Black Bartlemys Treasure

"And you," says I, "should you be minded to sail with me, go to the Peck-o'-Malt at Bedgbury Cross--the word is 'The Faithful Friend,' and ask for Adam Penfeather."

So I presently stepped forth of the little tavern where I had found such kindliness and, turning from the narrow lane, struck off across the fields.

It was a sweet, warm night, the moon not up as yet, thus as I went I lifted my gaze to the heavens where stars made a glory. And beholding these wondrous fires I needs must recall the little peddler's saying and ponder his "good times"--his "times of stars and birds, of noon and eventide, of welcomes sweet and eyes of love."

And now I was of a sudden filled with a great yearning and passionate desire that I too might know such times. But, as I climbed a stile, my hand by chance came upon the knife at my girdle, and sitting on the stile I drew it forth and fell to handling its broad blade, and, doing so, knew in my heart that such times were not for me, nor ever could be. And sitting there, knife in hand, desire and yearning were lost and 'whelmed in fierce and black despair.