“Yes, _all!_” said Jiggins, in a dismal voice. “I can’t tell you all that we took; but first there was opodeldoc, then ginger, then Crabb’s cordial, then magnesia, then paregoric, then blue pills, then a mustard plaster, after which there was rum and onions, brimstone and molasses--” “Stop, stop!” cried Bart. “What’s all that? You don’t mean to say that you took all that?” “Yes, _all!_” ejaculated. Jiggins, his face growing at once longer and paler at the recollection of hiss sorrows. “And you’re alive yet--all of you? Then you need never be afraid of poisons. Yes my poor Jiggins, you have been poisoned; that’s a fact, though not by clams.” Mr. Long, who was present, had listened to all this in consternation. “And where’s Pat?” he asked. That young gentleman’s name was Michael, but everybody called him Pat, and so did Mr. Long. “And where’s Pat?” “In bed yet, sir.” “Poor Pat! Has he been dosed, too?” “Yes, sir; but he was taken worse than any of us;” and with this Jiggins went on to tell all about Pat and the raw clams. “Dear, dear, dear!” cried Mr. Long. “He must have eaten a bushel, and all raw. Dear, dear, dear! What did he think he was made of? O, how is it possible for me to keep you all out of mischief? I go after one half of you who are in peril, and come back to find the rest of you half poisoned. But poor Pat--where is he? I must see him, for we have to start for home to-night.” “I’ll show you, sir,” said Jiggins; and he took him to the room where Pat was. He was lying in bed, looking pale and exhausted. He greeted Mr. Long with a faint smile, and the kind-hearted teacher did his utmost to soothe the afflicted boy. XIX. _Complaints of a disappointed Savant.--The humble Confession of Pat.--A buried Treasure, and a great Search after it by Torchlight’._ “PAT,” said Mr. Long, kindly, “do you think you will be able to start to-night?” “To-night, sir?” said Pat, dolefully. “Yes, the recess is over. Our time is up, and we must all be back to-morrow. We ought to have been there Saturday night. Do you think you can come?” “I suppose I’ll have to, sir.” “If you’re too weak, or if it pains you to walk, we can carry you down, you know.” “What time are ye afther lavin’ at, sir?” “About one o’clock.” “O, thin, surely I’ll be betther by that time,” said Pat. “I’ll get a wink of sleep, and wake up meself again.”. “Do so, Pat. Is there anything I could get you?” “No, sir, thank ye kindly. I don’t know of anything.” Yes, they had to go back, for their time was up; yet Mr. Long was in despair, not knowing what to do about the minerals. He was confident that they were somewhere--but where? No one knew, and he couldn’t imagine. “It’s too bad,” he cried, as his indignation grew irrepressible. “It’s too bad. Our expedition has been ill organized. I don’t blame anybody, but we’ve certainly had very bad luck. With only a week we have wasted or lost every day but one. Last Monday we were kept all day and all night at the wharf.”