"Oh, do take care, Father!" Gladys pleaded, "you'll fall and break
your neck. Do be sensible and come down now."
But John Martin paid no attention, he went on groping.
"I've found it," he suddenly shouted. "That bounder was right, the
trunk is hollow." He was silent then, for some minutes, and Gladys
could only see his boots. Then there was a muffled oath, a sound of
choking and gasping, which made Gladys's blood run cold, and then--a
great cry. "There's something here, something hard and heavy. It's a
box, an iron box! Take it from me." And leaning as far down as he
dared, he placed in Gladys's outstretched hands, a rusty iron box.
Then there was the sound of scraping and tearing, and John Martin
gradually lowered himself to the ground--his coat covered with green,
and the knees of his trousers ripped to pieces.
Gladys ran indoors for a hammer and chisel, and, the hinges of the box
being worn with age and exposure, it was but the work of a few seconds
to break it open. It was full of gold and silver coins and jewellery;
there were only a few gold pieces, the greater number of the coins
were silver--the bulk Georgian--and their dates ranged from 1697 to
1750. The jewellery consisted of several massive gold bracelets, (two
or three of very fine workmanship); some dozen or so plain gold rings;
two silver watches, and a varied assortment of silver trinkets. All
were more or less antique, but none--apart from the gold bracelets--of
any great value.
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