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But Eileen had different ideas. "I think 'tis a waste o' time diggin' there, Will. Surely the girth o' the tree has

growed bigger since sixteen hundred an' whatever. If you were lookin' for somethin' buried 'twould be right under that

trunk now! Don't waste your energy. You either, Jon Preston."

Will threw his spade down dispiritedly. "You're right, m'love."

Ben watched Ned go off with small, dainty paces, sniffing hard at the ground. He sent a thought to the dog.

"What are you doing, mate?"

The big, black dog did not answer for a while, but kept sniffing and going forward. When he stopped, he sat

down a short distance off. "Tell them the arrow is probably pointing not down, but out from the tree, to somewhere

around here."

Ben stared at the Labrador. "You could be right, but why there, why not further out?"

Ned nosed the grass, turning up a soggy, moss-covered length of board and sniffling. "Because this is where the

old smithy once stood!"

The boy turned to his friends. "Suppose the arrow is pointing not down, but out. Would that be about where

Ned's sitting?"

Braithwaite was studying the piece of lath and its carving. "Hmm, about the length of a horse, eight horseshoes,

and one more horse's length. What, er, d'you think, Mr. Mackay?"

The solicitor focused on the stick with his glasses. "You could have something there, sir. At least we've got a

horse to test your theory with!"

Taking the gig to one side, Will unharnessed Delia. Lifting one of her back hooves, he measured it with a yew

twig, which he snapped off, then backed Delia up, until her tail was touching the yew trunk.

"Jon, take this twig. 'Tis a shoe's width. Mark off eight lengths from where my mare's front hoof is now."

The seaman did as Will bade. When he had marked off eight lengths, he stuck the twig in the ground. "Right

here, Will." The dairyman brought his horse forward and stood Delia, with her tail hanging down, exactly over the

twig.

The black Labrador looked up and licked Delia's muzzle, which was directly above him, then looked over to

where Ben stood, passing a thought to his master. "Told you I'd sniff it out, didn't I!"

Eileen chuckled. "That good dog o' yours, Ben, he looks as if he's gotten more sense than the lot of us put

t'gether!"

Jon and Will started digging on the spot.

Eileen harnessed Delia back into the gig shafts. "Come on, Winnie, we'll go back to Hillside Farm an' get lunch

ready for the diggin' gang."

Ben and Amy helped Mrs. Winn up into the gig. She waved to them as Delia trotted away and called hopefully,

"Bring whatever you find straight up to the farm."

The old mariner and the dairyman dug a square hole, straight down about two feet. Clank! Will's spade struck

something as he was shoring the side of the earth straight. "We were diggin' slightly astray, Jon. I think the dog was

sittin' in the wrong spot!"

Ned sniffed. "Dearie me, showed you the place, didn't I?"

Ben heard the thought and agreed with his dog. "Aye, can't expect a poor old canine to be accurate to the inch,

can we? Pay no heed, Ned. I thought you did splendidly!"

They dug down again, directly over the place where Will's spade had struck an object. After several minutes of

hard digging a sandstone building block was uncovered. Between them the two men lifted it out. Alex cleaned it up

with his hand until the letters E.D.W. appeared visible. Ben ran his finger over the letters. "Same as on your map, Will!

And the same as that name in the back of Winnie's family Bible! Edmond De Winn, the one who had one son and

seven daughters!"

Further speculation from Ben was cut short. The old seaman bent and began tugging with both hands at an

object embedded beneath where the stone had lain. "Here's something, mates, an old chest!"

Will helped him pull the chest out. It was iron-bound, rotting, and fused hard to the soil around it. Once they got

it out, a few smart jabs with Jon's spade soon caved it in, and it broke open. Braithwaite fell on his knees and lifted out

the contents. Wrapped in sheepskin and heavily coated with solidified tallow, it was still fairly obvious from its shape

that the thing was a cross.

High-noon sunlight streamed into the farmhouse kitchen. Will's ma shaded her eyes against it, peering out

across the yard. "Here they come, Winnie. Put the kettle on to boil again, Eileen."

Little Willum toddled out, holding Winnie's hand. "Dad-deeeee!"

The dairyman swung his son up onto his broad shoulders. "I hope you ain't ate all our lunch, Willum, I'm

starvin'!"

But food was out of the question once Eileen spotted the bundle.

"You found it, good men!"

Amy took little Willum from his father. "What about me?"

Will's ma wiped flour from both hands upon her apron. "An' you, too, m'dear, good work. Now, let's see what

you got, my meat an' potato pie'll be ready directly."

Ben placed the bundle on the table. "D'you think we'll need more hot water to melt the tallow, Jon?"

Taking out his ever-useful clasp knife, the ex-ship's carpenter set to work, slicing through the greased string

around the tallowed hide. "With any luck it'll just peel off."

Mr. Braithwaite was permitted to undo it. Finding an edge of the skin, he drew it back, exposing gold. In less

than a minute he had stripped sheepskin and tallow away completely.

It was a crucifix, complete with a tiny monstrance chamber for displaying the host. The top and ends of both

arms had pigeon-egg rubies set into the metal, identical to the ones on the chalice. At its base a marvelously graven

gold bird supported the cross on semi-spread wings, its talons gripping a half-orb of solid gold. The old scholar's

hands trembled as he held the object. He gazed at the embossed figure of Christ upon it, surmounted by the letters

INRI. "Crucifixus anticus! Wrought by the same Byzantine hand that fashioned the chalice. Do you realize, we are the

first ones to behold it since the seventeenth century!"

Jon and Ben were inspecting the tallow-bound sheepskin minutely when Will's ma wrinkled her nose in disdain.

"What're you messin' with that ole sheep 'ide for?"

The strange boy replied without looking up. "For the next clue, but it doesn't seem to be here. Can you find

anything, Jon?"

The carpenter's strong, tattooed hands delved through the tallowed skin. "Nothing, lad. The chest was empty

once we took the cross out. I was hopin' we'd find something in this wrapping, but no."

Alex sat at the table, his chin cupped in both hands, downcast. "We've missed the next clue somewhere."

The black Lab's tail swished to and fro as he raised his eyes to Ben. "Tell them it's carved on the bottom of that

halfdome the bird is standing on, I can see it from here. So could you if you were lying on the floor. Good job old

Braithwaite held the cross up. What would you do without me, eh, mate?"

Ben sat down on the floor by the Labrador and patted him fondly. "You're the best dog in the world, Ned.

Excuse me while I break the good news to them."

Ben squinted up at the underside of the crucifix, then raised his voice in excitement. "Look, there's carving

underneath that dome the bird is standing on. I can see it!"

Mr. Braithwaite harrumphed. "Bird, young man? That's the eagle of St. John the Evangelist you're talking about.

Let's see!" He turned the cross upside down. With Mr. Mackay leaning over his shoulder, checking, he read aloud.