anybody livin' a word of, not even Doctah
Hoyle--only he war some differ'nt from you. But I'm gettin' old, an' I
may as well tell you. Likely with all your larnin' you can tell me is
it any good to Cass. She be that sot on all sech." She fumbled at her
throat a moment and drew from the bosom of her gown a leather
shoe-lacing, from which dangled an iron key. Slowly she undid the knot,
and handed it toward him.

"I nevah 'low nobody on earth to touch that thar box, an' the' ain't a
soul livin' knows what's in hit. I been gyardin' them like they war
gold, fer they belonged to my ol' man--the first one--Cassandra's
fathah; but I reckon if I die the' won't nobody see any good in them
things. If you'll onlock that thar padlock on that box yander, you'll
find it wropped in a piece o' gingham. My paw's mothah spun an' wove
that gingham--ol' Miz Caswell. They don't many do work like that
nowadays. They lived right whar we a' livin' now."

David unlocked the chest and lifted the heavy lid.

"Hit's down in the further cornder--that's hit, I reckon. Just step to
the door, will you, an' see is they anybody nigh."

He went to the door, but saw no one; only from the shed came an
intermittent rat-tat-tat.

"I don't see any one, but I hear some one pounding."

"Hit's only Hoyle makin' his traps." She sighed, then slowly and
tenderly untied the parcel and placed in his hands two small
leather-bound books. Tied to one by a faded silk cord which marked the
pages was a thin, worn ring of gold.

"That ring war his maw's, an' when we war married, I wore hit, but when
I took Farwell fer my ol' man, I nevah wore hit any more, fer he 'lowed,
bein' hit war gold that-a-way, we'd ought to sell hit. That time I took
the lock off'n the door an' put hit on that thar box. Hit war my
gran'maw's box, an' I done wore the key hyar evah since. Can you tell
what they be? Hit's the quarest kind of print I evah see. He used to
make out like he could read hit. Likely he did, fer whatevah he said, he
done."

It seemed to her little short of a miracle that any one could read it,
but David soon learned that her confidence in her first "old man" was
unlimited.

"What-all's in hit?" She grew restless while he carefully and silently
examined her treasure, the true significance of which she so little
knew. Filled with amazement and with a keen pleasure, he took the books
to the light. The print was fine, even, and clear.

"What-all be they?" she reiterate