"Quite naturally so," observed Miss Octavia, "for a man who buries a treasure has to allow himself room for getting at it." We worked on silently, Pepperton loosening the soil with the bar while I shoveled it out. In half an hour we had revealed a long flat wooden surface, which to our anxious imaginations was the lid of some sort of box. "It's sound red cedar," pronounced Pepperton, examining the wood where the tools had splintered it. "Of course it's cedar," replied Miss Octavia, bending down to it. "I knew it would be cedar. It always is!" We paused to laugh at her confident tone, and Cecilia suggested that as there was still a good deal to do before we could free the box, we should send for some of the servants to complete the work. "I would n't take a thousand dollars for my chance at this," Pepperton answered; and we fell to again. It must have been nearly six o'clock when we dragged out into that candle-lighted chamber a stout, well-fashioned box. The earth clung to its sides jealously, and it was bound with strips of brass that shone brightly where the scraping of our tools had burnished it. We pried off the heavy lock with a good deal of difficulty, and when it was free Miss Octavia asserted her right to the treasure-trove with much calmness. "I should never forgive myself if I allowed this opportunity to pass; you must permit me to have the first look." "Certainly, Miss Hollister; if it had n't been for you this chest would have remained hidden to the end of all time," Pepperton replied. We gathered close about her as she knelt beside the box. My hand shook as I held my candle, and I think Miss Octavia was the only one in the room who showed no nervousness. Cecilia sighed deeply several times, and Pepperton mopped his face with his handkerchief. The lid did not yield as readily as we had expected, and it was necessary to resort to the hatchet and chisel again; but we were careful that it should be Miss Octavia's hand that finally raised the lid. We all exclaimed in various keys as the light fell upon the open chest. The musty odor of old garments greeted us at once. The box was well filled, and its contents were neatly arranged. Miss Octavia first lifted out the remnants of a military uniform that lay on top. [Illustration: Miss Octavia first lifted out the remnants of a military uniform that lay on top.] "It's his ragged regimentals!" cried Cecilia, as we unfolded an officer's coat of blue and buff, sadly decrepit and faded; "and he was not a British soldier at all, but an American patriot." Time and service had dealt even more harshly with an American flag on which the thirteen white stars floated dimly on the dull blue field. It had been bound tightly about a packet of papers which Miss Octavia asked Pepperton to examine.