Heretheninhiskitchen，theonlyroomwhereasparkoffire
tookoffthechillofaNovemberevening，poorPeterGoldthwaitehad
justbeenvisitedbyhisricholdpartner。Atthecloseoftheir
interview，Peter，withratheramortifiedlook，glanceddownwardsat
hisdress，partsofwhichappearedasancientasthedaysof
Goldthwaite&Brown。Hisuppergarmentwasamixedsurtout，wofully
faded，andpatchedwithnewerstuffoneachelbow；beneaththishe
woreathreadbareblackcoat，someofthesilkbuttonsofwhichhad
beenreplacedwithothersofadifferentpattern；andlastly，though
helackednotapairofgraypantaloons，theywereveryshabbyones，
andhadbeenpartiallyturnedbrownbythefrequenttoastingof
Peter’sshinsbeforeascantyfire。Peter’spersonwasinkeepingwith
hisgoodlyapparel。Gray-headed，hollow-eyed，pale-cheeked，and
lean-bodied，hewastheperfectpictureofamanwhohadfedon
windyschemesandemptyhopes，tillhecouldneitherliveonsuch
unwholesometrash，norstomachmoresubstantialfood。But，withal，
thisPeterGoldthwaite，crack-brainedsimpletonas，perhaps，hewas，
mighthavecutaverybrilliantfigureintheworld，hadheemployed
hisimaginationintheairybusinessofpoetry，insteadofmakingita
demonofmischiefinmercantilepursuits。Afterall，hewasnobad
fellow，butasharmlessasachild，andashonestandhonorable，and
asmuchofthegentlemanwhichnaturemeanthimfor，asanirregular
lifeanddepressedcircumstanceswillpermitanymantobe。
AsPeterstoodontheunevenbricksofhishearth，lookingroundat
thedisconsolateoldkitchen，hiseyesbegantokindlewiththe
illuminationofanenthusiasmthatneverlongdesertedhim。He
raisedhishand，clinchedit，andsmoteitenergeticallyagainstthe
smokypaneloverthefireplace。
“Thetimeiscome！”saidhe。“Withsuchatreasureatcommand，it
werefollytobeapoormananylonger。TomorrowmorningIwill
beginwiththegarret，nordesisttillIhavetornthehousedown！”
Deepinthechimney-corner，likeawitchinadarkcavern，sata
littleoldwoman，mendingoneofthetwopairsofstockings
wherewithPeterGoldthwaitekepthistoesfrombeingfrostbitten。As
thefeetwereraggedpastalldarning，shehadcutpiecesoutofa
cast-offflannelpetticoat，tomakenewsoles。TabithaPorterwasan
oldmaid，upwardsofsixtyyearsofage，fifty-fiveofwhichshehad
satinthatsamechimney-corner，suchbeingthelengthoftimesince
Peter’sgrandfatherhadtakenherfromthealmshouse。Shehadno
friendbutPeter，norPeteranyfriendbutTabitha；solongasPeter
mighthaveashelterforhisownhead，Tabithawouldknowwhereto
shelterhers；or，beinghomelesselsewhere，shewouldtakeher
masterbythehandandbringhimtohernativehome，thealmshouse。
Shoulditeverbenecessary，shelovedhimwellenoughtofeedhim
withherlastmorsel，andclothehimwithherunderpetticoat。But
Tabithawasaqueeroldwoman，and，thoughneverinfectedwithPeter’s
flightiness，hadbecomesoaccustomedtohisfreaksandfolliesthat
sheviewedthemallasmattersofcourse。Hearinghimthreatentotear
thehousedown，shelookedquietlyupfromherwork。
“Bestleavethekitchentillthelast，Mr。Peter。”saidshe。
“Thesoonerwehaveitalldownthebetter。”saidPeter
Goldthwaite。“Iamtiredtodeathoflivinginthiscold，dark，windy，
smoky，creaking，groaning，dismaloldhouse。Ishallfeellikea
youngermanwhenwegetintomysplendidbrickmansion，as，please
Heaven，weshallbythistimenextautumn。Youshallhavearoomon
thesunnyside，oldTabby，finishedandfurnishedasbestmaysuit
yourownnotions。”
“Ishouldlikeitprettymuchsucharoomasthiskitchen。”
answeredTabitha。“Itwillneverbelikehometometillthe
chimney-cornergetsasblackwithsmokeasthis；andthatwon’tbe
thesehundredyears。Howmuchdoyoumeantolayoutonthehouse，Mr。
Peter？”
