e." The man he hated. Well, of
one thing he was resolved--this unearthed treasure might be the mill
owner's, but if it were, he should never, never touch it.

Poor Fayette! So he still stood and proudly exhibited the wonder, and
told over and again exactly how he had long suspected its existence, and
had watched his opportunity, with this result. Since he was happy and
watchful, Cleena felt he was secure--for the present. But all the time
she longed for Mr. Frederic's return, or even for that of Mr. Kaye, who
was abroad upon a sketching ramble. There should be somebody in
authority present, since Hallam and Amy were both too young, and
Teamster John--well, he might "do at a pinch." In any case, he must
remain on guard till a better man appeared.

This better man did arrive, just as the evening fell, in the person of
Uncle Fred, riding up the driveway in old Israel Boggs's farm wagon. Amy
was first to discover their approach and ran gayly to meet them,
beginning her tale of the afternoon's adventure with her very
salutation; but long before she reached the side of the wagon she saw
that something was amiss with her jolly uncle. His face was very grave,
and even his voice was hushed, so that though his greeting to his niece
was even kinder than usual, it startled her by its solemnity.

"Why, Uncle Fred, what is the matter? What has happened?"

"I'll tell you presently. But how come so many here? I thought the
picnic was at 'Treasure Island.'"

She nodded cheerfully to Israel, whose face was even more sad than
Frederic Kaye's, and gave a rapid history of events. Strangely enough,
neither of the two newcomers appeared much interested. It was as if some
greater matter absorbed them, and their manner subdued Amy to silence;
while the farmer tied old Fanny, and then followed his friend into the
front part of the house, quite away from the excited groups surrounding
Fayette and his wonderful exhibit.

Once inside the shelter of the passage, Mr. Frederic laid his hand upon
Amy's shoulder, and said, very gently:--

"Prepare for a great sorrow, Amy dear. I have just come from the
death-bed of our good friend, Adam Burn."

Never till that moment had the girl known how well she loved the saintly
old man. Rarely meeting, he had still exercised over her young life one
of its most powerful influences, and an influence all for good.

"Oh, Uncle Fred, it can't be. It mustn't be. He was so good, so kind,
so--"

"Altogether lov