him.

As for that box covered all over with mud, he could only guess at that
time what it contained and what the finding of it signified.

But of this our hero said nothing to anyone, nor did he tell a single
living soul what he had seen that night, but nursed it in his own mind,
where it lay so big for a while that he could think of little or nothing
else for days after.

Mr. Greenfield, Mr. Hartright's correspondent and agent in these parts,
lived in a fine brick house just out of the town, on the Mona Road,
his family consisting of a wife and two daughters--brisk, lively young
ladies with black hair and eyes, and very fine bright teeth that shone
whenever they laughed, and with a plenty to say for themselves. Thither
Barnaby True was often asked to a family dinner; and, indeed, it was a
pleasant home to visit, and to sit upon the veranda and smoke a cigarro
with the good old gentleman and look out toward the mountains, while the
young ladies laughed and talked, or played upon the guitar and sang. And
oftentimes so it was strongly upon Barnaby's mind to speak to the good
gentleman and tell him what he had beheld that night out in the harbor;
but always he would think better of it and hold his peace, falling to
thinking, and smoking away upon his cigarro at a great rate.

A day or two before the Belle Helen sailed from Kingston Mr. Greenfield
stopped Barnaby True as he was going through the office to bid him to
come to dinner that night (for there within the tropics they breakfast
at eleven o'clock and take dinner in the cool of the evening, because of
the heat, and not at midday, as we do in more temperate latitudes). "I
would have you meet," says Mr. Greenfield, "your chief passenger for