Elsa had to hurry, though she shrank from meeting any more strangers, because Gerald forgot that he still grasped her arm and forced her along beside him, whether or no. But she released herself as they came to the wharf and the people gathered there.

This company included not only the house-boat party but a number of other people. So novel a craft as a house-boat couldn’t be moored within walking distance of Four-Corners’ Post-Office, and the waterside village of Jimpson’s Landing, without arousing great curiosity. Also, the other boats passing up and down stream, scows and freighters mostly these were, plying between the fertile lands of Anne Arundel and the Baltimore markets, had spread the tale.

Now, at evening, when work was over, crowds flocked from the little towns to inspect the Water Lily and its occupants. Also, many of them to offer supplies for its convenience. The better to do this last, they unceremoniously climbed aboard, roamed at will over both boat and tender, inspected and commented upon everything and, finally, demanded to see the “Boss.”

Outside on the grass beside the wharf sat Colonel Dillingham of T, side-saddle-wise upon great Billy, who had gone to sleep. He was waiting to be presented to Mrs. Calvert and would not presume to disturb her till she sent for him. Meanwhile he was very comfortable, and with folded arms, his habitual attitude, he sadly observed the movements of his neighbors.

Most of these nodded to him as they passed, with an indifferent “Howdy, Cunnel?” paying no further attention to him. Yet there was something about the man on mule-back that showed him to be of better breeding than the rustics who disdained him. Despite his soiled and most unhappy appearance he spoke with the accents of a gentleman, and when his name was repeated to Mrs. Calvert she mused over it with a smile.

“Dillingham? Dillingham of T? Why, of course, Dolly dear, he’s of good family. One of the best in Maryland. I reckon I’ll have to go into the cabin and receive him. Is it still full of those ill-bred men, who swarmed over this boat as if they owned it?”

“Yes, Aunt Betty, pretty full. Some, a few, have gone. Those who haven’t want to see the ‘Boss.’”

Mrs. Calvert peered from her stateroom whither she had fled at the first invasion of visitors, and smiled. Then she remarked:

“Just go ashore and be interviewed there, dear.”

“Auntie! What do you mean?”

“I fancy you’re the real ‘boss,’ or head of this company, when it comes to fact. It’s your Water Lily, you are bearing the expenses, I’m your guest, and ‘where the honey is the bees will gather.’ If these good people once understand that it’s you who carry the purse – ”

“But I don’t! You know that. I gave it to Mrs. Bruce. I asked her to take care of the money because – Well, because I’m careless, sometimes, you know, and might lose it.”

“It’s the same thing. Ask her to go with you and advise you, if there is anything you need. But, remember, money goes fast if one doesn’t take care.”

It sounded rather strange to Dorothy to hear Aunt Betty say this for it wasn’t the lady’s habit to discuss money matters. However, she hadn’t time to think about that for here was Mrs. Bruce, urging:

“Dorothy, do come and do something with these men. There’s one fairly badgering me to buy cantaloupes – and they do look nice – but with all the water-melons – Yes, sir; this is the ‘Boss;’ this is Miss Calvert, the owner of the Water Lily.”

A man with a basket of freshly dug potatoes had followed Mrs. Bruce to the door of Mrs. Calvert’s stateroom which, with a hasty “Beg pardon” from within, had been closed in their faces. Another man, carrying smaller baskets of tempting plums, was trying to out-talk his neighbor; while a third, dangling a pair of chickens above the heads of the other two, was urging the sale of these, “raised myself, right here on Annyrunnell sile! Nicest, fattest, little br’ilers ever you see, Ma’am!”

“Huh! that pair of chickens wouldn’t make a mouthful for our family!” cried the matron, desperately anxious to clear the cabin of these hucksters. She had made it her business to keep the Water Lily in spotless order and this invasion of muddy boots and dirt-scattering baskets fretted her. Besides, like all the rest of that “ship’s company,” her one desire was to make Mrs. Calvert perfectly comfortable and happy. She knew that this intrusion of strangers would greatly annoy her hostess and felt she must put an end to it at once. But how?

Dorothy rose to the occasion. Assuming all the dignity her little body could summon she clapped her hands for silence and unexpectedly obtained it. People climbing the crooked stairs to the roof and the “Skipper’s bridge” craned their necks to look at her; those testing the arrangement of the canvas partitions between the cots on one side stopped with the partitions half-adjusted and stared; while the chattering peddlers listened, astonished.