“Whatisthattothepurpose？”exclaimedPeter，loftily。“Didnot
mygreat-granduncle，PeterGoldthwaite，whodiedseventyyearsago，
andwhosenamesakeIam，leavetreasureenoughtobuildtwentysuch？”
“Ican’tsaybuthedid，Mr。Peter。”saidTabitha，threadingher
needle。
TabithawellunderstoodthatPeterhadreferencetoanimmense
hoardofthepreciousmetals，whichwassaidtoexistsomewhereinthe
cellarorwalls，orunderthefloors，orinsomeconcealedcloset，
orotherout-of-the-waynookofthehouse。Thiswealth，accordingto
tradition，hadbeenaccumulatedbyaformerPeterGoldthwaite，whose
characterseemstohavebornearemarkablesimilitudetothatofthe
Peterofourstory。Likehimhewasawildprojector，seekingto
heapupgoldbythebushelandthecartload，insteadofscrapingit
together，coinbycoin。LikePeterthesecond，too，hisprojectshad
almostinvariablyfailed，and，butforthemagnificentsuccessof
thefinalone，wouldhavelefthimwithhardlyacoatandpairof
breechestohisgauntandgrizzledperson。Reportswerevariousas
tothenatureofhisfortunatespeculation：oneintimatingthatthe
ancientPeterhadmadethegoldbyalchemy；another，thathehad
conjureditoutofpeople’spocketsbytheblackart；andathird，
stillmoreunaccountable，thatthedevilhadgivenhimfreeaccess
totheoldprovincialtreasury。Itwasaffirmed，however，thatsome
secretimpedimenthaddebarredhimfromtheenjoymentofhisriches，
andthathehadamotiveforconcealingthemfromhisheir，orat
anyratehaddiedwithoutdisclosingtheplaceofdeposit。Thepresent
Peter’sfatherhadfaithenoughinthestorytocausethecellartobe
dugover。Peterhimselfchosetoconsiderthelegendasan
indisputabletruth，and，amidhismanytroubles，hadthisone
consolationthat，shouldallotherresourcesfail，hemightbuildup
hisfortunesbytearinghishousedown。Yet，unlesshefelta
lurkingdistrustofthegoldentale，itisdifficulttoaccountfor
hispermittingthepaternalrooftostandsolong，sincehehad
neveryetseenthemomentwhenhispredecessor’streasurewouldnot
havefoundplentyofroominhisownstrongbox。Butnowwasthe
crisis。Shouldhedelaythesearchalittlelonger，thehousewould
passfromthelinealheir，andwithitthevastheapofgold，to
remaininitsburial-place，tilltheruinoftheagedwallsshould
discoverittostrangersofafuturegeneration。
“Yes！”saidPeterGoldthwaite，again，“tomorrowIwillsetabout
it。”
Thedeeperhelookedatthematterthemorecertainofsuccessgrew
Peter。Hisspiritswerenaturallysoelasticthatevennow，inthe
blastedautumnofhisage，hecouldoftencompetewiththespring-time
gayetyofotherpeople。Enlivenedbyhisbrighteningprospects，he
begantocaperaboutthekitchenlikeahobgoblin，withthequeerest
anticsofhisleanlimbs，andgesticulationsofhisstarved
features。Nay，intheexuberanceofhisfeelings，heseizedbothof
Tabitha’shands，anddancedtheoldladyacrossthefloor，tillthe
oddityofherrheumaticmotionssethimintoaroaroflaughter，which
wasechoedbackfromtheroomsandchambers，asifPeterGoldthwaite
werelaughingineveryone。Finallyheboundedupward，almostoutof
sight，intothesmokethatcloudedtheroofofthekitchen，and，
alightingsafelyontheflooragain，endeavoredtoresumehis
customarygravity。
“Tomorrow，atsunrise。”herepeated，takinghislamptoretireto
bed，“I’llseewhetherthistreasurebehidinthewallofthe
garret。”
“Andaswe’reoutofwood，Mr。Peter。”saidTabitha，puffingand
pantingwithherlategymnastics，“asfastasyoutearthehousedown，
I’llmakeafirewiththepieces。”
GorgeousthatnightwerethedreamsofPeterGoldthwaite！Atone
timehewasturningaponderouskeyinanirondoornotunlikethe
doorofasepulchre，butwhich，beingopened，disclosedavaultheaped
upwithgoldcoin，asplentifullyasgoldencorninagranary。There
