ead with a bucket and
accidentally killing him. The authorities did not dare try him for
piracy. He was really hung because he was a pirate, and we know that
it was the log books that Tom Chist brought to New York that did the
business for him; he was accused and convicted of manslaughter for
killing of his own ship carpenter with a bucket.

So Parson Jones, sitting there in the slanting light, read through
these terrible records of piracy, and Tom, with the pile of gold and
silver money beside him, sat and listened to him.

What a spectacle, if anyone had come upon them! But they were alone,
with the vast arch of sky empty above them and the wide white stretch
of sand a desert around them. The sun sank lower and lower, until
there was only time to glance through the other papers in the chest.

They were nearly all goldsmiths' bills of exchange drawn in favor of
certain of the most prominent merchants of New York. Parson Jones, as
he read over the names, knew of nearly all the gentlemen by hearsay.
Aye, here was this gentleman; he thought that name would be among 'em.
What? Here is Mr. So-and-so. Well, if all they say is true, the
villain has robbed one of his own best friends. "I wonder," he said,
"why the wretch should have hidden these papers so carefully away with
the other treasures, for they could do him no good?" Then, answering
his own question: "Like enough because these will give him a hold over
the gentlemen to whom they are drawn so that he can make a good
bargain for his own neck before he gives the bills back to their
owners. I tell you what it is, Tom," he continued, "it is you yourself
shall go to New York and bargain for the return of these papers.
'Twill be as good as another fortune to you."

The majority of the bills were drawn in favor of one Richard
Chillingsworth, Esquire. "And he is," said Parson Jones, "one of the
richest men in the province of New York. You shall go to him with the
news of what we have found."

"When shall I go?" said Tom Chist.

"You shall go upon the very first boat we can catch," said the parson.
He had turned, still holding the bills in his hand, and was now
fingering over the pile of money that yet lay tumbled out upon the
coat. "I wonder, Tom," said he, "if you could spare me a score or so
of these doubloons?"

"You shall have fifty score, if you choose," said Tom, bursting with
gratitude and with generosity in his newly found treasure.

"You are as fine a lad a