VIII 

 THE TREASURE-HUNT 



I HAVE always been of a very treasurous disposi- 

 tion. Such terms as ingots, doubloons, and pieces-of- 

 eight all my life long have been to me words of power. 

 In spite of these tendencies, I cannot say that up 

 to date I have unearthed much treasure. To be sure, 

 there was that day when I found a shiny quarter 

 in the mud on my way to school. Instead of being 

 the out-cropping of a lode of currency, it turned out, 

 however, to be only a sporadic, solitary, companion- 

 less coin. Even so, it was no mean find. I remember 

 that it brought into my young life a full pound of 

 peppermint lozenges tastefully decorated in red ink, 

 with mottos of simple diction and exquisite senti- 

 ment. "Remember me," and "I love but dare not 

 tell," were two of them, while another was a manly 

 query unanswered across the years which read, 

 "How about a kiss?" Although this treasure-trove 

 gained me a fleeting popularity, yet, like all treasure, 

 it was soon gone. A prosaic teacher confiscated the 

 bulk of the hoard, and all I gained from it was the 

 privilege of learning by heart a poem of the late Mr. 

 Longfellow. To this day those beautiful lines, 



Be still, sad heart, and cease repining, 

 Behind the clouds is the sun still shining, 



cause in me a slight sensation of nausea. 



