It obstinately refused to yield, and, laying open the earth with his spade, he discovered that it had twined itself again and again round some object which he at first supposed to be a stone. A closer examination, however, showed that it was not a stone, but _a rusty iron box_! Then the dying words of Hugh Cameron rushed to Davie's mind, and he had no difficulty in completing the sentence which death had cut short, "Under the Rowan tree in--_the garden_!" That it had stood there--the only tree of its kind--in the days of the rebellion, was afterwards shown by consulting an old plan of the estate. Davie's first impulse was to summon a witness to the spot, but remembering that the laird had gone to Edinburgh for a few days, he changed his mind, and decided to impart the secret to no one till he came back. To leave the box where it was, or anywhere else on the premises, would be the same thing as to proclaim his discovery, as the servants would be sure to find it; so he concluded to take it home and conceal it in his own barn. Now Davie was an honest man--at least he had always supposed himself to be--and if you, or I, or another, had insinuated aught to the contrary, he would have been highly indignant. And yet it is a fact that as he went out of the garden with the chest on his wheelbarrow along with the garden tools, the whole carefully concealed with oat straw, he felt like a thief! Meeting some of his cronies, with whom at ordinary times he would have held a _jolly crack_, he now hurried by with a mere "Gude-e'en, neebor," and when he saw the minister coming that way he crossed the road rather than speak to the godly man. As he turned into the lane which led to his own cottage, little Jamie, who had been on the watch for him, came running out to beg for a ride on the wheelbarrow; and instead of catching him in his arms for a kiss, as was his wont, he angrily bade him "gang hame to his mither." The disappointed child looked up in his father's face, and then, without saying a word, but sobbing bitterly, trotted back to the house. There was in the barn a closet where Davie kept his garden tools, and which was seldom entered by any one save himself. There he deposited the chest, which had already begun to exercise a baleful influence, and which was destined to work him still further woe. He had intended--or he had made himself believe that he intended--to restore the box to its owner without opening it; but now that it was in his own possession, he felt an almost irresistible desire to see what it contained. "Belike it's nae treasure, after a'," said he to himself; "but only some auld trash not worth a groat." With that he placed his hand on the lid and shook it gently, scarcely dreaming that it would yield without hammer and chisel; but both the rust-eaten lock and hinges gave way at once, and the cover fell to the floor with a startling crash. Enclosed within the box were the gold and silver plate of the Lanark family.