And Billson called him schoolgirl and slapped his face--because Billson knew nothing of the promise of the looking-glass boy, that whatever Hildebrand said had happened should happen. It was a dreadful fight, and when it was over Hildebrand could hardly walk home. He was much more hurt than he had been the day before. But Billson Minor had to be carried home. Only he was all right again next day, and Hildebrand wasn't, so he did not get much out of this affair, except glory, and the comfort of knowing that Billson and the other boys would now be jolly careful how they called him anything but Pilkings, which was his father's and his mother's name, and therefore his as well. He had to stay in bed the next day, and his father punished him for fighting, so he consoled himself by telling Ethel how he had found a pot of gold in the cellar the day before, after digging in the hard earth for hours, till his hands were all bleeding, and how he had hidden it under his bed. 'Do let me see, Hildy dear,' she said, trying hard to believe him. But he said, 'No, not till to-morrow.' Next day he was well enough to go to school, but he thought he would just take some candle-ends and have a look at the cellar, and see if it was really likely that there was any gold there. It did not seem probable, but he thought he would try, and he did. It was terribly hard work, for he had no tools but a spade he had had at the seaside, and when that broke, as it did almost at once, he had to go on with a piece of hoop-iron and the foot of an old bedstead. He went on till long past dinner-time, and his hands were torn and bleeding, his back felt broken in two, and his head was spinning with hunger and tiredness. At last, just as the tea-bell rang, he reached his hand down deep into the hole he had made, and felt something cold and round. He held his candle down. It was a pot, tied over with brown paper, like pickled onions. When he got it out he took off the paper. The pot was filled to the brim with gold coins. Hildebrand blew out his candle and went up. The cook stopped him at the top of the cellar stairs. 'What's that you got there, Master Hildy? Pickles, I lay my boots,' she said. 'It's not,' said he. 'Let me look,' said she. 'Let me alone,' said Hildebrand. 'Not me,' said the cook. She had her hand on the brown paper. Hildebrand had heard how treasure-trove has to be given up to Government, and he did not trust the cook. 'You'd better not,' he said quickly; 'it's not what you think it is.' 'What is it, then?' 'It's--it's _snakes_!' said Hildebrand desperately--'snakes out of the wine-cellar.'