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Lost Leaf Publications
Finding the Lost Treasure (Illustrated)
Finding the Lost Treasure (Illustrated)
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W-1755-15x12-6754,” read Desiré slowly. “What does it mean?”
“What does what mean, Dissy?” asked her younger sister, who was rolling a ball across the floor to little René.
“Just some figures on an old paper I found, dear. I must tell Jack about them. Do you know where he is?”
“Out there somewhere, I guess,” replied the child, with a vague gesture indicating the front yard.
[6]
Desiré flung back her short dark curls and crossed the room to a window where sturdy geraniums raised their scarlet clusters to the very top of the panes. It was the custom in that part of Nova Scotia to make a regular screen of blossoming plants in all front windows, sometimes even in those of the cellar. Peering between two thick stems, she could see her older brother sitting on the doorstep, gazing out across St. Mary’s Bay which lay like a blue, blue flag along the shore.
Crossing the narrow hall and opening the outside door, Desiré dropped down beside the boy and thrust a time-yellowed slip of paper into his hands.
“Did you ever see this?”
“Yes,” he replied slowly. “A few days before he died, nôtre père went over the contents of his tin box with me to make sure that I understood all about the bills, and the mortgage on the farm and—”
“Mortgage!” exclaimed Desiré in shocked tones. “I never knew we had one.”
“I, either, until that day. You see nôtre mère was sick so long that all our little savings were used up, and ready money was an absolute necessity.”
“And what did he tell you about this?” continued the girl, after a thoughtful pause, running her finger along the line of tantalizing characters.
[7]
“Nothing very definite. He said it was a memorandum of some kind that had been handed down in our family for generations. The name of its writer, and its meaning, have been lost in the past; but each father passed it on to his eldest son, with a warning to preserve it most carefully, for it was valuable.”
“And now it belongs to you,” concluded Desiré, half sadly, half proudly.
Jack nodded, and for several moments neither spoke.
John Wistmore, aged 18, Desiré, 14, Priscilla, 9, and René, 5, were direct descendants of John Alden and Priscilla Mullins, whose story the poet Longfellow tells in The Courtship of Miles Standish.
The little town of Sissiboo, an Indian corruption of Six Hiboux[1] where they lived, is one of those settled by the Acadians upon their return to the land of their birth some years after the expulsion. So closely, so ramblingly are the villages strung along the shores of St. Mary’s Bay on the northwest coast of Nova Scotia that it is hard to tell where one ends and the next begins. Their inhabitants live exactly as did their ancestors, speaking French and preserving with care all the old habits and customs.
[1]SIX OWLS.
[8]
The lives of the children had been simple, happy ones, until the recent death of their father and mother, hardly three months apart. John Wistmore, in whose veins flowed the blood of men of culture and ambition, had been anxious to give his children greater educational advantages than Sissiboo afforded. Jack, therefore, had been sent to Wolfville to school, and was now ready for college; while Desiré was looking forward to high school in the autumn. Now all was changed. Without relatives, without money, and without prospects, they faced the problem of supporting the two younger children and themselves.
“Where did you find this?” asked Jack, rousing himself.
“On the floor in front of the cupboard.”
“It must have slipped from the box when I took out the mortgage. I went over it with Nicolas Bouchard this morning.”
“Oh, does he hold it?”
“Yes—and—”
“He wants his money?”
Jack nodded.
“But what can we do? We can’t possibly pay him.”
“Nothing, I guess, dear, except let him foreclose.”
“Would we get any money at all, then?”
“Very little. Not enough to live on, certainly.”
[9]
“I wish I knew what these mean,” she sighed wistfully, touching the paper still between her brother’s fingers. “If we could only find out, maybe we’d get enough money to pay Nicolas.”
Jack laughed in spite of his anxiety. “I’m afraid we’d all starve before they could be interpreted.
“What does what mean, Dissy?” asked her younger sister, who was rolling a ball across the floor to little René.
“Just some figures on an old paper I found, dear. I must tell Jack about them. Do you know where he is?”
“Out there somewhere, I guess,” replied the child, with a vague gesture indicating the front yard.
[6]
Desiré flung back her short dark curls and crossed the room to a window where sturdy geraniums raised their scarlet clusters to the very top of the panes. It was the custom in that part of Nova Scotia to make a regular screen of blossoming plants in all front windows, sometimes even in those of the cellar. Peering between two thick stems, she could see her older brother sitting on the doorstep, gazing out across St. Mary’s Bay which lay like a blue, blue flag along the shore.
Crossing the narrow hall and opening the outside door, Desiré dropped down beside the boy and thrust a time-yellowed slip of paper into his hands.
“Did you ever see this?”
“Yes,” he replied slowly. “A few days before he died, nôtre père went over the contents of his tin box with me to make sure that I understood all about the bills, and the mortgage on the farm and—”
“Mortgage!” exclaimed Desiré in shocked tones. “I never knew we had one.”
“I, either, until that day. You see nôtre mère was sick so long that all our little savings were used up, and ready money was an absolute necessity.”
“And what did he tell you about this?” continued the girl, after a thoughtful pause, running her finger along the line of tantalizing characters.
[7]
“Nothing very definite. He said it was a memorandum of some kind that had been handed down in our family for generations. The name of its writer, and its meaning, have been lost in the past; but each father passed it on to his eldest son, with a warning to preserve it most carefully, for it was valuable.”
“And now it belongs to you,” concluded Desiré, half sadly, half proudly.
Jack nodded, and for several moments neither spoke.
John Wistmore, aged 18, Desiré, 14, Priscilla, 9, and René, 5, were direct descendants of John Alden and Priscilla Mullins, whose story the poet Longfellow tells in The Courtship of Miles Standish.
The little town of Sissiboo, an Indian corruption of Six Hiboux[1] where they lived, is one of those settled by the Acadians upon their return to the land of their birth some years after the expulsion. So closely, so ramblingly are the villages strung along the shores of St. Mary’s Bay on the northwest coast of Nova Scotia that it is hard to tell where one ends and the next begins. Their inhabitants live exactly as did their ancestors, speaking French and preserving with care all the old habits and customs.
[1]SIX OWLS.
[8]
The lives of the children had been simple, happy ones, until the recent death of their father and mother, hardly three months apart. John Wistmore, in whose veins flowed the blood of men of culture and ambition, had been anxious to give his children greater educational advantages than Sissiboo afforded. Jack, therefore, had been sent to Wolfville to school, and was now ready for college; while Desiré was looking forward to high school in the autumn. Now all was changed. Without relatives, without money, and without prospects, they faced the problem of supporting the two younger children and themselves.
“Where did you find this?” asked Jack, rousing himself.
“On the floor in front of the cupboard.”
“It must have slipped from the box when I took out the mortgage. I went over it with Nicolas Bouchard this morning.”
“Oh, does he hold it?”
“Yes—and—”
“He wants his money?”
Jack nodded.
“But what can we do? We can’t possibly pay him.”
“Nothing, I guess, dear, except let him foreclose.”
“Would we get any money at all, then?”
“Very little. Not enough to live on, certainly.”
[9]
“I wish I knew what these mean,” she sighed wistfully, touching the paper still between her brother’s fingers. “If we could only find out, maybe we’d get enough money to pay Nicolas.”
Jack laughed in spite of his anxiety. “I’m afraid we’d all starve before they could be interpreted.
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