“Well,” I said, “away back in the good steamboat days there was a lot more Greenland than this is. Only it wasn’t up here on the hill; it was down at the bottom of the hill and over toward the river. I’ve heard folks talk about it more than once, because in those days Greenland was bigger than Riverbank--it had ten or twelve houses and Riverbank had only eight or nine--and Greenland thought it was going to be the biggest city west of New York. The steamers stopped here for wood, because they all burned wood. But when coal came, the big steamers stopped coming here, and then the railroad went down the other side of the river, and Greenland busted. There wasn’t any more Greenland.” So Jibby got out the map again and studied it. “I don’t think this is the place,” he said suddenly. “Why not, Jibby?” we asked him. “Come here and I’ll show you,” he said. He walked straight down a corn row to the place where the corn ended and the ground fell off sudden into the creek. “Does that look like a place to hide treasure or anything else?” he asked, and we said it did not. “Then count my steps,” he said. He paced off, taking as long steps as he could, the distance to the ruined cellar, and it made fifty paces. “Now,” he said, “on this map the house is about halfway between the creek and the road. The road ought to be fifty paces west of the house. Count my steps.” He paced off fifty steps. “This is where the pine tree ought to be, but it isn’t here,” he said. “But we won’t worry about that; it may have been cut down and the roots grubbed up. But if there was ever a road here, where the map says it was, it ought to run east of north. That would be in this direction.” He led us through the corn in the direction the map showed the road should have gone. Nothing but corn! So we came to the edge of the hill, looking off over the bottomland and the slough and the river. We saw in a minute that no road could have gone down that hill--it was so steep you might call it a bluff. Jibby pulled out the map and showed it to us. “Look where the creek runs on the map, back of the house,” he said. “It was fifty paces from the side of the house to the creek, and by the map it would be about fifty paces to the creek from the back of the house, because the creek turns and runs back of the house. Where is your creek?” Well, there was no creek! If that creek had run where the map said it ran, it would have had to balance itself in the air ten paces out beyond the edge of the hill. “All very well!” said Jibby. “Now look down below there. Follow the creek from where it comes down the hill to where it goes into the slough.”