“Excuse me, good people, but this boat is private property. None should come aboard it without an invitation. Please all go away at once. I’ll step ashore with this lady and there we’ll buy whatever she thinks best.”

Probably because her words made some of the intruders ashamed a few turned to leave; more lingered, among these the hucksters, and Dorothy got angry. Folding her arms and firmly standing in her place she glared upon them till one by one they slipped away over the gang-plank and contented themselves with viewing the Water Lily and its Pad from that point.

As the last smock-clad farmer disappeared Dorothy dropped upon the floor and laughed.

“O Mrs. Bruce! Wasn’t that funny? Those great big men and I – a little girl! They mustn’t do it again. They shall not!”

“The best way to stop them is to do as you promised – step to the shore and see them there. Those potatoes were real nice. We might get some of them, but the chickens – it would take so many. Might get one for Mrs. Calvert’s breakfast – oatmeal will do for the rest of us.”

Dorothy sprang up and hurried with her friend off from the Lily. But she made a wry face at the mention of oatmeal-breakfasts and explained:

“Aunt Betty wouldn’t eat chicken if none of the others had it. And just oatmeal – I hate oatmeal! It hasn’t a bit of expression and I’m as hungry after it as before. Just do get enough of those ‘br’ilers’ for all. Please, Mrs. Bruce! There’s nobody in the world can broil a chicken as you do! I remember! I’ve eaten them at your house before I ever left Baltimore!”

Naturally, the matron was flattered. She wasn’t herself averse to fine, tasty poultry, and resolved to gratify the teasing girl that once. But she qualified her consent with the remark:

“It mustn’t be such luxury very often, child, if you’re to come out even with this trip and the money. My! What a great mule! What a curious man on it! Why does he sit sidewise and gloom at everybody, that way?”

Dorothy hadn’t yet spoken with Colonel Dillingham though the boys had given her a brief description of him and their attempted purchase. But she was unprepared to have him descend from his perch and approach her, saying:

“Your servant, Miss Calvert. You resemble your great-grandfather. He was a man. He —was a man! Ah! yes! he was a —man! I cayn’t be too thankful that you are you, and that it’s to a descendant of a true southern nobleman I now present – Billy. Billy, Miss Calvert. Miss Calvert, Billy!”

With a sigh that seemed to come from his very boots the gallant Colonel placed one of the mule’s reins in Dorothy’s astonished hand and bowed again; and as if fully appreciating the introduction old Billy bobbed his head up and down in the mournfulest manner and gravely brayed, while the observant bystanders burst into a loud guffaw.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE COLONEL’S REVELATION

“Aunt Betty, what does that ‘of T’ mean after that queer Colonel’s name?”

“There is no sense in it, dear, of course. The family explained it this way. The gentleman’s real name is Trowbridge. His wife’s family was Dillingham. It was of much older origin than his and she was very proud of it. When she consented to marry him it was upon the condition that he would take her name, not she take his. A slight legal proceeding made it right enough but he added the ‘of T.’ It was a tribute to his honesty, I fancy, though it’s quite a custom of Marylanders to do as the Dillinghams did. Here he comes now. I must ask him about his daughter. He had one, a very nice girl I’ve heard.”

“Coming! Why, Aunt Betty, we haven’t had breakfast yet!”

Mrs. Betty laughed.

“Another familiar custom, dear, among country neighbors in this old State. Why, my own dear mother thought nothing of having a party of uninvited guests arrive with the sunrise, expecting just the same cordial welcome she would have accorded later and invited ones. It never made any difference in the good old days. There was always plenty of food in the storehouse and plenty of help to prepare it. The Colonel isn’t so very old but he seems to cling to the traditions of his ancestors. I wonder, will he expect us to feed Billy also! And I do hope Mrs. Bruce will have something nice for breakfast. The poor gentleman looks half-starved.”

“Oh! yes, she has. We bought a half-dozen pairs of ‘broilers’ last night; but she meant them to last for supper, too.”

“Run. Bid her cook the lot. There’ll be none too many.”

“But, Auntie, dear! They cost fifty cents a-piece. Six whole dollars for one single breakfast? Besides the potatoes and bread and other stuff! Six dollars a meal, eighteen dollars a day, how long will what is left of three hundred dollars last, after we pay for Billy, as you said we must?”

This was on the morning after the Colonel’s first call at the Water Lily. This had been a prolonged one because of – Billy. That wise animal saw no stable anywhere about and, having been petted beyond reason by his loving, sad-hearted master, decided that he dared not – at his time of life – sleep out of doors. At least that was the way James Barlow understood it, and no persuasion on the part of his new friends could induce the mule to remain after the Colonel started for home.

