326 Hans Brinker

Raff Brinker still slept soundly. His wife took a small
block of peat from her nearly exhausted store, and put it
upon the embers. Then, opening the door, she called
gently, —

“ Come in, children!”

«“ Mother, mother! See here!” shouted Hans.

“ Holy St. Bavon!” exclaimed the dame, springing over
the doorstep. ‘* What has come to the boy?”

“Come quick, mother,’ he cried, in great excitement,
working with all his might, and driving in the ysbreeker at
each word. “Don’t you see? This is the spot, — right here
on the south side of the stump. Why didn’t we think of it
last night? The stump is the old willow-tree,— the one you
cut down last spring, because it shaded the potatoes. That
little tree wasn’t here when father — Huzza!”

Dame Brinker could not speak. She dropped on her knees
beside Hans just in time to see him drag forth — the old stone
pot !

He thrust in his hand, and took out—a piece of brick,
then another, then another, then the stocking and the pouch,
black and mouldy, but filled with the long-lost treasure.

Such atime! Such laughing! such crying! such count-
ing, after they went into the cottage. It was a wonder that
Raff did not waken. His dreams were pleasant, however ;
for he smiled in his sleep.

Dame Brinker and her children hada fine supper, I can
assure you. No need of saving the delicacies now.

“ We’ll buy the Father some nice, fresh things to-morrow,”
said the dame, as she brought forth the meat, wine, bread and
jelly that Hilda had sent, and placed them on the clean pine
table. ‘Ah, but the good man shall have comforts enough