“Because nobody in the world knows who the first owner was,” Jibby said. “John A. Murrell never did own it; he stole it. The man he stole it from was the real owner, and John A. Murrell never did have any right to have it. And how can you ever find out who owned it away back in 1835? Nobody could do that. So it is ours and we’ll keep it.” And we did. We were just starting back for town when all at once Jibby Jones stopped short. “Wait!” he said. “I’ve almost forgotten something. I’ve got to go back to the creek.” “My land!” Wampus said. “What for?” “To get two grains of that green sand for my collection of grains of sand,” Jibby said. “You can never tell what will happen. To-morrow, or before I have a chance to get a specimen, my father may decide to go to Chile or China or Chattanooga. But, hold on a minute!” He sat down at the edge of the road and took off his shoe and looked in it. “It’s all right!” he said. “We can go on back to town. I’ve got five or six grains right here in my shoe.” So that was how we went back to town from our treasure-hunting. Skippy and Tad and Wampus and I carried the money and Jibby Jones came along behind us with one shoe on, carrying the other shoe in both hands as if it was a plate of soup, because I do believe he was more interested in not losing those grains of green sand than in all the treasure John A. Murrell ever hid. But that was the way Jibby Jones was. THE END