The yacht party which had come to Rockhaven in the Orion, in spite of the fog and the rain, appeared to be very happy.  If they were aristocratic in the metropolis, they were not so in their summer resort.  Though the party was large enough to enable them to “have a good time” without any assistance from outside of the hotel, they invited many of the people of Rockhaven to join them in their indoor amusements.  As Mr. Hamilton was a native of the town, he was quite at home there, though he had been absent from his boyhood.  In addition to the dancing, the billiards, and the bowling, one of the gentlemen of the party was an elocutionist, and gave several “readings” in the parlor.  A celebrated writing-master, who was a guest at the hotel, gave an exhibition of his sleight of hand tricks, in which he was almost as skillful as in the use of his pen.  At the end of the third day it was voted that, in spite of the weather, the party had enjoyed themselves to the utmost.  Mr. Bennington and Leopold were unremitting in their efforts to make the guests comfortable and happy.

But in spite of the enjoyment within doors, the New Yorkers were glad to see the sun shine again.  For the first time since their arrival they were permitted to gaze upon the rugged and beautiful scenery of the island.  They were delighted with the cliffs, and with the views from them.  Most of the party spent the day in rambling about the town and in climbing the rocks; but the younger members of it insisted upon something more exciting.  When Leopold carried their coffee to Rosabel and her friend Isabel Peterson, at the breakfast table, he found them very much excited.  They were talking together with a furious enthusiasm, though there was to be no wedding, or even a grand ball.

“We want to go to High Rock right off after breakfast,” said Rosabel; and it appeared that the high spirits of the young ladies were produced simply by the anticipation of this excursion.

“In the Rosabel?” asked Leopold.

“Yes, certainly,” answered Miss Hamilton.

“I will be ready for you,” added the skipper.

“High Rock is such a delightful place!” exclaimed Rosabel, turning to Isabel again.  “I went there twice last summer; and I never enjoyed myself so much as I did in climbing the rocks, and looking out upon the ocean.  I want you to see the place at once, Belle.”

“I shall be delighted to go, especially if we are to sail in the Rosabel,” replied Miss Peterson.  “Isn’t it a nice thing to have a boat named after you!”

“Of course it is a very great honor,” laughed Rosabel, as she shook back the affluence of wavy auburn locks which fell upon her shoulders.  “Leopold is a real good fellow.”

“He is a very good-looking fellow, too,” added Isabel, in a lower tone.  “His face is handsome, and if he were only dressed in good style, he would be magnificent.”

“I think he is nice now,” said Rosabel, candidly, and without a blush, for the little beauty was conscious of nothing but a kindly regard for the landlord’s son.

“He doesn’t talk a bit country, and isn’t clumsy and awkward, like many young fellows away from the city.”

“His manners are as pleasant as those of any young man I ever met.  Do you know, Belle, he speaks German?”

“What, Leopold!”

“He knows how to speak it a great deal better than I do, though he never studied it in school, as I have for two years.”

Leopold had left the dining-room for a moment, so that he did not hear any of this conversation, and therefore had no idea how well he stood in the estimation of these young ladies.  Of course they did not intend that he should know; and the next remark of Isabel, to the effect that she wished he was not a “waiter,” would certainly have hurt his feelings.  Leopold had gone into the office, where he found a boy waiting for a chance to set up pins in the bowling alley, whom he sent for Stumpy, with directions for him to have the Rosabel ready immediately for the excursion to High Rock.  Stumpy often went with him, and, as he intended to wear his good clothes on the trip, he wanted his help on this occasion.

As soon as breakfast was finished, Leopold was ready.  His passengers were to be Rosabel, Isabel, and Charley Redmond, a young man of seventeen, and the son of one of the New Yorkers in the party.  The sloop was all ready when they reached the river.  Stumpy had hoisted the mainsail, and hauled her up where the passengers could embark without difficulty.

“Why, she is a real nice boat!” exclaimed Isabel, as she seated herself in the standing-room.

“I told you she was,” replied Rosabel.

“Quite nobby,” added Charley Redmond, with a patronizing tone, as he adjusted his eye-glasses, for he was either near-sighted, or fancied that the glasses added to his dignity and importance.  “I dare say this rustic is quite a boatman.”

