"What on airth are ye drivin' at, Hildy?" he said. "Father? why, he
didn't say nothin' at the last, 'cept about them crazy di'monds he was
allus jawin' about. 'Di'monds' says he. And then he says 'Dig!' an' fell
back on the piller, an' that was all."
"Yes!" cried Hilda. "And you never did dig, did you? But now somebody
has been digging. Little Jock began, and I finished; and we have
found--we have found--" She broke off suddenly, and drawing her hand
from behind her back, held up the iron box. "Take it!" she cried,
thrusting it into the astonished farmer's hands, and falling on her
knees beside his chair. "Take it and open it! I think--oh! I am
sure--that you will not lose the farm after all. Open it quickly,
_please_!"
[Illustration: "'TAKE IT AND OPEN IT!'"]
Now much agitated in spite of himself, Farmer Hartley bent himself to
the task of opening the box. For some minutes it resisted stubbornly,
and even when the lock was broken, the lid clung firmly, and the rusted
hinges refused to perform their office. But at length they yielded, and
slowly, unwillingly, the box opened. Hilda's breath came short and
quick, and she clasped her hands unconsciously as she bent forward to
look into the mysterious casket. What did she see?
At first nothing but a handkerchief,--a yellow silk handkerchief, of
curious pattern, carefully folded into a small square and fitting nicely
inside the box. That was all; but Farmer Hartley's voice trembled as he
said, in a husky whisper, "Father's hankcher!" and it was with a shaking
hand that he lifted the folds of silk.
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