We stopped and looked, but there wasn’t anything to see. It was nothing but the old deserted brick farmhouse at the crossing of the roads. It was a one-story house with an attic, and the roof was falling in. All the doors and windows were gone, and the barn behind the house was nothing but a pile of rotted wood, flat on the ground. Tall weeds, mostly gone to seed now, were everywhere. It looked as if nobody had lived in that house for a hundred years. There was one big horse-chestnut tree by the house and one dead tree in the corner, just where the roads crossed, and all the rest was tangled blackberry bushes. “What do you see?” Wampus Smale asked. “I don’t see anything.” That old house had been there so long and we had seen it so often that we never thought anything about it. It was not even gloomy enough to look like a haunted house. We had played all over it, because Wampus Smale’s father owned that piece of land and the new house that was up the road five hundred yards or so. But Jibby Jones stood in the road, sniffing the air and wiggling his nose. “Do you smell money?” he asked. We all sniffed then. I know how paper money smells, but I could not smell that smell. Neither could Wampus or Skippy or Tad. We said so. “I don’t mean paper money; I mean gold money,” Jibby Jones said. “Can you smell gold money?” “Pshaw, no!” Skippy said, but he sniffed at the air first. “Of course I can’t. Nobody can smell gold money; it hasn’t any smell.” “Neither can I,” said Jibby Jones. “I have a good nose, but it can’t smell gold. I just thought perhaps your noses could. If you can’t smell anything that smells like gold money, can you see anything that looks like it?” We all looked as hard as we could, but we did not see anything that looked like gold money, or like anything much of anything. So we said so. Wampus laughed. “He’s fooling us,” he said, and then he asked Jibby Jones: “What do you see?” “I see that old dead tree in the corner,” Jibby Jones said. “Do you know what kind of tree that is?” We were all pretty well interested by this time, so we went up to the tree and looked at it and felt of it, and Wampus put his pug nose up against it and smelled it. Maybe he thought he could smell the gold money. The tree was so old the bark was all off it, and it had been struck by lightning once or twice and the top was all gone. When we had looked it over, we did not know what to think. We thought maybe Jibby Jones thought it was some kind of tree that was worth a lot of money, the way black walnut was during the war. But I said: “I know what kind of tree it was. It was a pine tree. And I know what kind of tree it is. It is a dead tree.” “Of course,” Jibby Jones said, as solemn as ever; “but I don’t mean that. I mean what other kind of tree it was.” “Well,” Skippy said, “if you mean whether it was a short-leaf pine or a long-leaf pine, I give it up. I can’t tell that by an old dead trunk like this.”