Litchfield enquirer., 1874-06-04

was resting on the grass, The palm,
 turned upward. containing dull-colored
 oval object, of the size of . small snuff
 box. '.What has he got there?'' said to
 Scrope; but scrope only answered by
 bending over and looking at 1t. ssRaally.
 we were taking great liberties with the poor fellow" said 'sLet him finish his
 nap in peace" And I was on the point
 or walking away. But my voice had
 reused him; he lifted his hand. and, with
 the movement, the object have compar-
 ed to a snuff-box caught the light, and
 emitted dull flash.
 ''It's a gen." said Scrope, recently disenterred and encrusted with dirt"
 The young man awoke in earnest, push ed back his hat, stared at us, and slowly
 sat up. He rubbed his eyes, to see If he were not still dreaming, then glanced at the gem, if gem it was, thrust his hand
 mechanically into his pocket, and gave us a broad smile. Gentle, serene Ital- ian naturef' exclaimed. 'sA young New England farmer, whom we should have disturbed in this fashion, would wake up with an oath and kick" 1 "I mean to test his gentleness. said Scrope. ''Im determined to see what he has got there." Scrope was very fond of | S-AANAAA OS SC.0 -Of NS, 1AO Adu IaASdChC0 CSC- " curiosity shop in Rome. It was an oddity among his many oddities, but it agreed we'll enough with the rest of them. What he looked for and relished in old prints and old china was not, generally, beauty of form nor romantic association; 1t. was elaborate and patient workman ship, fine engraving, skillful method. 1 Good day." said to our young man :; l i've didn't mean to interrupt you" He shook himself, got up, and stood be- fore us, looking out from under his thick curls, and still frankly smiling. There was something very simple, "a trifie silly, l in his smile, and I wondered whether he was not untler-witted. He was young, but he was not mere lad. His eyes were dark and heavy, hut they gleamed with friendly light, and his parted lips show ed the glitter of his strong white teeth. His complexion was of a fine, deep brown, just removed from coarseness by that vague suffused pallor common among Italians. He had the frame of a young Hercules he was altogether as handsome a vagabond as you could wish for the foreground of a pastoral landscape.
 ''You've not earned your rest" said Scrope, pointing to his empty game--bag; you've got no birds"
 He looked at the bag and at Scrope, and then scratched his head and laughed. '1 don't want to kill them" he sad. ..I bring out my gun because it's stupid to walk about pulling straw! And then my uncle is always grumbling at me for not doing something. When he sees me leave the house with my gun, he thinks 1 may, at least, get my dinner. He didn't know the locks broke; even if I had pow der and shot, the old blunderbuss wouldn't go off. When I'm hungry I go to sleep" And he glanced with his handsome grin, at his recent couch. My uncle never thinks of asking me what I have brought home for supper. He is holy man, and lives on black bread and beans."
 ''Who is your uncle?" inquired
 '"The Padre Girolamo at Lariceia.'
 He looked at our hats and whips, asked us dozen questions about our ride, our horses, and what we paid for them, our nationality, and our way of life in Rome, and at last sseaRex1-pzsrs. <ssrxzzss our browsing animals and scratch their ..----s---ffu nus gut sUmething precious there" Scrope said, as we strolled after him. ''He has evidently found it in the ground. The Campagna is full of treas ures yet" As we overlook our new ac- quaintance he thrust his indistinguishable prize behind him. and gave foolish laugh, which tried my companions pa- tience. ''The fellows an idiot p he cried. '.Does he think I want to snatch the thing ?''
 ''What is it you've got there ?' asked, kindly.
 "Which hand will you have, he said. still laughing.
 ''The right"
 sCfNhr Iofk I, ted.
 He fumbled behind him a moment more, and then produced his treasure with flourish. Scrope took it, wiped it. off carefully with his handkerchief. and bent his near-sighted eyes over it. I left him to examine it. was more interested in watching the Padre Girolamo' nephew. The latter stood looking at my friend gravely. while Scrope rubbed and scratch ed the little black stone, breathed upon it and held it up to the light. He frown- ed and scratched his head; he was evi- dently trying to concentrate his wits on the fine account he expected Scrope to give of 1t. When I glanced towards Scrope, found he had flushed excitedly, and immediately bent my nose over it too. It was of about the size of small hen's-egg, of a dull brown color, stained and encrusted by long burial, and deeply corrugated on one surface. Scrope paid no heed to my questions, but continued to scrape and polish. At last -ssHow did you come by this thing?" he asked dryly.
 "I found it in the earth, couple of miles from here, this morning." And the young fellow put out his hand nervously, to take it back. Scrope resisted mo- moment, but thought better, and surren- dered it. As an old mouser, he began instinctively to play at indifference. Our companion looked hard at the little stone. turned it over and over, then thrust it behind him again, with his simple-souled laugh.
 Here's precious chance" murmured Scrope
 ''But in Heavens name, what is it." I demanded, impatiently.
 "Dont't ask me. don't care to phrase the conjecture audibly-it's immense-ify it's what I think it is; and here stands this giggling. .lout with a prior claim to it. What shall I do with him I should like to knock him in the head with the butt end of his blunderbuss." '1 suppose he'll sell you the thing, if you offer him enough"
 41AOuSh. "AdG OOco u0 huOW aDOub enough? He don't know topaz from a turnip."
 "It is topaz, then?"
 "Hold your tongue, and don't mention names. He must sell it as a turnip. Make him tell you just where he found it."
 He told us very frankly, still smiling from ear to ear. He had observed in a solitary ilex tree, of great age, the traces of recent lightning-stroke. GA week of unseasonably sultry weather had, in fact some days before, eliminated in ter rible thunderstorm The treee had been 1 shiyered and killed, and the earth turned up at it's foot The bolt, burying itself, had dug deep, straight hole, in which one might have planted a stake. tI don't know why," said our friend, ''but as I stood looking at it, I thrust the muzzle of my old gun into the aper- ture. It descended for some distance | A. - T.