"I am in the second century," he said. "Doubloons have not yet been coined. As to these doubloons, I am quite sure they are not there, wherever 'there' may be; but if they are there, I have no objection to the Urchin fighting the Government for them. Urchin, would you like a deed?" And, to the delight of the Urchin, the Student proceeded to make out a document, which called on all men to know that the said Student thereby assigned to the said Urchin all the estate, right, title, and interest, if any, of the said Student in and to a certain treasure of doubloons or other coins once carried in the galleon called _Our Lady of the Holy Cross_ were the same a little more or less ("all good deeds get that in somewhere," said the Student) to hold to the said Urchin and his heirs ("but I don't suppose the heirs will see much of it") to the intent that he might become a wiser and a better Urchin and not interrupt the said Student any more when he wanted to work. This being done, the Student signed his name at the end, made a beautiful blot of hot red sealing wax and put his signet ring on it, and made Fiona sign her name as witness ("which is probably not legal," he explained cheerfully); then he handed over the deed to the rejoicing Urchin, with the remark that it was quite as good as many lawyers' deeds, and drove the pair of them out of the bookroom. "Good," said the Urchin. "Now I've a treasure just the same as you." "If we find them," said Fiona. "Well, let's go and start hunting for them at any rate," said the boy. "Pardon me," said the shore lark, "if I interrupt; but you might be the better of a few hints." Fiona dropped on her knees and took the little bird in her hands again. "So you can talk," she said. "That's jolly. You've a first-rate chance of returning good for evil, and making us feel worms." "Don't talk of worms," said the shore lark, "you have entirely omitted to provide me with any. Send him to get some, and I'll tell you something. He can't understand what I'm saying, anyhow." "Urchin," said the girl, "he's asking for worms. Go and get him some." "One would think you and he could talk to each other," said the boy. "Silly, I call it, going on like that. I suppose that's what girls do." "Urchin," said Fiona, "when you and I have a row, what happens?" "_You_ happen," said the Urchin. "You've three years' pull; 'tisn't fair; just like a girl, to go and have three years' pull of a chap." "Stop grousing," said the girl, "and get me the worms, there's a dear little boy." The Urchin flung the nearest book at her, missed as usual, and, having thus made his honor white, departed, declaring in simpler language that the love of worms was the root of all evil.