Such were Mr. Long’s thoughts and hopes, under the stimulus of which he at length retreated from the bank and returned to the house. Thus far he had kept Pat’s performance a secret, out of consideration for Pat himself; for he was not willing that so glaring a case of dense and utter ignorance should be made public. But now he was compelled to tell it to all of them, so as to get their assistance in the search; so, after once more questioning Pat, and getting from him fresh particulars about the place where he had thrown the stones, and finding, to his dismay, that it was no other than the very place where he had been, he went to summon the rest’ of the boys. Gathering them together, Mr. Long began to unfold to them the fate of the long sought for, but still missing, stones. As he began, his native generosity made him desirous of sparing poor Pat; but as he proceeded, the sense of his own wrongs overcame the dictates of generosity. He concealed nothing, he kept back nothing, he palliated nothing. All was made known. Finally, he implored the assistance of every one of them in finding the lost treasures. Of course, after such an appeal, there was no chance for refusal; and so they at once prepared to follow him. Bart insisted on procuring torches, and his inventive genius readily suggested an excellent mode of obtaining light. This was by stripping the inflammable bark from the huge piles of birch firewood that lay near the house; and folding these up in compact scroll-like sticks. A large number of these were made; and with these, with lanterns, and with pine knots, the whole band followed Mr. Long to the bank. Here they took off their shoes and stockings, and prepared for their task. The mud on the surface was very soft to the depth of several inches, and into this they sank; but sinking thus far, they found a hard clay bottom. Proceeding in this way, they all sought with earnest scrutiny for signs of the buried stones. For some time nothing could be found. At last, with a cry of delight, Bogud plunged his hand into the mud, and drew out something, with which he instantly hurried to Mr. Long. “Here’s one of them!” said he. He held out a lump, at which Mr. Long and all the rest eagerly looked. It seemed more like a small lump of mud or clay than anything else. So they all said. “Pooh!” said they; “a little lump of clay.” “It’s not clay,” said Bogud; “it’s the amethyst. I know it by the way it feels. It’s covered with mud, though, and ought to be washed immediately.” Saying this, he rubbed the clinging mud with his fingers, disclosing at last something with an oval surface and a dirty-gray color. “It’s the amethyst,” repeated Bogud, triumphantly. “I know it by the oval back. I picked the amethyst myself. Wait till I get the rest of the mud off. See here!--but--what--hallo!”