Part 6 (2/2)
”What is it?” asked the boys.
”Where is the best place to put that?” she said, pointing to a large, strong box in which, they knew, the finest silver was kept; indeed, all excepting what was used every day on the table.
”Well, I declar', Mistis, that's hard to tell,” said the old driver, ”without it's in the stable.”
”They may burn that down.”
”That's so; you might bury it under the floor of the smoke-house?”
”I have heard that they always look for silver there,” said the boys'
mother. ”How would it do to bury it in the garden?”
”That's the very place I was gwine name,” said Balla, with flattering approval. ”They can't burn _that_ down, and if they gwine dig for it then they'll have to dig a long time before they git over that big garden.” He stooped and lifted up one end of the box to test its weight.
”I thought of the other end of the flower-bed, between the big rose-bush and the lilac.”
”That's the very place I had in my mind,” declared the old man. ”They won' never fine it dyah!”
”We know a good place,” said the boys both together; ”it's a heap better than that. It's where we bury our treasures when we play 'Black-beard the Pirate.'”
”Very well,” said their mother; ”I don't care to know where it is until after to-morrow, anyhow. I know I can trust you,” she added, addressing Balla.
”Yes'm, you know dat,” said he, simply. ”I'll jes' go an' git my hoe.”
”The garden hasn't got a roof to it, has it, Unc' Balla?” asked w.i.l.l.y, quietly.
”Go 'way from here, boy,” said the old man, making a sweep at him with his hand. ”That boy ain' never done talkin' 'bout that thing yit,” he added, with a pleased laugh, to his mistress.
”And you ain't ever given me all those chickens either,” responded w.i.l.l.y, forgetting his grammar.
”Oh, well, I'm _gwi'_ do it; ain't you hear me say I'm gwine do it?”
he laughed as he went out.
The boys were too excited to get sleepy before the silver was hidden.
Their mother told them they might go down into the garden and help Balla, on condition that they would not talk.
”That's the way we always do when we bury the treasure. Ain't it, w.i.l.l.y?” asked Frank.
”If a man speaks, it's death!” declared w.i.l.l.y, slapping his hand on his side as if to draw a sword, striking a theatrical att.i.tude and speaking in a deep voice.
”Give the 'galleon' to us,” said Frank.
”No; be off with you,” said their mother.
”That ain't the way,” said Frank. ”A pirate never digs the hole until he has his treasure at hand. To do so would prove him but a novice; wouldn't it, w.i.l.l.y?”
”Well, I leave it all to you, my little Buccaneers,” said their mother, laughing. ”I'll take care of the spoons and forks we use every day. I'll just hide them away in a hole somewhere.”
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