werechasedgoblets，also，andtureens，salvers，dinnerdishes，and
dishcoversofgold，orsilvergilt，besideschainsandother
jewels，incalculablyrich，thoughtarnishedwiththedampsofthe
vault；for，ofallthewealththatwasirrevocablylosttoman，
whetherburiedintheearthorsunkeninthesea，PeterGoldthwaite
hadfounditinthisonetreasure-place。Anon，hehadreturnedto
theoldhouseaspoorasever，andwasreceivedatthedoorbythe
gauntandgrizzledfigureofamanwhomhemighthavemistakenfor
himself，onlythathisgarmentswereofamuchelderfashion。But
thehouse，withoutlosingitsformeraspect，hadbeenchangedintoa
palaceofthepreciousmetals。Thefloors，walls，andceilingwere
ofburnishedsilver；thedoors，thewindow-frames，thecornices，the
balustrades，andthestepsofthestaircase，ofpuregold；andsilver，
withgoldbottoms，werethechairs，andgold，standingonsilverlegs，
thehighchestsofdrawers，andsilverthebedsteads，withblanketsof
wovengold，andsheetsofsilvertissue。Thehousehadevidently
beentransmutedbyasingletouch；foritretainedallthemarks
thatPeterremembered，butingoldorsilverinsteadofwood；and
theinitialsofhisname，which，whenaboy，hehadcutinthe
woodendoor-post，remainedasdeepinthepillarofgold。Ahappy
manwouldhavebeenPeterGoldthwaiteexceptforacertainocular
deception，which，wheneverheglancedbackwards，causedthehouseto
darkenfromitsglitteringmagnificenceintothesordidgloomof
yesterday。
Up，betimes，rosePeter，seizedanaxe，hammer，andsaw，whichhe
hadplacedbyhisbedside，andhiedhimtothegarret。Itwasbut
scantilylightedup，asyet，bythefrostyfragmentsofasunbeam，
whichbegantoglimmerthroughthealmostopaquebull’s-eyesofthe
window。Amoralizermightfindabundantthemesforhisspeculativeand
impracticablewisdominagarret。Thereisthelimboofdeparted
fashions，agedtriflesofaday，andwhateverwasvaluableonlytoone
generationofmen，andwhichpassedtothegarretwhenthatgeneration
passedtothegrave，notforsafekeeping，buttobeoutoftheway。
Petersawpilesofyellowandmustyaccount-books，inparchment
covers，whereincreditors，longdeadandburied，hadwrittenthenames
ofdeadandburieddebtorsininknowsofadedthattheirmoss-grown
tombstonesweremorelegible。Hefoundoldmoth-eatengarmentsall
inragsandtatters，orPeterwouldhaveputthemon。Herewasanaked
andrustysword，notaswordofservice，butagentleman’ssmall
Frenchrapier，whichhadneverleftitsscabbardtillitlostit。Here
werecanesoftwentydifferentsorts，butnogold-headedones，and
shoe-bucklesofvariouspatternandmaterial，butnotsilvernorset
withpreciousstones。Herewasalargeboxfullofshoes，withhigh
heelsandpeakedtoes。Here，onashelf，wereamultitudeofphials，
halffilledwitholdapothecaries’stuff，which，whentheotherhalf
haddoneitsbusinessonPeter’sancestors，hadbeenbroughthither
fromthedeathchamber。Here-nottogivealongerinventoryof
articlesthatwillneverbeputupatauction-wasthefragmentofa
full-lengthlooking-glass，which，bythedustanddimnessofits
surface，madethepictureoftheseoldthingslookolderthanthe
reality。WhenPeter，notknowingthattherewasamirrorthere，caught
thefainttracesofhisownfigure，hepartlyimaginedthattheformer
PeterGoldthwaitehadcomeback，eithertoassistorimpedehissearch
forthehiddenwealth。Andatthatmomentastrangenotionglimmered
throughhisbrainthathewastheidenticalPeterwhohadconcealed
thegold，andoughttoknowwhereaboutitlay。This，however，hehad
unaccountablyforgotten。
“Well，Mr。Peter！”criedTabitha，onthegarretstairs。“Haveyou
tornthehousedownenoughtoheattheteakettle？”
“Notyet，oldTabby。”answeredPeter；“butthat’ssoondone-asyou
shallsee。”