“Take the stool,” said Uncle Reuben, showing me in very quietly, “it is fitter for your height, John.  Wait a moment; there is no hurry.”

Then he slipped out by another door, and closing it quickly after him, told the foreman and waiting-men that the business of the day was done.  They had better all go home at once; and he would see to the fastenings.  Of course they were only too glad to go; but I wondered at his sending them, with at least two hours of daylight left.

However, that was no business of mine, and I waited, and pondered whether fair Ruth ever came into this dirty room, and if so, how she kept her hands from it.  For Annie would have had it upside down in about two minutes, and scrubbed, and brushed, and dusted, until it looked quite another place; and yet all this done without scolding and crossness; which are the curse of clean women, and ten times worse than the dustiest dust.

Uncle Ben came reeling in, not from any power of liquor, but because he was stiff from horseback, and weak from work and worry.

“Let me be, John, let me be,” he said, as I went to help him; “this is an unkind dreary place; but many a hundred of good gold Carolus has been turned in this place, John.”

“Not a doubt about it, sir,” I answered in my loud and cheerful manner; “and many another hundred, sir; and may you long enjoy them!”

“My boy, do you wish me to die?” he asked, coming up close to my stool, and regarding me with a shrewd though blear-eyed gaze; “many do.  Do you, John?”

“Come,” said I, “don’t ask such nonsense.  You know better than that, Uncle Ben.  Or else, I am sorry for you.  I want you to live as long as possible, for the sake of—­” Here I stopped.

“For the sake of what, John?  I knew it is not for my own sake.  For the sake of what, my boy?”

“For the sake of Ruth,” I answered; “if you must have all the truth.  Who is to mind her when you are gone?”

“But if you knew that I had gold, or a manner of getting gold, far more than ever the sailors got out of the Spanish galleons, far more than ever was heard of; and the secret was to be yours, John; yours after me and no other soul’s—­then you would wish me dead, John.”  Here he eyed me as if a speck of dust in my eyes should not escape him.

“You are wrong, Uncle Ben; altogether wrong.  For all the gold ever heard or dreamed of, not a wish would cross my heart to rob you of one day of life.”

At last he moved his eyes from mine; but without any word, or sign, to show whether he believed, or disbelieved.  Then he went to a chair, and sat with his chin upon the ledger-desk; as if the effort of probing me had been too much for his weary brain.  “Dreamed of!  All the gold ever dreamed of!  As if it were but a dream!” he muttered; and then he closed his eyes to think.

“Good Uncle Reuben,” I said to him, “you have been a long way to-day, sir.  Let me go and get you a glass of good wine.  Cousin Ruth knows where to find it.”