“Tie him to the end of the wharf,” suggested Gerald.

“That would be cruel. He might fall into the water in his sleep. We don’t want two to do that in one day,” protested Dorothy.

At that point Billy began to bray; so mournfully and continuously that Mrs. Calvert sent word:

“Stop that beast! We shan’t be able to sleep a wink if he keeps that noise up!”

The Colonel paused once more. His departure had been a succession of pauses, occasioned by two things: one that the lazy man never walked when he could ride; the other, that he could not bring himself to part from his “only faithful friend.” The result was that he had again mounted the stubborn beast and disappeared in the darkness of his melon-patch.

Now he was back again, making his mount double himself up on the ground and so spare his rider the trouble of getting off in the usual way.

“My hearties! Will you see that, lads?” demanded Melvin, coming down the bank with his towels over his arm. He had promptly discovered a sheltered spot, up stream, where he could take his morning dip, without which his English training made him uncomfortable. “Pooh! He’s given the mule and himself with it! He’s fun for a day, but we can’t stand him long. I hope Mrs. Calvert will give him his ‘discharge papers’ right away.”

“If she doesn’t I will!” answered Gerald, stoutly. “A very little of the ‘Cunnel’ goes a long way with yours truly.”

Jim looked up sharply. His own face showed annoyance at the reappearance of the farmer but he hadn’t forgotten some things the others had.

“Look here, fellows! This isn’t our picnic, you know!”

Melvin flushed and ducked his head, as if from a blow, but Gerald retorted:

“I don’t care if it isn’t. I’d rather quit than have that old snoozer for my daily!”

“I don’t suppose anybody will object to your quitting when you want to. The Water Lily ain’t yours, though you ’pear to think so. And let me tell you right now; if you don’t do the civil to anybody my mistress has around I’ll teach you better manners – that’s all!”

With that Jim returned to the polishing of his useless engine, making no further response to Gerald’s taunts.

“Mistress! Mistress? Well, I’ll have you to know, you young hireling, that I’m my own master. I don’t work for any mistress, without wages or with ’em, and in my set we don’t hobnob with workmen – ever. Hear that? And mind you keep your own place, after this!”

An ugly look came over Jim’s face and his hands clenched. With utmost difficulty he kept from rising to knock the insolent Gerald down, and a few words more might have brought on a regular battle of fists, had not Melvin interposed in his mild voice yet with indignation in his eyes:

“You don’t mean that, Gerald. ‘A man’s a man for a’ that.’ I’m a ‘hireling,’ too, d’ye mind? A gentleman, that you boast you are, doesn’t bully his inferiors nor behave like a ruffian in a lady’s house – or boat – which is the same thing. Gentlemen don’t do that – Not in our Province.”

Then, fortunately, Chloe appeared, asking if one of them would go to the nearest farmhouse and fetch a pail of cream for breakfast.

“They’s quality come, so li’l Miss says, an’ ole Miss boun’ ter hev t’ings right down scrumptious, lak wese do to home in Baltimo’.”

With great willingness each and every lad offered to do the errand; and in a general tussle to grab her outstretched “bucket” their anger vanished in a laugh. The “good side” of Gerald came uppermost and he awkwardly apologized:

“Just forget I was a cad, will you, boys? I didn’t mean it. I’d just as lief go for that cream as not.”

“I’d liefer!” said Melvin.

Jim said nothing but the ugly look vanished from his face and it was he who secured the pail and started with it on a run over the plank and the field beyond.

“I’ll beat you there!” shouted Melvin; and “You can’t do it!” yelled Gerald; while Chloe clasped her hands in dismay, murmuring:

“Looks lak dere won’t be much cweam lef’ in de bucket if it comes same’s it goes!”

That visit to the farmhouse, short though it was, gave a turn to affairs on the Water Lily. The farmer told the lads of a little branch a few miles further on, which would be an ideal place for such a craft to anchor, for “a day, a week, or a lifetime.”

“It’s too fur off for them village loafers to bother any. You won’t have to anchor in midstream to get shet of ’em, as would be your only chance where you be now. I was down with the crowd, myself, last night an’ I was plumb scandalized the way some folks acted. No, sir, I wasn’t aboard the Water Lily nor set foot to be. I come home and told my wife: ‘Lizzie,’ says I, ‘them water-travellers’ll have a lot o’ trouble with the Corner-ites and Jimpson-ites. It’s one thing to be civil an’ another to be imperdent.’ I ’lowed to Lizzie, I says: ‘I ain’t volunteerin’ my opinion till it’s asked, but when it is I’ll just mention Deer-Copse on the Ottawotta Run. Ain’t a purtier spot on the whole map o’ Maryland ’an that is. Good boatin’, good fishin’, good springs in the woods, good current to the Run and no malary. Better ’n that – good neighbors on the high ground above.’ That’s what I says to Lizzie.”

