of shell was added to the decaying mass on the ledge. At length, when the first haul was "ripe," Chester and Keith began the task of sifting the contents of the shell for pearls. A cloth was stretched across the top of a bucket, and on it each gaping oyster was placed separately, water being allowed to trickle over it. Trying though the task was to their olfactory nerves, it had its exciting side, for there was always the possibility that any shell might give up a pearl worth a considerable sum. The two men worked steadily, almost in silence, for hours. Not even a "seed" rewarded their efforts.
"Never mind—better luck to-morrow," said Chester at last. He had scarcely expected to come across a rich find, but, like the gold prospector who goes on doggedly in the wilds panning mother earth for months and never finding what he seeks, he was spurred on by the unquenchable hope which alone keeps men striving to wrest from nature such elusive substances as gold, diamonds and pearls that, when found, unlock the gates of civilization, comfort and pleasure.
For some obscure reason Moniz caused no further trouble at that time. Keith and the planter often speculated as to the cause, but they were unable to come to any conclusion. Either the Portuguese had learnt his lesson, and was leaving them severely alone because he was afraid, or he was biding his time and getting ready for some sudden coup. In
