The boys were there that night, about the appointed time. They sat in the shadow waiting. It was a lonely place, and an hour made solemn by old traditions. Spirits whispered in the rustling leaves, ghosts lurked in the murky nooks, the deep baying of a hound floated up out of the distance, an owl answered with his sepulchral note. The boys were subdued by these solemnities, and talked little. By and by they judged that twelve had come; they marked where the shadow fell, and began to dig. Their hopes commenced to rise. Their interest grew stronger, and their industry kept pace with it. The hole deepened and still deepened, but every time their hearts jumped to hear the pick strike upon something, they only suffered a new disappointment. It was only a stone or a chunk. At last Tom said:

     "It ain't any use, Huck, we're wrong again."

     "Well, but we can't be wrong. We spotted the shadder to a dot."

     "I know it, but then there's another thing."

     "What's that?".

     "Why, we only guessed at the time. Like enough it was too late or too early."

     Huck dropped his shovel.