To this cottage William Jones ran with his treasure trove, and, entering in without ceremony, found himself in almost total darkness--for the light which crept through the blackened panes of the small windows was only just sufficient to make darkness visible. But this worthy seaside character, having, in addition to a cat’s predatory instincts, something of a cat’s power of vision, clearly discerned everything in the chamber he just entered--a rude stone-paved kitchen, with an open fireplace, and no grate, black rafters overhead, from which were hung sundry lean pieces of bacon, a couple of wooden chairs, a table, and in one corner a sort of bed in the wall, where a human figure was reposing. Setting down the trunk on the floor, he marched right over to the bed, and unceremoniously shook the individual lying upon it, whom he discovered to be snoring and muttering in a heavy sleep. Finding that he did not wake with shaking, William Jones bent down and cried lustily in his ear-- “Wreck! wreck ashore!” The effect was instantaneous. The figure rose up in bed, disclosing the head and shoulders of a very old man, who wore a red cotton nightcap, and whose hair and beard were as white as snow. “Eh? Wheer? Wheer?” he cried in a shrill treble, looking vacantly around him. “Wake up, old ’un!” said William, seizing him, and shaking him again. “It’s me, William Jones.” “William? Is it my son William?” returned the old man, peering out into the darkness. “Yes, father. Look ye now, you was a-talking again in your sleep, you was. A good thing no one heerd you but your son William. Some o’ these days you’ll be letting summat out, you will, if you go on like this.” The old man shook his head feebly, then clasping his hands together in a kind of rapture, he looked at his son, and said-- “Yes, William, I was a-dreaming. Oh, it was such a heavingly dream! I was a-standing on the shore, William, and it was a-blowing hard from the east, and all at once I see a ship as big as an Indiaman, come in wi’ all sail set, and go ashore; and I looked round, William dear, and there was no one nigh but you and me; and when she broke up, I see gold and silver and jewels come washing ashore just like floating weeds, and the drownded, every one of ’em, had rings on their fingers, and gold watches and cheens, and more’n that, that their hands was full of shining gold; and one on ’em--a lady, William--had a bright dimond ring, as big as a walnut; but when I tried to pull it off, it wouldn’t come--and just as I pulled out my leetle knife to cut the finger off, and put it in my pocket, you shook me, William, and woke me up. Oh! it was a heavingly dream!” William Jones had listened with ill-disguised interest to the early part of this speech, but on its conclusion, he gave another grunt of undissembled disgust. “Well, you’re awake now, old ’un, so jump up. I’ve brought summat home. Look sharp, and get a light.”