held together only by the metallic bands
which Dorothy's paperknife struck when she was digging among the
ferns.

But there was a box within a box! The second one of brass and fastened
by a hasp. A feeling of intense awe fell on all the company. This did
look as if there had certainly been buried something of great value,
and the impression was deepened when Corny lifted the inner receptacle
with reverence, remarking:

"It's very light--not very large--it might contain precious
stones--diamonds, do you think? I declare, I'd rather somebody else
would do it. You, Colonel, please."

"No, no. Ah! hum. I've something far more precious 'an any diamond in
my arms this minute. I don't give that up for any old box!" and so
declining he rubbed his face against Eunice's soft cheek and laughed
when she protested against its roughness.

Every head was bent to see and all were urging haste, so that no
further time was wasted. Undoing the fastening and lifting the lid of
this inner "shrine" there lay revealed--What?

Nobody comprehended just what until the man held up the half-bright,
half-tarnished metal image of a "Fool's Head," as pictured in old
prints.

Then the laughter burst forth at this ancient jest coming home so
aptly to the modern jester who had unearthed it.

"Maybe there's something inside! Maybe that's only an odd-shaped box
to deceive folks. Maybe--do, do, look inside!"

"Do that yourself, Miss Dolly. Remember it was you who first found the
'treasure!'" returned Mr. Stillwell and merrily passed it on to her.

She didn't hesitate. In a twinkling her fingers had discovered where a
lid was fitted on and had lifted it. There was something in the box
after all! A closely folded bit of paper--No, parchment--on which was
writing. This wasn't in French as the map had been inscribed, but in
quaintly formed, old-fashioned characters, and the legend was this:

"Who hides his money in the earth
Is but a fool, whate'er his birth;
And he who tries to dig it thence
Expecting pounds, should find but pence.
The hider is but half a wit,
The seeker's brains are smaller yet,
For who to chance his labor sells
Is only fit for cap and bells."

"Take my share of this wonderful 'treasure'," cried Mrs. Jabb, when the
momentary silence following the reading of this rhyme had been broken
by Corny's laughter.

"And mine!" "And mine!" "And mine, for my great-great-grandfather's