Our Pirate Hoard: 1891Janvier, Thomas A. (Thomas Allibone)
General
Our Pirate Hoard: 1891
Janvier, Thomas A. (Thomas Allibone)
United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
And the worst part of it was, that from that time onward our family
had no luck at all. Excepting my elderly cousin, Gregory Wilkinson--who
inherited a snug little fortune from his mother, and expanded it into
a very considerable fortune by building up a large manufacture of
carpet-slippers for the export trade--the rule in my family has been a
respectable poverty that has just bordered upon actual want. But all the
generations since my great-great-great-uncle's time have been cheered,
as poverty-stricken people naturally would be cheered, by the knowledge
that the pirate hoard was in existence; and by the hope that some day it
would be found, and would make them all enormously rich at a jump.
From the moment when I first heard of the treasure, as a little boy, I
believed in it thoroughly; and I also believed that I was the member of
the family destined to discover it.
II.
I was glad to find, when I married Susan, that she believed in my
destiny too. After talking the matter over quite seriously, we decided
that the best thing for us to do was to go and live either in or near
Lewes, so that my opportunities for investigation might be ample. I
think, too, that Susan was pleased with the prospect of having a nice
little house of our own, with a cow and peach-trees and chickens,
where we could be very happy together. Moreover, she had notions about
house-keeping, especially about house-keeping in the country, which she
wanted to put into practice.
We found a confirmation of my destiny in the ease with which the
preliminaries of my search were accomplished. The house that we wanted
seemed to be there just waiting for us--a little bit of a house, well
out in the country, with a couple of acres of land around it, the
peach-trees really growing, and a shed that the man said would hold a
cow nicely. What I think pleased Susan most of all was a swallow's nest
under the eaves, with the mother swallow sitting upon a brood of dear
little swallows, and the father swallow flying around chippering like
anything.
"Just think of it!" said the dear child; "it is like living in a feudal
castle, and having kestrels building their nests on the battlements."
I did not check her sweet enthusiasm by asking her to name some
particular feudal castle with a frieze of kestrels' nests. I kissed her,
and said that it was very like indeed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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