“He may be a rustic, but he is not so green as you are, Charley Redmond,” added Isabel, indignantly; but she spoke for her friend rather than for herself.

The “rustic” did not hear any of these remarks, for after helping the girls to their seats, he had gone to cast off the cable which Stumpy was hauling in.  But Leopold did not like Charley Redmond, for the young gentleman was a person of ten times as much importance, in his own estimation, as his father.  He was supercilious, and, unlike the rest of the party, looked down upon the boatman, and everybody else in the town.

“Of course you couldn’t expect much of a fellow down here,” added Charley.

“He knows twice as much as you do,” retorted Isabel, as the skipper took his place at the helm, thus putting an end to the conversation.

“Now shove her off, Stumpy,” said Leopold.

“Stumpy!” ejaculated Charley, with a laugh.  “That’s a romantic name.”

“His name is Stumpfield Wormbury,” Leopold explained.  “He is a first-rate fellow.”

“No doubt of it,” sneered the New Yorker, who was not a good specimen of his genus, and could not appreciate such a “good fellow,” with his brown face and coarse clothes.

“He don’t like his nickname very well, and when he objected to it, years ago, the fellows began to call him ‘Wormy.’  He couldn’t stand that, and is satisfied now to be called ‘Stumpy.’”

“Stumpy is better than Wormy,” added Charley Redmond.

“Hoist the jib,” said Leopold.

The Rosabel went off with a brisk breeze, at a speed which immediately rekindled the enthusiasm of the girls; and, to prolong the sail, Leopold stood off into the bay, going around a small rocky island, a mile from the light-house.

“It’s rather rough out here,” said Charley Redmond, when the sloop began to dance and leap on the waves thrown up by the fresh north-west wind.

“It’s delightful!” exclaimed Isabel; “isn’t it, Rose?”

“I think so, Belle; I enjoy it above all things.”

“But the boat is rather small,” suggested Charley, as a cloud of spray dashed over the bow.

“So much the better,” added Rosabel.

When the sloop was a mile from the shore, where the water was not sheltered by the high cliffs, the white caps lighted up the bay, and it was very lively sailing.  The Rosabel, close-hauled, pitched smartly, and the spray soon drenched Stumpy, who, presuming not to intrude himself into the presence of the New Yorkers in the standing-room, remained upon the half-deck.  Mr. Redmond was not willing to own it, but he was actually frightened, as Leopold could see by the way he started when the boat pitched, and by the energy with which he held on to the washboard.

“I don’t know that I like this very well,” said he, at last, with a sort of shudder.

“It’s perfectly splendid,” exclaimed Belle.

“Elegant,” added Rosabel.

“I will come about whenever you wish, Miss Hamilton,” said Leopold.

“O, no, not yet,” protested Isabel.

“I think it is about time,” put in Charley.  “It is cold and wet.”

The skipper enjoyed the starts and squirmings of the young gentleman.  He had the boat perfectly in hand, though by this time she had all the wind she could stagger under.  He knew very well that the most exciting part of the sail was yet to come, for he would have the wind free as soon as he came about.  If the girls had not been on board, he would have let the boat over far enough to take in a few buckets of water, for the especial benefit of Mr. Redmond.  He knew just how much she would bear, and he could do it with entire safety; but he did not care to alarm his fair passengers.  Having weathered the island, he let off the sheets a little.  The Rosabel heeled over, and promptly increased her speed.  The wind came in gusts, and now every flaw carried her down to the washboard.  Mr. Redmond was more uneasy than ever, but the girls only shouted in the exuberance of their delight.

“I don’t believe in this thing,” said Charley, at last, when his nervousness overcame him.

“Are you afraid, Charley?” laughed Belle.

“Of course I’m not afraid ­ugh!” he muttered, as the sloop heeled over till the waves threatened to invade the standing-room.

“You are afraid Charley.”

“I’m not afraid; but I don’t think it is safe.  I’ve been in boats enough to know that this isn’t the way to do the thing.  Why don’t you lower one of the sails, Leopold?”

“What for?” asked the skipper quietly.

“You will upset the boat!” gasped Charley.

“No danger of that.”

