John liked him all the better for his reluctance.

'It'll give yer no trouble,' he said. 'You lock it up, an it'll be all
safe. Now, will yer lend a hand?'

Isaac stepped to the door, looked up the lane, and saw that all was
quiet. Then he came back, and the two men raised the box.

As they crossed the threshold, however, the door of the next cottage--
which belonged to Watson the policeman--opened suddenly. John, in his
excitement, was so startled that he almost dropped his end of the box.

'Why, Bolderfield,' said Watson's cheery voice, 'what have you got
there? Do you want a hand?'

'No, I don't--thank yer kindly,' said John, in agitation. 'An, if _you_
please, Muster Watson, don't yer say nothin to nobody.'

The burly policeman looked from John to Isaac, then at the box. John's
hoard was notorious, and the officer of the law understood.

'Lor bless yer,' he said, with a laugh, 'I'm safe. Well, good evenin to
yer, if I can't be of any assistance.'

And he went off on his beat.

The two men carried the box up the hill. It was in itself a heavy,
old-fashioned affair, strengthened and bottomed with iron. Isaac
wondered whether the weight of it were due more to the box or to the