“By Moses!” said Tom Chist, hurrying to keep up with his friend, “I’d buy a ship for myself, I would, and I’d trade to Injy and to Chiny to my own boot, I would.  Suppose the chist was all full of money, sir, and suppose we should find it; would there be enough in it, d’ye suppose, to buy a ship?”

“To be sure there would be enough, Tom; enough and to spare, and a good big lump over.”

“And if I find it ’tis mine to keep, is it, and no mistake?”

“Why, to be sure it would be yours!” cried out the Parson, in a loud voice.  “To be sure it would be yours!” He knew nothing of the law, but the doubt of the question began at once to ferment in his brain, and he strode along in silence for a while.  “Whose else would it be but yours if you find it?” he burst out.  “Can you tell me that?”

“If ever I have a ship of my own,” said Tom Chist, “and if ever I sail to Injy in her, I’ll fetch ye back the best chist of tea, sir, that ever was fetched from Cochin Chiny.”

Parson Jones burst out laughing.  “Thankee, Tom,” he said; “and I’ll thankee again when I get my chist of tea.  But tell me, Tom, didst thou ever hear of the farmer girl who counted her chickens before they were hatched?”

It was thus they talked as they hurried along up the beach together, and so came to a place at last where Tom stopped short and stood looking about him. “’Twas just here,” he said, “I saw the boat last night.  I know ’twas here, for I mind me of that bit of wreck yonder, and that there was a tall stake drove in the sand just where yon stake stands.”

Parson Jones put on his barnacles and went over to the stake towards which Tom pointed.  As soon as he had looked at it carefully, he called out:  “Why, Tom, this hath been just drove down into the sand.  ’Tis a brand-new stake of wood, and the pirates must have set it here themselves as a mark, just as they drove the pegs you spoke about down into the sand.”

Tom came over and looked at the stake.  It was a stout piece of oak nearly two inches thick; it had been shaped with some care, and the top of it had been painted red.  He shook the stake and tried to move it, but it had been driven or planted so deeply into the sand that he could not stir it.  “Aye, sir,” he said, “it must have been set here for a mark, for I’m sure ’twas not here yesterday or the day before.”  He stood looking about him to see if there were other signs of the pirates’ presence.  At some little distance there was the corner of something white sticking up out of the sand.  He could see that it was a scrap of paper, and he pointed to it, calling out:  “Yonder is a piece of paper, sir.  I wonder if they left that behind them?”

It was a miraculous chance that placed that paper there.  There was only an inch of it showing, and if it had not been for Tom’s sharp eyes, it would certainly have been overlooked and passed by.  The next wind-storm would have covered it up, and all that afterwards happened never would have occurred.  “Look sir,” he said, as he struck the sand from it, “it hath writing on it.”