“But I know there is:  I have been in boats before,” protested Charley.

“If the ladies wish me to reef the mainsail, I will do so,” said Leopold.

“O, no; don’t, don’t, Leopold!” cried Belle.  “I think this is just lovely.”

“Fun alive ­isn’t it?” chimed in Rosabel.  “It would spoil it all to reef.”

“If we only had a man with us, it would be another thing,” groaned Mr. Redmond, with a shudder, as the boat went down to her washboard again.

“I think I am strong enough to handle her,” suggested Leopold.

“But you don’t understand it,” exclaimed the New Yorker, desperately.

“If you think you understand it any better than I do, I am willing to let you take my place,” said the skipper, with a smile.

“O, no! don’t let him!  I should certainly be afraid then,” cried Belle.

“I don’t pretend to know anything about a boat; and I don’t think you do,” blubbered Charley, angrily.

“I think I can get along with her,” added Leopold, pleasantly.  “This is a quiet time compared with what I have seen out here in this boat.”

Mr. Raymond continued to growl, and the girls continued to scream and “squeal” with delight when the sloop heeled over, and when the spray drenched their water-proofs.  The Rosabel was at least five miles from the land, still making things very lively on board, when a large schooner was seen dead ahead.

“I’ve had enough of this thing,” said Charley, clinging to the washboard behind him.  “If you don’t turn round, or lower one of the sails, I shall call for help from that vessel.”

“What a simpleton you are!” exclaimed Belle; and her remarks were often much stronger than Rosabel could approve.

Leopold quietly put the helm up, and let off the sheets, so that the boat did not go within half a mile of the schooner.  Half an hour later he put her about, and, with the wind on the quarter, stood in towards High Rock.  Being almost before the wind, the Rosabel jumped, leaped, and “yawed” about more than ever; but she took in no more spray over her bow.  She seemed to fly on her course, and Charley Redmond expected every moment to feel her go over.  He held on with desperation, unnoticed now by the girls.  In another half hour the sloop passed into the calmer waters, sheltered by the high cliffs.  Charley began to be brave again.

“You feel better ­do you, Mr. Redmond?” said the laughing Belle.

“I feel well enough.”

“You were afraid.”

“Afraid ­I?  Not a bit of it; at least not for myself,” replied the young gentleman.  “The boatman don’t understand his business.  That’s the whole of this thing.”

“My father says he knows all about a boat; and he would trust him farther than he would most men,” added Rosabel.  “Didn’t he take the Orion into the river in the fog?”

“He didn’t manage the yacht:  Captain Bounce was on board.  I have been in boats before, and I think I can tell when a boatman knows his biz,” replied Charley, confidently.  “I wasn’t at all concerned about myself; but I was afraid he would drown you girls.  You were placed in my care ­”

“Were we?  Indeed!  Didn’t we invite you to come?” demanded Belle.

“If you did, of course it was my duty, as a gentleman, to look out for you.  No; I wasn’t a bit concerned about myself; but I was afraid for you.”

“It was very kind of you to be afraid for us,” sneered his fair tormentor.  “It was very unselfish in you.  I think I see you now, reckless of yourself, but trembling for our safety!  I hope you will tell Leopold how to manage a boat!”

“I shall be glad to learn,” laughed the skipper.

Leopold ran the sloop alongside a rock, which at this time of tide served as a wharf, and landed his party.  Rosabel led the way to the Hole in the Wall, and they soon disappeared in the deep ravine.  The skipper would have been very glad to go with them, but he was not invited to do so; and without this formality he was unwilling to do that which might possibly be deemed an intrusion.  Rosabel wondered that he did not come with them, and would have been glad of his company; but as she did not feel herself above the boatman, it did not occur to her to ask him.

“That fellow was scared ­wasn’t he, Le?” said Stumpy, when they were alone.

“Of course he was.  He is a regular spooney,” replied the skipper.  “If the girls hadn’t been with us, I would have put him through a course of sprouts.”

“He thinks he is a bigger man than the president of the United States.  You won’t catch him in the Rosabel again.”

“I don’t want to catch him there.”

“How long are they going to stay up there, Le?” asked Stumpy.

“They won’t come down for a couple of hours yet.”

