ho
was waiting for him outside, and I went with Mr. Glennie and carried his
gown for him back to his lodging in the village.

Mr. Glennie was always very friendly, making much of me, and talking to
me as though I were his equal; which was due, I think, to there being no
one of his own knowledge in the neighbourhood, and so he had as lief talk
to an ignorant boy as to an ignorant man. After we had passed the
churchyard turnstile and were crossing the sludgy meadows, I asked him
again what he knew of Blackbeard and his lost treasure.

'My son,' he answered, 'all that I have been able to gather is, that this
Colonel John Mohune (foolishly called Blackbeard) was the first to impair
the family fortunes by his excesses, and even let the almshouses fall to
ruin, and turned the poor away. Unless report strangely belies him, he
was an evil man, and besides numberless lesser crimes, had on his hands
the blood of a faithful servant, whom he made away with because chance
had brought to the man's ears some guilty secret of the master. Then, at
the end of his life, being filled with fear and remorse (as must always
happen with evil livers at the last), he sent for Rector Kindersley of
Dorchester to confess him, though a Protestant, and wished to make amends
by leaving that treasure so ill-gotten from King Charles (which was all
that he had to leave) for the repair and support of the almshouses. He
made a last will, which I have seen, to this effect, but without
describing the treasure further than to call it a diamond, nor saying
where it was to be found. Doubtless he meant to get it himself, sell it,
and afterwards apply the profit to his good purpose, but before he could
do so death called him suddenly to his account. So men say that he cannot
rest in his grave, not having made even so tardy a reparation, and never
will rest unless the treasure is found and spent upon the poor.'

I thought much over what Mr. Glennie had said and fell to wondering where
Blackbeard could have hid his diamond, and whether I might not find it
some day and make myself a rich man. Now, as I considered that noise we
had heard under the church, and Parson Glennie's explanation of it, I was
more and more perplexed; for the noise had, as I have said, something
deep and hollow-booming in it, and how was that to be made by decayed
coffins. I had more than once seen Ratsey, in digging a grave, turn up
pieces of coffins, and sometimes a tarnished name-plate wou