that warm spell we always have the
first the winter an Indian summer. Seems if there was as many Indian
summers as there was folks, most, but I don't care. It's somethin' or
other warm enough to-day, an' I'll go home. I can set in the barn an'
sort apples. That won't be a heatin' job, an' 'll give me a chance to
have an eye on things. Oh, hum! I wish Monty would happen along.
Strange! how I miss that worthless, stutterin', big-hearted little
shaver! I wouldn't offer to take _him_ fishin' more'n once without bein'
took up on my word."

His cogitations at an end, his belongings secured, and his little-used
axe again over his shoulder, Moses went down to the chestnut-tree and
secured the "meeting-basket." But he was surprised to see how the leaves
at the foot of it had been scattered about, and that there was a hole in
the ground itself. There was also in this hole the imprint of something
square and solid, for the moist leaf-mold still retained the shape of
the brass bound box, and heaped at one side were the nuts Kate had
collected ready to put in the basket when once it should be empty.

"Must ha' been somethin' 'important,' sure enough, or she'd never have
left them nuts. Well, I guess I can store 'em in my pockets, an' I'll
coax her secret, whatever 'tis, out of her by givin' them back to her,"
mused this incurious man.

As fast as she could, and keeping an occasional glance upon certain
trees she remembered, Kate made her way back through the wood. But it
seemed confusing now and the ground rough. Coming in she had thought the
ferns and fallen branches "mighty pretty," but going out they hindered
her. The box, too, was heavy and difficult to hold, though as soon as
she was out of sight of Moses she took it from beneath her coat and
balanced it upon her arm. Then she laughed at her own precaution,
thinking how foolish she had been to hide it, for, of course, he would
know about it eventually.

"Only it is Aunt Eunice's, and I want her to see it first of all. I
wonder what is in it. And I wish it wasn't quite so heavy. Can it be
filled with gold? or diamonds, maybe. Oh, if it were diamonds--think!
Oh, dear! there goes my shoe-string untied again, and it trips me up so.
I must stop and tie it and see if I am going right. Seems as if I ought
to see that old church by this time, yet the trees are just as thick as
ever--or thicker. Now, old string, I'll knot you so tight you'll bother
me no more till I go to bed."

P