Expectation ran high as I produced the key of the padlock to unchain the big chest, for we had purchased an old lock at Alderney, from mine host of the inn.  The lid was raised, and I produced the three books, but as no one could read them they were put down as evil-smelling things, musty and mysterious.

Next the small golden casket was produced and handed round, amid great exclamations of delight, for I had polished it till it glittered again in the sunlight.  The polished gems on the lid and sides found great favour in the sight of mother and Priscilla, who were quite lost in wonder as to where I had obtained it.  Presently I opened it, and poured the uncut gems out upon the table, as a sample of Jethou pebbles; but they were not much appreciated, although when held to the light they certainly shewed rich colouring.

“Only fancy walking about on a beach covered with these coloured stones.  I should think they look rather pretty when they are wet with sea water and the sun shines on them.  But then I suppose when you see them by the ton, day after day, you take no notice of them?”

This was Priscilla’s idea, and when I told her that they were not so common as to be walked upon or shovelled up by the ton, but that they were really and truly diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, in their natural uncut state, she would scarcely believe it.  Even my mother expressed her incredulity with the remark, “Go along, boy!  I suppose we shall not know a turnip from an apple next?”

As my veracity appeared to be at stake I now produced a little pouch of cut, lustrous gems, which at once brought forth quite a different flight of exclamations and queries.

“The ducks!  How lovely!  How they glitter!  See how the sun makes them look as if they were alight!  Are they really real?  Where did you get them from?  Are they yours?” and a dozen other questions were put to me in as many seconds, but I only laughed and said: 

“Now do you believe me?”

The gold dishes, chalices, etc., were also produced, and made a great impression—­gold always does.

My good old dad stood by, looking very grave, and gave a very emphatic shake of his head, so I said: 

“What do you think of it all?”

Another shake of the head, and then: 

“I don’t know what to make of it at all, Harry; but if these things are yours, I hope you came by them honestly.  Such things are not indigenous to Jethou, you know!”

“Not indigenous to Jethou!  Why, Alec will bear me out that they have been indigenous to the island for scores of years, won’t you, Alec?”

“It is quite true, Mr. Nilford.  These things have belonged to Jethou for a century at least, but I cannot affirm that they are actually the native produce of the island, any more than the contents of these bags.”

He thereupon pulled out one of the great leathern bags and placed in my father’s hand, who nearly dropped it, as it weighed over a stone.