“Then I can dig a bucket of clams while we are waiting,” added Stumpy, as he took the shovel and a pail from the cuddy.

Leopold fastened the painter to the rocks, and followed his friend.  The bucket was soon filled with clams, the largest and finest to be found on the coast, for they were seldom dug on this beach.  In returning to the boat, they passed quite near Coffin Rock, and of course Leopold could not help thinking of the hidden treasure in the sand.  Stumpy, with the bucket of clams in his hand, led the way to the spot, not exactly with the approbation of his companion, who was afraid that the waters had not yet smoothed over the beach so as to conceal his recent operations.

“Come, Stumpy, ain’t you going down to the boat?” asked Leopold, as he began to move in a different direction from that of his friend.

“No hurry ­is there? I want to go to the spring, and clean up a little,” replied the clam-digger.

“Can’t you do it down by the boat?” suggested the money-digger, who did not feel inclined to answer the questions which the disturbed state of the beach under Coffin Rock would put into the mouth of Stumpy.

“I never wash in salt water when I can get fresh.  Besides I want a drink.”

Without intending to be obstinate, Stumpy silently insisted upon having his own way, by directing his steps towards the springs, which flowed from the rocks not twenty feet from the hidden treasure.  The pure water dropped from an overhanging cliff, in a kind of alcove in the precipice.  It was clear and cold, and on a warm day it was emphatically a luxury.  If the weather was not warm on the present occasion, Stumpy was, for he had been digging deep into the sand and mud of the beach.  The water dropping from the spring had formed a deep pool under the cliff, which overflowed, and was discharged by a stream flowing down the sands into the ocean.  In this stream Stumpy washed his face and hands, and then his feet, covered with the black mud which he had thrown up from under the sand at low tide.

Leopold sat down on a bowlder, some distance from the cliff, to wait for his companion.  Stumpy seemed to be determined to do just what his friend did not want him to do, for, as soon as he had washed his feet, he walked directly out of the alcove to the spot under Coffin Rock, taking the clams and shovel with him.

“I say, Le, can’t we get up a clam-bake for the girls?” said he, calling to the skipper in the distance.

“It won’t pay,” replied Leopold, walking to the place where Stumpy stood, exactly over the buried treasure.

“Why not?  You said Miss Rosabel liked clams.”

“It will take too long.  We must get back to the hotel by dinner time.”

“Just as you say; but if the girls like clams, it would be a treat to them; and this is just the place to do this thing.”

“We haven’t time to-day.”

“All right,” replied Stumpy, who seemed to be just then engaged in a survey of the locality.  “What in the world were you doing here, Le?” he added.  “This sand looks as though it had been all dug over.”

No high tide had washed the beach since Leopold dug for the treasure, and even his shovel marks were plainly to be seen under the overhanging rock.

“I might as well tell him all about it,” thought Leopold.  “I can trust him till the end of the world; and I should like to have some one to help me bear the burden of the secret.”

“What were you digging for, Le?” repeated Stumpy, his curiosity considerably excited.

“Can you keep a secret, Stumpy?”

“Of course I can till the rocks crumble, and the earth sinks,” replied he, warmly.

Leopold told him the whole story, from the first glimpse he had of Harvey Barth’s diary, down to the finding of the bag of gold.

“I swow!” exclaimed Stumpy, drawing a long breath, when the narrative was finished.  “Twelve hundred in gold!”

“I haven’t counted it; but that’s what the diary says,” replied Leopold.

“You will be as rich as mud, Le.  Gold!  Then it’s worth double that in paper.”

“It don’t belong to me,” answered Leopold, decidedly.

“It belongs to you as much as it does to any one.”

“But I intend to find the owner, or the heirs of the man who buried the gold.”

“I wouldn’t leave it here a day longer, if I were you, Le,” said Stumpy.  “Somebody else will find it.”

This suggestion was considered for some time, and Leopold finally concluded to dig up the treasure, and conceal it in some safer place.  In a few moments more the shot bag was unearthed, and Stumpy held it in his hand.

“I swow!  Solid gold!” exclaimed he.

“Halveses!” shouted Charley Redmond, suddenly stepping between the money-diggers.