The conclusion was reached that, either the surrounding water had
encroached upon that portion of the Island where the treasure had been
buried, and had thus imposed an almost impossible barrier to its being
unearthed; or that the chests had become imbedded beneath the massive
roots of two dwarfed old oaks which stood gnarled and storm-worn in the
centre of the island. To the task of removing these trees the men felt
entirely unequal after their days of work; and, therefore, it was
decided to wait a day or two, and approach the task of doing so, if at
all, with renewed spirit.

Upon invitation, we boys accompanied the men to their camp and had
supper with them. We were entertained by stories of adventure and
travel, of sea voyage, of Indian warfare; and, finally, after several
requests of Mr. Landstone, with the story of Money Island. He said he
would tell it upon condition that its secrecy would be kept inviolate,
at least for many years. So, in the weird light of a large pine-wood
fire among the trees, we had the story of Money Island, told in the
living voice of a capital story-teller, in almost the same words as are
used in the MS he gave me that night, and which has now been publicly
printed.

When Mr. Landstone finished, we boys sat in breathless amazement,
overcome by the glamour of romance which the story had thrown around the
mysterious little island.

The old sailor forgot his pipe, which turned over and dropped its
contents to the ground. "Aye, sir," he exclaimed, "we will surely
uproot those trees in the morning!" And that became the decision of us
all.