“Then he broke down, mon ami, and I fear that I cried just a little too.  It was sad, for he was a great strong man.

“When he could, he looked up and continued:  ’Well, Father, I am here to do it.  I want your help.  May I have it?’

“I told him I would do what I could.  He wanted me to take the money and give it to the owner.  He would tell me his name.  I was glad to aid the poor man who was so repentant.

“’All I want is a pick and shovel and a reliable man to go with me to-night.  I can find the place,’ he said.

“I offered to send the sexton with him and let him have the pick and shovel from the cemetery.  I gave him food and thanked God as I watched him eat, that grace was working in his heart again.

“‘I will wait for the man at seven to-night, Father,’ he said when he was leaving.  ’Let him meet me with the horse and buggy just outside of the town.  If there is danger I will not see him, and he can return.  I will take the pick and shovel now, and bring the stuff to you in a valise by 10 o’clock.  Wait up for me.’

“He left and the sexton went to the road at seven, but did not see him.  At 10 o’clock I heard him coming.  It was very dark and he knocked sharply and quickly, as if afraid.  I opened the door and he thrust a valise into my hand.  It was heavy.

“’Here it is, Father.  Keep it till morning when I will bring the key.  The valise is locked.  Give me something that I may buy a night’s lodging and I will come back at seven.’

“I gave him the first note in my purse and he hurried away.

“Now I fear, mon ami, that I never quite overcame my childish curiosity, for I felt a burning desire to see all that treasure, especially the strange ring.  I must root out that fault before I die or my purgatory will be long.  I went to the kitchen where I had a good chisel, and I am sorry to confess that I opened the valise just a very little to see the heap of precious things.  There was an old cigar-box and something heavy rolled in cotton.  I thrust the chisel down till I opened the box.  There was no treasure in it at all, but just a lot of iron-shavings.  I felt that I had been fooled and I broke the valise open.  The heavy stuff rolled in the cotton was only a lot of old coupling-pins from the railroad.  I was disgusted with this sinner, this thief.  But it was droll—­it was droll—­and I could scarcely sleep with laughing at the whole farce.  I know that was sinful.  I should have cried.  But he was clever, that Yankee tramp.”

[Illustration:  “Mon Dieu!  It was mine.”]

“And the valise?  What did you do with it?” asked the hard-hearted Cure of Ste. Agatha, who must have felt sorry that the friend could be so easily duped.  “What did you do with the valise?”

“I let it go.  I knew that he had left it with me and I couldn’t understand why.  It was so good—­almost new.  I felt that the sight of it would make me hard to the poor who really were deserving.  I wanted to forget how foolish I was, so I gave it to the good Sisters at the Hospital, to use when they must travel to Sherbrooke.”