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Mrs. Wilson looked out of the window and considered. "Let's see. That leaves little Louie the only girl among all of you boys, so we'll jest have to have another girl er two. How'd you like to have Ann Spencer and Phoebe Scraff?" "But you mustn't go without having a cup of tea and a bite to eat," she protested. "Please sit down and I'll have it ready in a minute." "Look ye," he cried, holding it aloft. "The fairies' magic arrer, ut is, an' ut niver fails t' fall on the spot where the treasure lies hidden. Foind Scroggie's buried money ut would have long ago if ut wasn't fer the ould man's spirrut that roams the grove. As I told ye afore, ut's no charm ag'in the spirruts av the departed, as yon grave-yard rabbit's fut is.".
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And then Caleb Spencer had built his store and with far-seeing judgment had stocked it with nearly every variety of goods a growing community needs. Drygoods, Groceries, Hardware & Liquors! These comprehensive words, painted on a huge sign, stared out at all who passed along the road and in still more glaring letters beneath was the announcement, "Caleb Spencer, Proprietor." Ringold nodded approval. "All right, Neighbor Watland. Anybody else got anythin' to say?" "But Dad don't need it," Jim declared. "He's rich now." Wilson leaned against the bench and waited. He knew that Billy had brought him into the shed to speak of other things than decoys..
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