Jim’s attention was caught by the name Deer-Copse. He thought Mrs. Calvert would like that, it was so much like her own Deerhurst on the Hudson. Also, he had overheard her saying to Mrs. Bruce: “I do wish we could find some quiet stream, right through the heart of green woods, where there’d be no danger and no intruders.” From this friendly farmer’s description it seemed as if that bit of forest on the Ottawotta would be an ideal camping-ground.

There followed questions and answers. Yes, the Water Lily might be hauled there by a mule walking on the bank, as far as the turn into the branch. After that, poling and hauling, according to the depth of the water and what the Lily’s keel “drawed,” or required. They could obtain fresh vegetables real near.

“I’m runnin’ a farm that-a-way, myself; leastwise me an’ my brother together. He’s got no kind of a wife like Lizzie. A poor, shiftless creatur’ with more babies under foot ’an she can count, herself. One them easy-goin’ meek-as-Moses sort. Good? Oh! yes, real good. Too good. Thinks more o’ meetin’ than of gettin’ her man a decent meal o’ victuals. Do I know what sort of mule Cunnel Dillingham has? Well, I guess! That ain’t no ornery mule, Billy Dillingham ain’t. You see, him and the Cunnel has lived so long together ’t they’ve growed alike. After the Cunnel’s daughter quit home an’ married Jabb, Cunnel up an’ sold the old place. Thought he’d go into truck-farmin’ – him the laziest man in the state. Farmin’ pays, course, ’specially here in Annyrunnell. Why, my crop o’ melons keeps my family all the year round an’ my yuther earnin’s is put in the bank. Cunnel’s got as big a patch as mine an’ you cayn’t just stop melons from growin’ down here in Annyrunnell! No, sir, cayn’t stop ’em! Not if you ’tend ’em right. They’s an old sayin’, maybe you’ve heard. ‘He that by the plough would thrive, Himself must either hold or drive.’ The Cunnel won’t do ary one. He leaves the whole thing to his crew o’ niggers an’, course, they’re some shiftlesser ’n he is. They’re so plumb lazy, the whole crowd, ’t they won’t even haul their truck as fur as Jimpson’s, to have it loaded on a boat for market, an’ that ain’t further ’n you could swing a cat! Losin’ his old home an’ losin’ his gal, an’ failin’ to make truck pay, has made him downhearteder’an he was by natur’ – and that’s sayin’ consid’able. Must ye go, boys? Got any melons? Give ye as many as ye can carry if ye want ’em. Call again. Yes, the cream’s wuth five cents. Not this time, though. Lizzie’d be plumb scandalized if I took pay for a mite o’ cream for breakfast – such a late one, too. We had ours couple hours ago. Eh? About Billy? Well, if he war mine, which he ain’t, an’ if I war asked to set a price on him, which I couldn’t, I should say how ’t he war a fust-class mule, but not wuth a continental without the Cunnel – nor with him, nuther. If you take one you’ll have to take t’other. Call again. My respects to the lady owns the house-boat an’ – Good-by!”

As the lads thanked their talkative neighbor and hurried down the fields, Jim exclaimed:

“Was afraid this cream’d all turn to butter before he’d quit and let us go! But, we’ve learned a lot about some things. I’m thinking that Ottawotta Run is the business for us: and I fear – Billy isn’t. There must be other mules in Anne Arundel county will suit us better. Mrs. Calvert won’t want him as a gift – with the Colonel thrown in!”

Mrs. Bruce met them impatiently.

“Seems as if boys never could do an errand without loitering. There’s all those chickens drying to flinders in that oil-stove-oven, and that horrid old man talking Mrs. Calvert into a headache. Least, he isn’t talking so much as she is. Thinks she must entertain him, I suppose. The idea! Anybody going visiting to breakfast without being asked!”

But by this time the good woman had talked her annoyance off, and while she dished up the breakfast – a task she wouldn’t leave to Chloe on this state occasion – Jim hastily condensed the information he had received and was glad that she promptly decided, as he had, that a sojourn on the quiet, inland Run would best please Aunt Betty.

“It would certainly suit me,” assented the matron.

“Oh! hang it all! What’s the use? Hiding in a silly little creek when there’s the whole Chesapeake to cruise in!” cried the disgusted Gerald, leaning upon the little table and hungrily eyeing the platter of chicken.

“How can we dare, how could we if we dared, try the Bay? We haven’t any engine to use now,” said Jim.

“Well, get one, then! If that girl can afford to run a house-boat and ask folks to stay on it, she ought to provide something decent for their entertainment. When we owned the Water Lily we did things up to the queen’s taste. I’m not going to bury myself in any backwoods. I’ll quit first.”

“Boy, are you always so cross before breakfast?” asked a girl’s voice over his shoulder, and he turned to see Dorothy smiling upon him.

“No. Except when I’m sent for cream and hear fool talk from a measly old farmer in a blue smock,” he answered, laughing rather foolishly.

“Was it the color of his smock made him measly? And what was that I heard about quitting?”

“Oh! nothing. I was just fooling. But, I say, Dorothy, don’t you let any old woman coax you into a dead-and-alive hole in the woods. Mark what I say. They’ll be trying it, but the Water Lily’s your boat now, isn’t it?”

“So I understood. But from the amount of advice I receive as to managing it, I think, maybe, it isn’t. Well, I’ve heard you – now listen to me. ‘The one who eats the most bread-and-butter can have the most cake’ – or chicken. They look terrible little, don’t they, now they’re cooked? And I warn you, I never saw anybody look so hungry in all my life – no, not even you three boys! – as that poor, unhappy Colonel of T, in there with Aunt Betty. Yes, Mrs. Bruce, we’re ready for breakfast at last. But mind what I say —all we youngsters like oatmeal! We must like it this time for politeness sake. Fourteen eaters and twelve halves of broiled chicken – Problem, who goes without?”

But nobody really did that. Mrs. Bruce was mistress of the art of carving and managed that each should have at least a small portion of the delicacies provided, though she had to tax her ingenuity to accomplish this.

At the head of her table Mrs. Calvert motioned Chloe to serve her guest again and again; and each time that Ephraim jealously snatched a dainty portion for her own plate she as promptly and quietly restored it to the platter.

Also, the “Skipper” at his own board played such a lively knife and fork that dishes were emptied almost before filled and Gerald viciously remarked:

“Aren’t as fond of ship’s biscuit as you were, are you, Cap’n Jack?”

The Captain helped himself afresh and answered with good nature:

“Oh! yes. Jes’ as fond. But I likes a change. Yes, I c’n make out to relish ’most anything. I ain’t a mite partic’lar.”

This was too much for the lads and a laugh arose; but the old man merely peered over his specs at them and mildly asked:

“What you-all laughin’ at? Tell me an’ lemme laugh, too. Laughin’ does old folks good. Eh, Cunnel? Don’t you think so?” he asked, wheeling around to address the guest of honor.

But that gentleman was too engaged at that moment to reply, even if he would have condescended so to do. Just now, in the presence of Mrs. Calvert, whose mere name was a certificate of “quality,” he felt himself an aristocrat, quite too exalted in life to notice a poor captain of a house-boat.

Breakfast over, Aunt Betty excused herself and withdrew to the shelter of her little stateroom. Shelter it really was, now, against her uninvited guest. She had done her best to make his early call agreeable and to satisfy him with more substantial things than old memories. They had discussed all the prominent Maryland families, from the first Proprietor down to that present day; had discovered a possible relationship, exceedingly distant, he being the discoverer; and had talked of their beloved state in its past and present glories till she was utterly worn out.

He had again “given” her his most cherished possession, Billy the mule; and she had again declined to receive it. Buy him, of course, Dorothy would and should, if it proved that a mule was really needed. But not without fair payment for the animal would she permit “him” to become a member of her family. The Colonel so persistently spoke of the creature as a human being that she began to think of Billy as a monstrosity.

The morning passed. Aunt Betty had deserted, and Dorothy had to take her place as hostess. All her heart was longing for the green shore beyond that little wharf, where now all the other young folks were having a lively frolic. It was such a pity to waste that glorious sunshine just sitting in that little cabin talking to a dull old man.

He did little talking himself. Indeed, warmed by the sunshine on the deck where he sat, and comfortably satisfied with a more generous meal than he had enjoyed for many months, the Colonel settled back on the steamer chair which was Aunt Betty’s own favorite and went to sleep. He slept so long and quietly that she was upon the point of leaving him, reflecting:

“Even a Calvert ought not to have to stay here now, and watch an old man – snore. It’s dreadful, sometimes, to have a ‘family name.’ Living up to it is such a tax. I wish – I almost wish – I was just a Smith, Jones, Brown, or anybody! I will run away, just for a minute, sure! and see what happens!”

