emed almost more real than
the cheery blaze of the fire before us; but the
talk came round at last to the affairs of the
moment.

"'Is not there any plan by which you could raise
the wind, Jack?'" I inquired.

"'Never a one. I've tried every end up, but there
seems no way out of the trouble unless, indeed, we
could find Sir Godfrey's treasure.'

"'Who's he?'

"'An ancestor of mine, rather a back number,
considering he died somewhere about two hundred and
fifty years ago--but a restless old gentleman, for
he is still said to have a trick of haunting the
house, and, according to popular tradition, hoping
to be able to point out the hiding-place of a
treasure he stowed away.'

"'Was it genuine treasure?'

"'I believe so. He went off to fight in the Civil
Wars, and hid the family plate and jewels in a
secure place which nobody knew of but himself. He
had not the sense to leave any record of the spot,
and when he was killed at Naseby his secret died
with him, and the valuables--unless, as I sometimes
suspect, the old chap had previously pledged
them--were not forthcoming, nor have they ever been
heard of since.'

"'Has he ever appeared to you?'

"'Not he; I only wish he would. The hoard would be
a jolly windfall to me if I could manage to light
upon it. But I'm not the kind who goes about seeing
ghosts. I'm too plain and matter-of-fact by half,
and, though I often hear mysterious taps on the
panels of my bedroom, I prosaically set it down to
rats and mice. Now, you're a psychic sort of a
fellow, the seventh son of a seventh son; if he
wants to make himself visible, perhaps you may get
a sight of him; I'm afraid it's more than ever I
shall.'

"'Is there no clew at all left as to the
hiding-place of the treasure?' I inquired.

"'Only an old rhyme so obscure as to be quite
unintelligible:

He who plucks a rose at Yule
Will bring back luck to Dacrepool.

Even you, with your fondness for antiquities and
rummaging strange things out of old books, can
scarcely make anything of that, I