CHAPTER XVI.

THE STONE MONKEY FIGURE GIVES UP ITS TREASURES.

I had been for some time employed on a large drawing of Jessie, in crayons. It was my first ambitious attempt in colours; and it arose from Jessie's complaint that I could not paint her as she was.

'I am all black and white,' she said; 'I am tired of seeing myself so. Now if you could show me my eyes as they are---- What colour are they, Chris?'

Thereupon it was necessary that a close investigation should be made, which was not too rapidly concluded: these matters take a long time to determine, especially when one is an enthusiast in his art, as I was. The next day I bought crayons, and practised secretly; and secretly also commenced the sketch of Jessie above mentioned. I was never tired of contemplating my work, which promised to be a success; and one Sunday, when it was nearly completed, I went to my room to examine it. I kept it carefully concealed in my box, and, after a long examination, I was about to replace it, when I was startled by Jessie's voice, asking me what I was hiding. She had entered the room softly and slyly, on purpose to surprise me, she told me.

'I am certain,' she said, 'that you are doing something secretly. For the last three or four weeks you have shut yourself in here night after night, for hours together. Now I want to know all about it.'

I did not wish her to see the sketch until it was quite finished; but as she knelt by my side, and as my box was open, I could not prevent her from discovering it.

'O Chris!' she cried. It's beautiful!'

And she expressed such praise of it that my heart thrilled with delight.

'You think it's like you, then, Jessie?'

'Like me! It's _me_--me, myself! Set it on the box there; I'll show you.'

And with a rapid movement she altered the fashion of her hair to suit my picture, and assumed the exact expression I had chosen. She looked very bewitching as she stood before me, the living embodiment of my work. Then she knelt before the box again, and praised the picture still more warmly, analysing it with exclamations of pleasure.

While she was talking and admiring herself; she was tossing over the contents of my box, when she came upon the only legacy my grandmother had left me--the smoke-dried monkey of a man in stone, which the old lady had solemnly confided to my care. From the day I had entered uncle Bryan's house it had lain in my box, and by this time I had almost forgotten it; but as Jessie held it up and turned it about, my mind was strangely stirred by those reminiscences of my early life with which it was inseparably connected.

'What a curious image?' exclaimed Jessie. 'How long have you had it?'

'All my life, Jessie. Put it away; it's the ugliest thing that ever was seen.'

'I don't think so. It's funny; look at it, wagging its head. Why, you seem quite frightened of it! Well, then, I shall take it, and keep it in my room.'

'No, I mustn't part with it. It was given to me by my grandmother, and she said that it must be kept always in the family. Not that I think much of what she said.'

Jessie shifted her position, and seated herself very comfortably upon the floor.

'Now you've got something to tell me,' she said, pulling me down beside her. 'I've never heard of your grandmother before, and you know how fond I am of stories.'

'But mine is not a story, And there's nothing interesting to tell.'

'Oh, yes, there is; there must be. Everybody's life is full of stories.'

'Yours, Jessie?' I put the question somewhat timorously.

'Perhaps,' she answered gravely; and added, after a short pause, 'But we're not speaking of me; we're speaking of you. I want to know everything.'

But it was long before she could coax me to speak of my early life. There was much that I felt I should be ashamed for Jessie to know; and a burning blush came to my cheeks as I thought of the time when my mother used to beg for our living. To escape too searching an inquiry I began to tell her of my grandmother, which led naturally to the story of my grandmother's wedding. Of course the man with the knob on the top of his head, and who was always eating his nails, was introduced, he being the principal figure at the wedding.

'There!' cried Jessie. You said you hadn't any story to tell. Why, you've told me half a dozen already. I can see your grandmother as plain as plain can be; and that disagreeable man, too--I wonder what became of him, after all? What was his name, Chris?'

'Anthony Bullpit'

'I hate the name of Anthony. Go on; I want to hear more.'

I gave a description of Jane Painter, at which Jessie laughed heartily, and clapped her hands.