But, despite the snores, the visitor was a light sleeper. At her first movement from her own chair, he awoke and actually smiled upon her.

“Beg pardon, little lady. I forgot where I was and just lost myself. Before I dropped off I was goin’ to tell you – Pshaw! I cayn’t talk. I enjoy quiet. D’ye happen to see Billy, anywhere?”

“Certainly. He’s right over on that bank yonder and the boys are trying to fix a rope to his harness, so he can begin to draw the boats up stream. They want to try and see if it will work. Funny! To turn this lovely Water Lily into a mere canal-boat. But I suppose we can still have some good times even that way.”

The Colonel shook his head.

“No, you cayn’t. Nobody can. They ain’t any good times for anybody any more.”

“What a lot of ‘anys’! Seems as if out of so many there might be one good time for somebody. I was in hopes you were having such just now. What can I do to make it pleasanter for you?”

“Sit right down and let me speak. Your name’s Calvert, ain’t it?”

“Why, of course. I thought you knew;” answered the girl, reluctantly resuming her seat.

“Never take anything for granted. I cayn’t do it, you cayn’t do it. Something’ll always go wrong. It did with your great-grandfather’s brother that time when he hid – Ah! hum! It ought to be yours, but it won’t be. There couldn’t be any such luck in this world. Is Billy lookin’ comf’table?”

Billy answered for himself by a most doleful bray. Indeed, he was resenting the lads’ endeavors to remove his harness. Jim fancied he could fix it better for the purpose of hauling the Water Lily, but the animal objected, because that harness had never been taken from his back since it was put on early in the spring. Then the more ambitious of the negroes who managed the Colonel’s truck-farm had equipped Billy for ploughing the melon-patch. After each day’s work the beast had seemed tired and the gentleman-farmer had suggested:

“Don’t fret him takin’ it off. You’ll only have to put it on again, to-morrow.”

This saved labor and suited all around; and Billy was trying to explain to these tormenting lads how ill-at-ease and undressed he would feel, if he were stripped of his regalia.

“Sounds like he was in trouble, poor Billy. But, of course, he is. Everybody is. You are. If you had that buried – Pshaw! What’s the use! You ain’t, you cayn’t, nobody could find it, else things wouldn’t have happened the way they did; and your great-grandfather wouldn’t have forgot where he buried it; and it wouldn’t have gone out the family; and since your great-grandfather’s brother married my great-grandmother’s sister we’d all have shared and shared alike. It’s sad to think any man would be so careless for his descendants as to go and do what your great-grandfather’s brother did and then forget it. But – it’s the way things always go in this lop-sided world. Ah! um.”

The Colonel’s breakfast had made him more talkative than had seemed possible and because she could do no better for her own amusement, Dorothy inquired:

“Tell me the story of our great-grand-folks and what they buried. Please. It would be interesting, I think.”

“Very well, child, I’ll try. But just keep an eye on Billy. Is he comf’table? I don’t ask if he’s happy. He isn’t. Nobody is.”

“Beg pardon, but you are mistaken about that mule. No matter what the boys and Captain Hurry try to do with him, he manages to get his nose back to the ground again and eat – Why, he hasn’t really stopped eating one full minute since he came. That makes me think. Will the man who owns that grass like to have him graze it that way? Isn’t grass really hay? Don’t they sell hay up home at Baltimore? Won’t it cost a great deal to let Billy do that, if hay is worth much?”

“You ask as many questions as – as I’ve heard your folks always do. But it’s no use worryin’ over a little hay. It ain’t wuth much. Nothing’s wuth anything in Annyrunnell. The only thing in the whole county wuth a continental is what your great-grandfather’s brother buried in the woods on Ottawotta Run. Deer-Copse was the spot. Buried it in a brass-bound chest, kept the key, and then forgot. Ah! hum.”

“Ottawotta Run? Deer-Copse! Why, that’s the very place the boys said the man said that you say – Oh! Aunt Betty! Aunt Betty! There’s a buried fortune belonging to our family out in the woods! We’ll find it, we must find it, and that will save all your Old Folks their Home and you won’t have to sell Bellvieu!” almost shrieked Dolly, running to her aunt’s stateroom and flinging wide the little door, regardless of knocking for admittance. But disappointment awaited her – the stateroom was empty.