore he would not do."

"Just as I swore to John Brown, my old partner," remarked Peter. "But
this is all nonsense, Tabby; I don't believe the story."

"Well, it may not be just the truth," said Tabitha, "for some folks
say that Peter did make over the house to the Old Scratch, and that's
the reason it has always been so unlucky to them that lived in it. And
as soon as Peter had given him the deed the chest flew open, and Peter
caught up a handful of the gold. But, lo and behold! there was nothing
in his fist but a parcel of old rags."

"Hold your tongue, you silly old Tabby!" cried Peter, in great wrath.
"They were as good golden guineas as ever bore the effigies of the
king of England. It seems as if I could recollect the whole
circumstance, and how I, or old Peter, or whoever it was, thrust in my
hand, or his hand, and drew it out all of a blaze with gold. Old rags
indeed!"

But it was not an old woman's legend that would discourage Peter
Goldthwaite. All night long he slept among pleasant dreams, and awoke
at daylight with a joyous throb of the heart which few are fortunate
enough to feel beyond their boyhood. Day after day he labored hard
without wasting a moment except at meal-times, when Tabitha summoned
him to the pork and cabbage, or such other sustenance as she had
picked up or Providence had sent them. Being a truly pious man, Peter
never failed to ask a blessing--if the food were none of the best,
then so much the more earnestly, as it was more needed--nor to return
thanks, if the dinner had been scanty, yet for the good appetite which
was better than a sick stomach at a feast. Then did he hurry back to
his toil, and in a moment was lost to sight in a cloud of dust from
the old walls, though sufficiently perceptible to the ear by the
clatter which he raised in the midst of it.

How enviable is the consciousness of being usefully employed! Nothing
troubled Peter, or nothing but those phantoms of the mind which seem
like vague recollections, yet have also the aspect of pre