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The Sea-chest

           Ifeltinhispockets,oneafteranother.Afewsmallcoins,athimble,andsomethreadandbigneedles,apieceofpigtailtobaccobittenawayattheend,hisgullywiththecrookedhandle,apocketcompass,andatinderboxwereallthattheycontained,andIbegantodespair.

           "Perhapsit’sroundhisneck,"suggestedmymother.

           Overcomingastrongrepugnance,Itoreopenhisshirtattheneck,andthere,sureenough,hangingtoabitoftarrystring,whichIcutwithhisowngully,wefoundthekey.Atthistriumphwewerefilledwithhopeandhurriedupstairswithoutdelaytothelittleroomwherehehadsleptsolongandwherehisboxhadstoodsincethedayofhisarrival.

           Itwaslikeanyotherseaman’schestontheoutside,theinitial"B"burnedonthetopofitwithahotiron,andthecornerssomewhatsmashedandbrokenasbylong,roughusage.

           "Givemethekey,"saidmymother;andthoughthelockwasverystiff,shehadturneditandthrownbackthelidinatwinkling.

           Astrongsmelloftobaccoandtarrosefromtheinterior,butnothingwastobeseenonthetopexceptasuitofverygoodclothes,carefullybrushedandfolded.Theyhadneverbeenworn,mymothersaid.Underthat,themiscellanybeganaquadrant,atincanikin,severalsticksoftobacco,twobraceofveryhandsomepistols,apieceofbarsilver,anoldSpanishwatchandsomeothertrinketsoflittlevalueandmostlyofforeignmake,apairofcompassesmountedwithbrass,andfiveorsixcuriousWestIndianshells.Ihaveoftenwonderedsincewhyheshouldhavecarriedabouttheseshellswithhiminhiswandering,guilty,andhuntedlife.

           Inthemeantime,wehadfoundnothingofanyvaluebutthesilverandthetrinkets,andneitherofthesewereinourway.

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