ing? What did he do with it? Let's see it?" demanded
Mr. Emerson.

"He said he gave it to a man in the road and the man gave him a handful
of ten-cent pieces and nickels. There was forty cents of it. I heard
Mrs. Vereshchagin counting 'em."

"Forty cents! It must have been a valuable shiny thing that a man in
the road would give a child forty cents for. He knew its value. I
should say Vladimir and Elisabeth had tapped the same till. Helen, go
and see if you can find out anything more from the child or his mother.
And Roger, get a chisel and hammer and hatchet and perhaps you and Mr.
Schuler and I can take down these boards and see what there is to see
behind them."

"Wouldn't it be thrilling if there should be a hidden treasure!"
exclaimed Ethel Blue. "Aren't you shivering all over with excitement,
Miss Gertrude?"

Meanwhile Roger and his grandfather were prying off the boards that
covered in the chimney on the right side and supported the
mantel-shelf. As it fell back into their hands two more gold coins
tumbled to the floor.

"Just take off this narrow plank, Roger and let me squint in there.
Stand back, please, all of you, and let us have as much light as we
can."

"I have a flashlight," said Mr. Schuler.

"Just the ticket. Now, then--," and Mr. Emerson kneeled down, peering
into the space that was disclosed when the boards fell away. "I see
something; I certainly see something," he cried as the electricity
searched into the darkness. He thrust in his arm but the something was
too far off.

"Take my crutch," suggested Mr. Schuler.

Mr. Emerson took it and tugged away with the top.

"It's coming, it's coming," his muffled cry rose from the depths.

Another tug and a blackened leather pouch, slashed with a jagged tear
from which gold pieces were pouring, tumbled into the room.

"Pick it all up and put it on the table, Roger, while Mr. Schuler and I
decide how it happened," ordered Mr. Emerson.

The investigation seemed to prove that there probably had been a crack
in the bricks at the back of the mantel at the time when Algernon
Merriam, Miss Gertrude's ancestor, had thrust the bag into the mantel
cupboard. It had fallen off the back of the shelf and into the little
crevasse where it lay beyond the reach of arm or bent wire or candle
light for over a hundred and thirty years.

"Evidently last night's big shaking widened the crack and let the bag
fall down. The ragged edge of a broken b