to this recital, for the garden described had belonged to his deceased parent, and it was a spot Father Melchior often visited, and seemed to delight in.
Francis now traced the connection between the promise of the Spectre Barber and the discovery that Wooden Block had just made; and he perceived that this was the friend who was to meet him on the Weser Bridge. With great joy he pulled out the last remaining piece of money he possessed, and, giving it to the old pensioner, addressed him thus: “You have quite diverted my melancholy with an account of your dream; expect to see me again in this very place. And, farewell!”
Francis prepared a spade and pick-axe, and, by moonlight, dug deep in the spot alluded to, and lifted the treasure, without meeting with any adventure whatever, such as the terrifying howl of a black dog, or the lurid glare of a blue flame.
Our young Crœsus now found that the possession of wealth brought cares along with it, and that he would have considerable difficulty in conveying his glittering stores from the garden to his home in the narrow lane. At last, by patient industry during the twilight and moonlight hours, he attained his object, by getting it safely deposited in his own quarters. It cannot be supposed that Father Melchior,
H
