The potatoes were already growing in the ground
when he bought the farm, and as the old farmer
was bringing in a basket of potatoes it hugged
very tight between the ends of the stone fence.
You know in Massachusetts our farms are nearly
all stone wall. There you are obliged to be very
economical of front gateways in order to have
some place to put the stone. When that basket
hugged so tight he set it down on the ground,
and then dragged on one side, and pulled on the
other side, and as he was dragging that basket
through this farmer noticed in the upper and
outer corner of that stone wall, right next the
gate, a block of native silver eight inches square.
That professor of mines, mining, and mineralogy
who knew so much about the subject that he
would not work for $45 a week, when he sold
that homestead in Massachusetts sat right on
that silver to make the bargain. He was born
on that homestead, was brought up there, and
had gone back and forth rubbing the stone with
his sleeve until it reflected his countenance, and
seemed to say, ``Here is a hundred thousand
dollars right down here just for the taking.''
But he would not take it. It was in a home in
Newburyport, Massachusetts, and there was no
silver there, all away off--well, I don't know where,
and he did not, but somewhere else, and he was
a professor of mineralogy.