d. "Reckon the're no good?"

David smiled. "In one way they're all the good in the world, but not for
money, you know."

"No, I don't guess. Can you read that thar quare printin'?"

"Yes. The letters are Greek, and these books are about a hundred years
old."

"Be they? Then they won't be much good to Cass, I reckon. He sot a heap
by them, but I war 'feared they mount be heathen. Greek--that thar be
heathen. Hain't hit?"

David continued, speaking more to himself than to her. "They were
published in London in eighteen twelve. They have been read by some one
who knew them well, I can see by these marginal notes."

"What be they?" Her curiosity was eager and intent.

"They are explanations and comments, written here on the
margin--see?--with a fine pen."

"His grandpaw done that thar. What be they about, anyhow?"

"They are very old poems written long before this country was
discovered."

"An' that must 'a' been before the Revolution. His grandpaw fit in that.
The' is somethin' more in thar. I kept hit hid, fer Farwell, he war
bound to melt hit up fer silver bullets. He 'lowed them bullets war
plumb sure to kill. Reckon you can find hit? Thar 'tis." Her eyes shone
as Thryng drew out another object also wrapped in gingham. "Hit's a
teapot, I guess, but Farwell, he got a-hold of hit an' melted off the
spout to make his silvah bullets. That time I hid all in the box an' put
on the bolt an' lock whilst he war away 'stillin'. The' is one bullet
left, but I reckon Frale has hit."

David took it from her hand and turned it about. "Surely! This is a
treasure. Here is a coat of arms--but it is so worn I can't make out the
emblem. Was this your husband's also? Is there anything else?"

"That's all. Yes, they war hisn. I war plumb mad at Farwell. I nevah
could get ovah what he done, all so't he mount sure kill somebody.
Likely he meant them bullets fer the revenue officers, should they come
up with him."

"It would have been a great pity if he had destroyed this mark. I
think--I'm not sure--but if it's what I imagine, it is from an old
family in Wales."

"I reckon you're right, fer they were Welsh--his paw's folks way back.
He used to say the' wa'n't no name older'n hisn since the Bible. I told
him 'twar time he got a new one if 'twere that old, but he said he
reckoned a name war like whiskey--hit needed a right smart o' age to
make hit worth anything."

Thryng laid the antique silver pot on the bed beside the old