Part 56 (1/2)

But I have not yet done with my hero. As may be supposed he resigned his clerks.h.i.+p in Mr. Ferguson's establishment, generously asking that Maurice be appointed his successor, and privately agreeing that if Mr.

Ferguson would pay him the same salary he had himself received, he would make up any part that he might not earn. But I am glad to say that Maurice turned over a new leaf, and stimulated by the double pay now received, became so much more efficient that Gilbert was not called upon to make good any deficiency. As for Gilbert himself, at the suggestion of Mordaunt, his roommate, he decided to study law, entering the office of the latter, now in successful practice. In due time he was admitted to the bar. He spent a year in Cincinnati, but was led then to remove to Wisconsin, Bessie Benton accompanying him as his wife. Here he soon began to win reputation, and at this moment he holds a position of high official trust in his adopted State.

We take leave of ”Tom, the Bootblack,” trusting that the record of his struggles and final success may inspire all boys who read it to emulate him in bold and manly effort.

THE BURIED TREASURE.

Davie Cameron was only a poor peasant, and the cottage or _sheiling_ where he dwelt was a humble one, even for that wild Scottish valley; but though he had a small habitation, and was poor in worldly goods, he had a large heart, and was rich in that contentment which is better than gold. He often averred that he envied not the king on his throne, though, considering what very poor luck the Scottish monarchs have had, you may think that wasn't saying much.

Davie was gardener to the Laird of Lanarkville, just as his father had been gardener to a former Laird of Lanarkville, and his grandfather to one still more remote.

If the testimony of Davie's old grandmother was to be trusted, the ancient glories of the house of Lanark had dwindled away from generation to generation, so that nowadays there was nothing to be compared with the splendors she had seen when she was a la.s.sie. She was greatly scandalized because the present laird not only superintended the affairs of his estate, but had even been known to labor with his own hands.

”His forbears wad hae scorned to do the like,” she would exclaim, adding, with a mysterious shake of the head, ”but gin the young laird had a' that belanged to him, he wad na need to d.i.c.ker and delve like ane o' his ain sarvants, forsooth!”

The story which lay concealed in these words was this:

In the year 1745, when the then existing laird forsook his home to follow the fortunes of Prince Charles Edward--for he was a staunch Jacobite--he enclosed his treasure in an iron box and buried it in the earth. The sole witness and aid to this transaction was his faithful follower, Hugh Cameron.

At the battle of Culloden Lanark was killed, and Hugh received a wound which proved mortal. Before he died he confided the secret of the buried treasure to his younger brother, Archie, and would fain have directed him to its hiding-place, but when he had uttered the words ”under the Rowan tree in” ----, his spirit departed, and the sentence was left forever unfinished.

Years pa.s.sed before Archie returned again to his home, and when he did return there Lanark estate had been partially laid waste by English soldiers. Rowan trees there were in plenty, but some had newly sprung up, and many old ones had been laid low, so that where in all those broad lands the iron box lay concealed, it was impossible to determine.

Diligent search was made for it, from time to time, but without success; and when that generation had pa.s.sed away the tradition came to be regarded as doubtful, if not fabulous.

But old Mrs. Cameron, who, although not born at the time of the battle of Culloden, had heard the story in her childhood from her grandfather, who was no other than Archie himself, believed it as she believed the truths of Holy Writ.

But then the ”auld gudewife” believed in many other things which her posterity had grown wise enough to reject,--such as wraiths, witches, s.p.u.n.kies, and the like; and if rallied on the subject she would reply, indignantly, ”And did na I my ain sel', see the fairies dancing in the briken-shaw, one Halloween?”

Moreover, Mrs. Cameron held fast to the Jacobite principles of her ancestors, for one of whom she claimed the honor of having once sheltered the young chevalier in the days of his perilous and weary wanderings. In acknowledgment of the act the prince had given him a gold buckle from his hat, and promised to bestow upon him the order of knighthood, whenever he should come to the throne. The order, of course, was never received, but the buckle was still carefully preserved.

So Davie gave no more heed to her family traditions and wild border tales than to her stories of witches and fairies, but just cla.s.sed them all together, and when she said to him, as he was going to his daily labor on the laird's land,--

”Ah, Davie, but there's a mickle treasure hid there, and wha kens but you'll be the lucky finder?” he replied, with a laugh,--

”Nae doubt, nae doubt, a mickle treasure o' kale and potatoes, and who so likely to find it as the laird's gardener?” and then he shouldered his spade and went off whistling:

”Contented wi' little, and canty wi' mair.”

But one day, long to be remembered, as he was hard at work, without a thought of grandmother and her legends, his spade struck against something hard, which proved to be the root of a tree.

”You're an auld tenant, but ye'll have to quit,” quoth Davie, tugging away manfully at the offender.

It obstinately refused to yield, and, laying open the earth with his spade, he discovered that it had twined itself again and again round some object which he at first supposed to be a stone. A closer examination, however, showed that it was not a stone, but _a rusty iron box_!

Then the dying words of Hugh Cameron rushed to Davie's mind, and he had no difficulty in completing the sentence which death had cut short, ”Under the Rowan tree in--_the garden_!”

That it had stood there--the only tree of its kind--in the days of the rebellion, was afterwards shown by consulting an old plan of the estate.