Irrepressible Outburst of Feeling from the Grand Panjandrum.—He enlarges upon the Dignity of his Office.—Spades again.—Digging once more.—At the old Place, my Boy.—Resumption of an unfinished Work.—Uncovering the Money-hole.—The Iron Plate.—The Cover of the Iron Chest—A Tremendous but restrained Excitement.

SUCH, then, was the explanation of the mystery of the discordant, the hideous roar. To those who have heard the bray of a donkey it will be intelligible how such a noise, sounding suddenly in the still midnight, to inexperienced ears may have been full of terror; while to those who have not heard it, a simple assertion of the above fact will, it is hoped, be all that is necessary. It was the donkey’s bray which, according to the fable, terrified the animals of the forest, after he had put on the lion’s skin. Now, this donkey was clothed in something more dreadful than a lion’s skin: he was clothed in the darkness and the gloom of night, and his roar might well terrify those who heard it under such circumstances, without knowing whence it came.

After the first surprise they all burst into a roar of laughter. It was an immense relief to them all; but their merriment was a little intermingled with feelings of shame, as the dark and dreadful mystery thus resolved itself into the ridiculous form of a poor little donkey.

As for Solomon, the effect produced on him was greater than on the others. As the first peal of the bray struck his ears, he started, his jaw dropped, his eyes rolled up. Then, as the whole truth came to him, he dashed his hat to the ground, threw his head back, and burst into a perfect thunder-peal of laughter. There he stood, while the donkey brayed, swinging his aged frame and his grizzled head backward and forward, tossing his arms, and at last holding his aching sides.

And it was,—“O, dis sight! De jackass! O, de gracious sakes! Shades an powers ob darkness! Sich a succumstance! An’ dis nigga a gwine mad wid feah about dat! An all de blubbed breddern ob de Double bubble: de mos’ wossfle, de patrick, de venebubble wodden, an all de ress, a flyin on de heels ob de Granjer pander drum! wid a small jackass a chasin all dem high an’ mighty ’ficials! Tinkin him de vengin sperrit ob a ole Cajian slashin an swingin a pot ob gold ober our bressed heads! O, dis erf alive! Nebber did dis nigga spec to fin out sich a succumstance! An de stonishing way we did put! Gracious! how my ole heels did kick up! Reglar ravin stracted wid terror we was; mind, I tell you! An dar come a juvenile jackass out ob de wood to devour us up! Say, blubbed breddern, whar’s dat ar minral rod? Spose you get dat ar stick for a ridin whip; wonder ef ’twouldn’t make dat ar jackass gee up. Tell you what now, Mas’r Bart, you jest get on dat ar animal’s back wid Mas’r Bruce, an’ sing one or two ob dem dar cantations, an de rest ob you get some magic candles an set fire to de top knot on de end ob dat ar tail. Tell you what, dat’ll make him gee up—will so! Yah! yah! yah! yah! yah! Ye-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-p!”

“Solomon, my son,’ said Bart, as the old fellow, after giving a wild yell, was getting ready for another outburst.

“Yes, mos wossfle,” said Solomon, with a grin. “Would it be too much to ask you to be kind enough to allow us to finish our rustic repast? As it was interrupted by the noise of this quadruped, we think that it would be very desirable to resume it, unless you prefer remaining here for the rest of the day imitating the animal before us.”

“All right, mos possible,” said old Solomon, catching up his basket. “Couldn’t help it. Had to let out strong. Bust if I hadn’t did so. Fust man dat mentions de name ob a donkey to me, dis ole niggall bust. Dat’s so!”

Saying this, Solomon kicked up one leg, then slapped one hand down hard on his knee, and stood for a moment with his head bent down, while his whole frame shook with internal laughter. At length he raised his head, and presented to the view of the boys a face as grave, as demure, and as solemn as the visage of a judge who is about to pronounce a sentence, only there was an irrepressible twinkle in each of his small black beads of eyes which took a little from the mask of gravity with which his face was covered.

Then he took up the basket, and walked back towards the old French orchard. The boys passed him, reaching the cellar first. Then they all sat down again, and Solomon, for the third time, spread the table before them.

