He saw nothing here of interest except the serried rows of jutting slate, across two of which lay a slab of the same--no vestige of aught human, and Old Cy was about to retreat when his flare burning close to his finger tips unnoticed, caused him to drop it on the instant, and drawing another from his pocket he lit it while the flame lasted in the first one. It is said that great discoveries are almost invariably made by some trifling accident--a gold mine found by stumbling over a stone, a valley prolific of diamonds disclosed by digging for water. In this case it was true, for as Old Cy bent to light his second torch ere he withdrew from the inner cave, a flash of reflected light came from beneath this slab--only for one second, but enough to attract his attention. He stooped again and lifted the slab. Six large tin cans had been hidden by it. He grasped one and could scarce lift it. Again his fingers closed over it. He crawled backward to the better-lighted cave and drew the cover off the can with eager motion, and poured a heap of shining, glittering coin out upon that food-littered table. Into that dark hole he dived again, as a starved dog leaps for food, seized the cans, two at a time, almost tumbled back, and emptied them. Four had been filled with gold coin and two stuffed with paper money. Folded with these bills of all denominations from one to fifty dollars was a legal paper yellowed by age, with a red seal still glowing like a spot of blood. It was an innholder's license, authorizing one Thomas McGuire to furnish food, shelter, and entertainment for man and beast. With eyes almost tear-dimmed and heart throbbing at having found poor Chip's splendid heritage, Old Cy now gazed at it. The sharp stones upon which he knelt nearly pierced his flesh, but he felt them not. The glint of sunlight from the crack above caressed his scant gray hairs and white fringing beard, forming almost a halo, yet he knew it not. He only knew that here, before him, on this rude stone table, lay thousands of dollars, all belonging to the child he loved. "Thank God, little gal," he said at last, "I've found what belongs to ye, 'n' ye hain't got to want for nothin' no more. I wish I could kiss ye now." Little did he realize that at this very moment of thankfulness for her sake, poor Chip was lost to all who knew her, and, half starved and almost hopeless, knew not where to find shelter. [Illustration: "Thank God, little gal, I've found what belongs to ye."] CHAPTER XXVII "When life looks darkest to ye, count yer blessin's, boy, count yer blessin's."--Old Cy Walker.