know that.--But what about Roswell, and his having to stop,
on his way home?"

"Why, you must know, Mary, that this v'y'ge came altogether out of that
seaman who died among us, last year. I was kind to him, as you may
remember, and helped him to many little odd comforts,"--odd enough were
they, of a verity,--"and he was grateful. Of all virtues, give me
gratitude, say I! It is the noblest, as it is the most oncommon of all
our good qualities. How little have I met with, in my day! Of all the
presents I have made, and gifts bestowed, and good acts done, not one in
ten has ever met with any gratitude."

Mary sighed; for well did she know how little he had given, of his
abundance, to relieve the wants of his fellow-creatures. She sighed, too,
with a sort of mild impatience that the information she sought with so
much eagerness, was so long and needlessly delayed. But the deacon had
made up his mind to tell her all.

"Yes, Gar'ner has got something to do, beside sealing," he resumed of
himself, when his regret at the prevalence of ingratitude among men had
exhausted itself. "Suthin'"--for this was the way he pronounced that
word--"that is of more importance than the schooner's hold full of ile.
Ile is ile, I know, child; but gold is gold. What do you think of _that_?"

"Is Roswell, then, to stop at Rio again, in order to sell his oil, and
send the receipts home in gold?"

"Better than that--much better than that, if he gets back at all." Mary
felt a chill at her heart. "Yes, that is the p'int--if he gets back at
all. If Gar'ner ever does come home, child, I shall expect to see him
return with a considerable sized keg--almost a barrel, by all
accounts--filled with gold!"

The deacon stared about him as he made this announcement, like a man who
was afraid that he was telling too much. Nevertheless, it was to his own
niece, his brother's daughter, that he had confided thus much of his great
secret--and reflection re-assured him.

"How is Roswell to get all this gold, uncle, unless he sells his cargo?"
Mary asked, with obvious solicitude.

"That's another p'int. I'll tell you all about it, gal, and you'll see the
importance of keeping the secret. This Daggett--not the one who is out in
another schooner, another Sea Lion, as it might be, but his uncle, who
died down here at the Widow White's--well, _that_ Daggett told more than
the latitude and longitude of the sealing islands--he told me of a buried
treasure!"

"Bur