“Dis heah,” said he, “chil’en, am de third and de lass time. Ef any ob you runs away, he’ll lose his bressed dinna, now an forebbermore. Amen. So you go ahead, an eat, fass as you can. De visions ain’t gwine to spile your ’gestions.”

The boys were hungry, and ate in silence. Solomon stood apart unobserved, with a broad grin on his face, occasionally muttering to himself, and shaking all over with laughter. After each of these silent explosions, he would suddenly recover his gravity, mutter to himself some solemn rebuke, and look awfully grave for about half a minute, till a new explosion came.

That discovery had been too much for him. He had seen the donkey when it came, but he had never heard it bray. The terror over him had been tremendous. Every night since then had been a night of fear, and it was the violent revulsion of feeling from his former panic which brought on this joyousness. It took him all the rest of the term to get over his tendency to burst forth on all occasions into fits of laughter.

At length the repast was over, and Solomon at last had the satisfaction of feeling that his efforts had been fully “’preciated.” The boys felt like giants refreshed, and Solomon looked with great complacency upon the bones of the fowls and the empty dishes.

“Dat’s about de ticket,” he said, as he piled the dishes into the basket. “Didn’t want to carry back such a hebby load to de ’Cad’my. Been tuggin at it all day. Got to hurry back now.”

“What, Solomon! you’re not going?” said Bart.

“Got to—must.”

“Nonsense! We can’t spare you yet. We want to talk to you.”

“Can’t spar de time now,—mos ’portant business. De doctor allus specks me punct’ly. Got to get him his dinna. Dis is all very well for play; but business is business, an dat’s what me’n’ de doctor’s got to tend to. We’ve got de ’portant business ob life—de dinna ’partment.”

“O, he’ll get his dinner all right,” said Arthur.

“What dat? He—de doctor—widout me!”

Solomon rolled up his eyes till only the whites were visible, and stood lost in wonder at the preposterous idea.

“Sich chil’en as you,” said he, loftily, “don’t ond’stan de serious business ob life. Wait till you get to be sixty, an hab cooked as many dinnas as me; den you may talk.”

“That’s hard for us,” said Tom, “if we have to become cooks and get to be sixty.”

“Course it is—an I mean it to hit hard. A dinna’s a dinna, an no mistake. Me’n’ de doctor knows dat. Why, whar’d de ’Cad’my be, ef I wasn’t to give de doctor a rail fust-rate dinna ebery day? Me’n’ de doctor keep de ’Cad’my goin. He’s de mas’r, an I’m de one dat keeps him a goin, an so we bofe ob us keep de ’Cad’my goin.”

“Solomon,” said Arthur, “you ought to be one of the teachers.”

“‘Teachas!” said Solomon; “ain’t I somefin more? What’s a teacha? I’m a pro-fessa. I’m de ’fessa ob de cool an airy ’partment.”

“Culinary,” said Bart.

“No,” said Solomon; “cool an airy. Dat’s what de doctor said. Ses he, ‘Solomon, you hab a ’portant ’sition,—you preside ober de cool an airy ‘partment.’ ‘What’s dat ar?’ ses I. ‘O,’ ses he, ‘it’s only de Injin’ fur cookin.’ An I ups an tales him ef he’d ony stay down on some broilin, hot day in Auguss in de kitchen, he’d’fess dat de Injin langidgo didn’t spress de idee, ef it called sich a oven of a place ‘cool an airy.’ Dat’s what I tale him,—an’ now, blubbed breddern, farewell!”

Saying this, Solomon took his basket, and retired from the scene.

“There’s a great lot of these cellars about,” said Arthur at last, after some silence, during which they had been sprawling on the grass beside the cellar. “There’s a great lot of them. I wonder how many there are?”

“O, two or three hundred, at least,” said Bruce; “perhaps more.”

“Well, for my part,” said Bart, “I believe that there’s money buried in some of them; and though our adventure was awfully ridiculous, yet that doesn’t alter the sober fact, and I think the general belief is right.”

“I go in for digging again,” said Phil. “I don’t believe in finding money, but we may find something.”

“Bones, for instance,” said Bruce.

“Yes, bones, if you like; and then we’d give them to the museum. Anything at all would be acceptable. It would take the edge off our disappointment of the other night.”

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