"You don't need me, Joe," he said. "You are very kind, but there must be real work for me somewhere." "Well, my lad, I won't stand in your way, but I've known you a long time, and I shall hate to lose sight of you." "I'll come back some day, Joe--that is, if I am prosperous, and can." "If you are not prosperous, if you fall sick, and need a home and a friend, come back, then. Don't forget your old friend Joe Marks." "I won't, Joe," said Ernest heartily. "You've got another friend here, Ernest," added Luke Robbins. "I'm a poor man, and my friendship isn't worth much, but you have it, all the same." Ernest grasped the hands of both. He felt that each was a friend worth having. "You may be sure that I won't forget either of you," he said. "When do you expect to go, Ernest, and where?" asked Joe Marks. "I shall get away to-morrow, I think, but where I shall go I can't tell yet." "Do you need any money?" "No; my uncle left me some." Ernest had not yet secured the gold, but he knew exactly where it was, and now that all his business was ended, he felt that it was time to possess himself of it. Accordingly he took a spade from the house and bent his steps in the direction of the old oak tree. He went alone, for he thought it best not to take anyone into his confidence. Indeed the only persons whom he would have thought of trusting were Joe Marks and Luke Robbins, and they were both employed, Joe in his store and Luke on a hunting expedition. Arrived at the tree, Ernest measured off five feet in the direction mentioned by Peter and began to dig. It did not take him long to reach the box, for it was only a foot beneath the surface of the ground. It proved to be a cigar-box, for Peter was fond of smoking, though he usually smoked a pipe, as being more economical. Ernest lifted the lid and saw a small roll enclosed in brown wrapping-paper, which, on being removed, revealed twenty five-dollar gold pieces. He regarded them with satisfaction, for they afforded him the means of leaving Oak Forks and going out into the great world which he had such a curiosity to enter. But Ernest was not the only one who regarded the gold pieces with satisfaction. Hidden behind a tree only a few feet away was a person with whom we are already acquainted. It was Tom Burns, the tramp and vagabond. He, too, was out in search of gold. He had come from Daneboro and was prowling round the neighborhood, searching for old Peter's hidden treasure. He had deliberated as to whether the cabin or the fields was the more likely place to have been selected. He had nothing in particular to guide him. He did not, however, venture to approach the house just yet, as it would probably be occupied by Ernest. "I wish I knowed where the old man hid his boodle," soliloquized Tom. "I can't dig all over." In fact digging was not in Tom's line. It was too much like work, and if there was anything to which Tom was bitterly opposed it was work of any kind.