We stopped on the way at a newspaper office. The editor and proprietor
had observed our approach and they were awaiting us with looks of amused
interest. "Hello!" the proprietor said cheerily, "you have really
stimulated the enterprise of the town. Why have you kept so reticent on
that subject all these years?"

Of course, I knew what subject was referred to; for I had been living
for those two days in an atmosphere filled with the phantoms of hidden
gold, buried treasure, marvelous discoveries, pirates and other engaging
topics of thought; and I now looked for nothing else.

"In my opinion," he continued, "it was a very good story. Of course, it
goes without saying that it is true. I tell you, sir, that it is my
judgment that this whole section of coast line is rich in gold. Not only
did those pirates bury gold here, but, during the Civil War, the
Confederate blockade runners, when fearing capture, were known
repeatedly to throw gold into the sea along the beach, sometimes by the
keg full; and not one dollar's worth of it has ever yet been recovered,
so far as I can learn. It is all right there where they dropped it. And
besides that, at least on one occasion, it is a well proven fact that a
chest of gold was buried by the commander of one of the blockade runners
in the marsh grass on the shore not far below Wilmington; and there is
no evidence that it has ever yet been unearthed. In fact, all knowledge
of the exact spot has been lost, I understand."

"Yes," interposed the editor, "it is all quite reasonable; and, as
something germain to the subject, I can cite an interesting instance.
When, soon after the War our old Confederate naval captain bought his
home on Greenville Sound and was preparing to build his residence, he
had the old house which stood upon the site torn down, and, upon the