Further search brought to light several boxes like the first, containing silks of various hue, and laces which even to Dick’s inexperience appeared valuable. The materials seemed to be in as good a condition as when they left Lyons or Nice, and without doubt represented a considerable sum of money. But to Dick, as he contemplated them, they suggested a more immediate and urgent use than the turning into money. The wood of the barrels appeared to be sound; it had been preserved from rotting by their spirituous contents. By breaking them up into their separate staves, he would have at his disposal enough timber to make a bridge. The staves were two feet long and about five inches broad; ten or twelve lengths would be required to span the gap, and allow sufficient grip. The "sling-stuff" round the barrels, as he had already proved, was too friable to be of any value for lashing, but the silk, torn into strips, might answer this purpose. "Take hold of the end of this," he said to Sam, handing him a length of the material, "and pull as hard as you can." The test proved that the silk was capable of enduring a heavy direct strain, and if this were so in the piece, it would be still stronger when wound many times about the wood. Dick explained his plan. "Drown it all!" cried Sam. "What a tarrible deed o’ wickedness! Can ’ee abear to think o’ this noble shinin’ stuff tore to strents and lippets?" "’Tis a pity, of course, but ’tis more important that we should get over the gap than that any woman, matron or maid, should flaunt it in fine array. We’ll set to work at once. Time must be getting on. The candle has nearly gone: that means three hours or so. Light another, Sam." Dick tore the silk carefully into even strips, while Sam knocked the ends off the tubs, and broke the staves apart. Every now and then the boy paused, heaving a deep sigh. "’Tis like a knife goin’ through my soul every time I hear the hoosh ye do make," he said. "There, I says to myself, there goes the sleeve, and that’s the petticoat, and there’s this part and that I don’t know the true name of. Ah well, Maidy Susan will never know from me, that’s one comfort. She’d be cryin’ her pretty eyes out, that ’a would, if she did see the deed o’ destruction."