“It occurred to me,” he said, “that it was selfish of me to keep what I know about M’rell to myself, because you boys are so good to me. When I was down on the St. Francis River with father, there was an old negro named Mose, who said he was over one hundred years old. He used to paddle us around in a skiff when we went fishing for bass and he told us about M’rell.” “Who was M’rell?” Wampus asked. “What has M’rell got to do with us?” Now, I want you to notice, right here, that Jibby said “M’rell” and that we all said “M’rell” because he did. And the reason Jibby pronounced the name that way was because that old negro Mose had called it that. The name was really Murrell, when we came to find out. If we had seen that name written or spelled out, we would not have called it “M’rell”; we would have called it “_Murr_-ell” more as if it was “Murl.” But Jibby called it “Mur-_rell_,” more as if it was “M’rell.” And “Murl” and “M’rell” don’t sound at all alike. His way was as if it rhymed with “tell,” like: “Listen, my children, and I will tell A wonderful story about M’rell.” The way we pronounced that name was as if it rhymed with “squirrel,” like this: “Once there was a pretty squirrel That was owned by John A. Murrell.” Anyway, Wampus asked, “What has M’rell got to do with us?” and Jibby went ahead and told us, sitting there under our cottage out of the rain. “It’s about a land pirate’s treasure,” he said. “Father says it is probably nonsense, and that there are a million chances to one that there is no treasure, and that if there ever was any I could never find it.” “What is a land pirate?” Skippy asked. “I never heard of one.” “Neither had I until I was down on the St. Francis River,” said Jibby. “That river is in Missouri and Arkansas, and it empties into the Mississippi just above Helena, Arkansas. Father was in Helena, Arkansas, studying that part of the Mississippi River, and that is one of the parts of the South where the land pirate did his pirate work--around Helena and thereabouts.” He stopped to chuckle. “What are you laughing about?” I asked him. “Why, about the Helenas,” Jibby said. “When father and I were on the Yellowstone River, at Billings, Montana, we happened to mention Helena, Montana, and the folks said, ‘Up here in Montana we don’t call it Hel-e-na; we call it Hel’na. The town in Arkansas is Hel-e-na, but ours is Hel’na,’ and when we got to Helena, Arkansas, and called it Hel-e-na, they said, ‘Down here in Arkansas we don’t call it Hel-e-na; we call it Hel’na. The town in Montana is Hel-e-na; but ours is Hel’na.’