ill ten, mother," said I; and just as I said it our old clock
began striking. This sudden noise startled us shockingly; but the news
was good, for it was only six.

"Now, Jim," she said, "that key."

I felt in his pockets, one after another. A few small coins, a thimble,
and some thread and big needles, a piece of pigtail tobacco bitten away
at the end, his gully with the crooked handle, a pocket compass, and a
tinder-box, were all that they contained, and I began to despair.

"Perhaps it's round his neck," suggested my mother.

Overcoming a strong repugnance, I tore open his shirt at the neck, and
there, sure enough, hanging to a bit of tarry string, which I cut with
his own gully, we found the key. At this triumph we were filled with
hope, and hurried upstairs, without delay, to the little room where he
had slept so long, and where his box had stood since the day of his
arrival.

It was like any other seaman's chest on the outside, the initial "B."
burned on the top of it with a hot iron, and the corners somewhat smashed
and broken as by long, rough usage.

"Give me the key," said my mother; and though the lock was very stiff,
she had turned it and thrown back the lid in a twinkling.

A strong smell of tobacco and tar rose from the interior, but nothing was
to be seen on the top except a suit of very good clothes, carefully
brushed and folded. They had never been worn, my mother said. Under that,
the miscellany began--a quadrant, a tin cannikin, several sticks of
tobacco, two brace of very handsome pistols, a piece of bar silver, an
old Spanish watch and some other trinkets of little value and mostly of
foreign make, a pair of compasses mounted with brass, and five or six
curious West Indian shells. It has often set me thinking since that he
should have carried about these shells with him in his wandering, guilty,
and hunted life.

In the meantime, we had found nothing of any value but the silver and the
trinkets, and neither of these were in our way. Underneath there was an
old boat-cloak, whitened with sea-salt on many a harbour-bar. My mother
pulled it up with impatience, and there lay before us, the last things in
the chest, a bundle tied up in oilcloth, and looking like papers, and a
canvas bag, that gave forth, at a touch, the jingle of gold.

"I'll show these rogues that I'm an honest woman," said my mother. "I'll
have my dues, and not a farthing over. Hold Mrs. Crossley's bag." And she
began to count