Of course nobody outside of our
family credits the old story, and yet my father was considered a
very rich man at one time. Pancho Cueto believed in the existence
of the treasure, and he was in a position to know."
"True! Perhaps, after all--" O'Reilly frowned meditatively.
Rosa lifted herself upon her elbow, her eyes sparkling. "Wouldn't
it be wonderful if it were true? Just think, O'Reilly, cases of
Spanish gold, silver coins in casks, packages of gems. Oh, I've
heard Isabel talk about it often enough!"
"Don't forget those pearls from the Caribbean, as large as plums,"
Johnny smiled. "I could never quite swallow that. A pearl the size
of a currant would buy our freedom right now." After a moment he
went on, more seriously: "I've a notion to look into that old well
this very afternoon. I--I dare say I'm foolish, but--somehow the
story doesn't sound so improbable as it did. Perhaps it is worth
investigating--" He made up his mind swiftly. "I--I'm off this
very instant."
When O'Reilly emerged from the hut he found Jacket industriously
at work over a fragment of grindstone which he had somewhere
unearthed. The boy looked up at his friend's approach and held out
for inspection a long, thin file, which he was slowly shaping into
a knife-blade.
"What do you think of that?" he queried, proudly.
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