'I shall come into your bedroom one night with a sheet over me, and frighten you.'

'I shouldn't be frightened of you, Jessie; besides, I'm not a boy now, and I'm not afraid of anything. Then your voice----'

'Well!'

'Your voice is musical. How could you frighten anybody with it?'

Jessie edged a little closer to me.

'Go on, Chris. Anything more about Jane Painter? What a wretch she must have been!' Then came an account of my grandmother's death, and the legend of the long stocking, in which Jessie was immensely interested.

'And you never found any money after all, Chris?'

'No; and I'm sure we searched for it everywhere. We looked up the chimney, and ripped the bed open, and pulled the armchair all to pieces.'

'I'd have had the cellar dug up,' cried Jessie excitedly; I'd have had the paper taken off the walls, and the flooring taken away bit by bit. I am certain the money was hidden somewhere.'

I shook my head.

'Or Jane Painter stole it,' she continued. 'I sha'n't sleep to-night for thinking of it. I do so like to find out things! And I'd like to find out this thing more than any other.'

'Why, Jessie?'

'Such a lot of money, Chris! Hundreds and hundreds of pounds there must have been hidden away, or stolen. Hundreds and hundreds of pounds!'

'Would you like to be rich, Jessie?'

'Chris,' she replied, looking at me seriously, 'I think I would do anything in the world for money.'

A miserable feeling came over me, and for the first time in my life I repined at my lot. What would I not have sacrificed at that moment if I could have filled her lap with money! All this time Jessie had been playing with the stone monkey figure, and now she suddenly uttered an exclamation of surprise.

'Look!' she cried. 'The head comes off. It isn't broken; here's the wire it hangs upon. Why, Chris----'

She seized my hand in uncontrollable excitement, and hid the figure in her lap.

'What's the matter, Jessie?'

'There's something inside. It's stuffed full of paper. What if it should be your grandmother's money?'

The amazing suggestion almost took away my breath.

'It's just the kind of place,' continued Jessie, panting, 'she would have hidden it in. She kept it all in large bank-notes, and stuffed them in here, where nobody could possibly suspect they were, and where she could have them under her eye all the day. O Chris! feel how my heart beats!'

My excitement was now as great as her own.

'Quick, Jessie! Let us look!'

'No,' she cried, covering the figure with both hands, 'let us wait a bit. This is the best part of things: knowing that something wonderful is coming, and waiting a little before it comes. How much is it? A hundred pounds! Five hundred pounds! It can't be less, for you say she always wore silk dresses. What will you do with it? We'll all have new clothes. I know where there's such a lovely blue barege, and I saw a hat in a window yesterday, trimmed with blue ribbon, and with lilies and forget-me-nots in it, that I'd give my life for. O Chris! I can see myself in them already.'

So she went on for full five minutes, building her castles; then with a long-drawn breath she said,

'Now, Chris!'

The inside of the figure was certainly full of paper, which I fished out very easily with one of Jessie's hairpins, and amid a little cloud of dust--emblematical of Jessie's castles, for the paper was utterly valueless. She refused to believe at first, and when she was convinced, her disappointment took the form of anger against my grandmother; she declared that the old lady had done it on purpose, and that she was a spiteful, wicked, deceitful old creature. I was quite as disappointed as Jessie was, more for her sake than my own, and I tried to talk her into a better mood. Thinking there might be writing on some of the paper, I smoothed it out, piece by piece; but there was nothing written or printed on any of it with the exception of one long slip, which was evidently a cutting from a newspaper. It was headed, 'Remarkable Discovery of a Forger by the Celebrated Detective, Mr. Vinnicombe.' And glancing down the column, the name of Anthony Bullpit attracted my attention. I became interested immediately.

'Here's something, at all events,' I said; 'something about my grandmother's nail-eating lover. Listen, Jessie.'

'I don't want to hear anything about him,' replied Jessie, in a pet, leaving the room.

So I read this 'Remarkable Discovery' quietly by myself. It ran as follows: