thearrivalofasleighfromVermont，ladenwiththefrozenbodies
ofporkers，orsheep，andperhapsadeerortwo；sometimesofa
regularmarket-man，withchickens，geese，andturkeys，comprising
thewholecolonyofabarn-yard；andsometimesofafarmerandhis
dame，whohadcometotownpartlyfortheride，partlytogo
a-shopping，andpartlyforthesaleofsomeeggsandbutter。This
couplerodeinanold-fashionedsquaresleigh，whichhadservedthem
twentywinters，andstoodtwentysummersinthesunbesidetheirdoor。
Now，agentlemanandladyskimmedthesnowinanelegantcar，shaped
somewhatlikeacockle-shell。Now，astage-sleigh，withitscloth
curtainsthrustasidetoadmitthesun，dashedrapidlydownthe
street，whirlinginandoutamongthevehiclesthatobstructedits
passage。Nowcame，roundacorner，thesimilitudeofNoah’sarkon
runners，beinganimmenseopensleighwithseatsforfiftypeople，and
drawnbyadozenhorses。Thisspaciousreceptaclewaspopulouswith
merrymaidsandmerrybachelors，merrygirlsandboys，andmerryold
folks，allalivewithfun，andgrinningtothefullwidthoftheir
mouths。Theykeptupabuzzofbabblingvoicesandlowlaughter，and
sometimesburstintoadeep，joyousshout，whichthespectators
answeredwiththreecheers，whileagangofroguishboysletdrive
theirsnowballsrightamongthepleasureparty。Thesleighpassed
on，and，whenconcealedbyabendofthestreet，wasstillaudible
byadistantcryofmerriment。
NeverhadPeterbeheldalivelierscenethanwasconstitutedbyall
theseaccessories：thebrightsun，theflashingwater-drops，the
gleamingsnow，thecheerfulmultitude，thevarietyofrapid
vehicles，andthejingle-jangleofmerrybellswhichmadetheheart
dancetotheirmusic。Nothingdismalwastobeseen，exceptthat
peakedpieceofantiquity，PeterGoldthwaite’shouse，whichmightwell
looksadexternally，sincesuchaterribleconsumptionwaspreying
onitsin-sides。AndPeter’sgauntfigure，halfvisibleinthe
projectingsecondstory，wasworthyofhishouse。
“Peter！Howgoesit，friendPeter？”criedavoiceacrossthe
street，asPeterwasdrawinginhishead。“Lookouthere，Peter！”
Peterlooked，andsawhisoldpartner，Mr。JohnBrown，onthe
oppositesidewalk，portlyandcomfortable，withhisfurredcloak
thrownopen，disclosingahandsomesurtoutbeneath。Hisvoicehad
directedtheattentionofthewholetowntoPeterGoldthwaite’s
window，andtothedustyscarecrowwhichappearedatit。
“Isay，Peter。”criedMr。Brownagain，“whatthedevilareyou
aboutthere，IhearsucharacketwheneverIpassby？Youare
repairingtheoldhouse，Isuppose-makinganewoneofit-eh？”
“Toolateforthat，Iamafraid，Mr。Brown。”repliedPeter。“IfI
makeitnew，itwillbenewinsideandout，fromthecellarupwards。”
“Hadnotyoubetterletmetakethejob？”saidMr。Brown，
significantly。
“Notyet！”answeredPeter，hastilyshuttingthewindow；for，ever
sincehehadbeeninsearchofthetreasure，hehatedtohavepeople
stareathim。
Ashedrewback，ashamedofhisoutwardpoverty，yetproudofthe
secretwealthwithinhisgrasp，ahaughtysmileshoneoutonPeter’s
visage，withpreciselytheeffectofthedimsunbeamsinthesqualid
chamber。Heendeavoredtoassumesuchamienashisancestorhad
probablyworn，whenhegloriedinthebuildingofastronghousefora
hometomanygenerationsofhisposterity。Butthechamberwasvery
darktohissnow-dazzledeyes，andverydismaltoo，incontrastwith
thelivingscenethathehadjustlookedupon。Hisbriefglimpse
intothestreethadgivenhimaforcibleimpressionofthemannerin
whichtheworldkeptitselfcheerfulandprosperous，bysocial
pleasuresandanintercourseofbusiness，whilehe，inseclusion，
waspursuinganobjectthatmightpossiblybeaphantasm，bya
methodwhichmostpeoplewouldcallmadness。Itisonegreatadvantage
ofagregariousmodeoflifethateachpersonrectifieshismindby
otherminds，andsquareshisconducttothatofhisneighbors，soas
seldomtobelostineccentricity。PeterGoldthwaitehadexposed
himselftothisinfluencebymerelylookingoutofthewindow。Fora
while，hedoubtedwhethertherewereanyhiddenchestofgold，and，in
thatcase，whetherhewassoexceedinglywisetotearthehouse
down，onlytobeconvincedofitsnon-existence。
Butthiswasmomentary。Peter，theDestroyer，resumedthetask
whichfatehadassignedhim，norfalteredagaintillitwas
accomplished。Inthecourseofhissearch，hemetwithmanythings
thatareusuallyfoundintheruinsofanoldhouse，andalsowith
somethatarenot。Whatseemedmosttothepurposewasarustykey，
whichhadbeenthrustintoachinkofthewall，withawoodenlabel
appendedtothehandle，bearingtheinitials，P。G。Anothersingular
discoverywasthatofabottleofwine，walledupinanoldoven。A
traditionraninthefamily，thatPeter’sgrandfather，ajovial
officerintheoldFrenchWar，hadsetasidemanydozensofthe
preciousliquorforthebenefitoftopersthenunborn。Peterneededno
cordialtosustainhishopes，andthereforekeptthewinetogladden
hissuccess。Manyhalfpencedidhepickup，thathadbeenlostthrough
thecracksofthefloor，andsomefewSpanishcoins，andthehalfofa
brokensixpence，whichhaddoubtlessbeenalovetoken。Therewas
likewiseasilvercoronationmedalofGeorgetheThird。Butold
PeterGoldthwaite’sstrongboxfledfromonedarkcornertoanother，
orotherwiseeludedthesecondPeter’sclutches，till，shouldhe
seekmuchfarther，hemustburrowintotheearth。
Wewillnotfollowhiminhistriumphantprogress，stepbystep。
SufficeitthatPeterworkedlikeasteam-engine，andfinished，in
thatonewinter，thejobwhichalltheformerinhabitantsofthe
house，withtimeandtheelementstoaidthem，hadonlyhalfdoneina
century。Exceptthekitchen，everyroomandchamberwasnowgutted。
Thehousewasnothingbutashell-theapparitionofahouse-as
unrealasthepaintededificesofatheatre。Itwasliketheperfect
rindofagreatcheese，inwhichamousehaddweltandnibbledtillit
wasacheesenomore。AndPeterwasthemouse。
WhatPeterhadtorndown，Tabithahadburnedup；forshewisely
consideredthat，withoutahouse，theyshouldneednowoodtowarmit；
andthereforeeconomywasnonsense。Thusthewholehousemightbesaid
tohavedissolvedinsmoke，andflownupamongtheclouds，throughthe
greatblackflueofthekitchenchimney。Itwasanadmirable
paralleltothefeatofthemanwhojumpeddownhisownthroat。
Onthenightbetweenthelastdayofwinterandthefirstof
spring，everychinkandcrannyhadbeenransacked，exceptwithinthe
precinctsofthekitchen。Thisfatedeveningwasanuglyone。A
snow-stormhadsetinsomehoursbefore，andwasstilldrivenand
tossedabouttheatmospherebyarealhurricane，whichfought
againstthehouseasiftheprinceoftheair，inperson，wereputting
thefinalstroketoPeter’slabors。Theframeworkbeingsomuch
weakened，andtheinwardpropsremoved，itwouldhavebeennomarvel
if，insomestrongerwrestleoftheblast，therottenwallsofthe
edifice，andallthepeakedroofs，hadcomecrushingdownuponthe
owner’shead。He，however，wascarelessoftheperil，butaswild
andrestlessasthenightitself，orastheflamethatquiveredupthe
chimneyateachroarofthetempestuouswind。
“Thewine，Tabitha！”hecried。“Mygrandfather’sricholdwine！
Wewilldrinkitnow！”
Tabithaarosefromhersmoke-blackenedbenchinthechimney-corner，
andplacedthebottlebeforePeter，closebesidetheoldbrasslamp，
whichhadlikewisebeentheprizeofhisresearches。Peterheldit
beforehiseyes，and，lookingthroughtheliquidmedium，beheldthe
kitchenilluminatedwithagoldenglory，whichalsoenveloped
Tabithaandgildedhersilverhair，andconvertedhermeangarments
intorobesofqueenlysplendor。Itremindedhimofhisgoldendream。
“Mr。Peter。”remarkedTabitha，“mustthewinebedrunkbeforethe
moneyisfound？”
“Themoneyisfound！”exclaimedPeter，withasortoffierceness。
“Thechestiswithinmyreach。Iwillnotsleep，tillIhaveturned
thiskeyintherustylock。But，firstofall，letusdrink！”
Therebeingnocorkscrewinthehouse，hesmotetheneckofthe
bottlewitholdPeterGoldthwaite’srustykey，anddecapitatedthe
sealedcorkatasingleblow。Hethenfilledtwolittlechinateacups，
whichTabithahadbroughtfromthecupboard。Soclearandbrilliant
wasthisagedwinethatitshonewithinthecups，andrenderedthe
sprigofscarletflowers，atthebottomofeach，moredistinctly
visiblethanwhentherehadbeennowinethere。Itsrichand
delicateperfumewasteditselfroundthekitchen。
“Drink，Tabitha！”criedPeter。“Blessingsonthehonestold
fellowwhosetasidethisgoodliquorforyouandme！Andhere’sto
PeterGoldthwaite’smemory！”
“Andgoodcausehavewetorememberhim。”quothTabitha，asshe
drank。
Howmanyyears，andthroughwhatchangesoffortuneandvarious
calamity，hadthatbottlehoardedupitseffervescentjoy，tobe
quaffedatlastbytwosuchbooncompanions！Aportionofthe
happinessoftheformeragehadbeenkeptforthem，andwasnowset
free，inacrowdofrejoicingvisions，tosportamidthestormand
desolationofthepresenttime。Untiltheyhavefinishedthebottle，
wemustturnoureyeselsewhere。
Itsochancedthat，onthisstormynight，Mr。JohnBrownfound
himselfillateaseinhiswire-cushionedarm-chair，bytheglowing
grateofanthracitewhichheatedhishandsomeparlor。Hewasnaturally
agoodsortofaman，andkindandpitifulwheneverthemisfortunesof
othershappenedtoreachhisheartthroughthepaddedvestofhis
ownprosperity。Thiseveninghehadthoughtmuchabouthisold
partner，PeterGoldthwaite，hisstrangevagaries，andcontinualill
luck，thepovertyofhisdwelling，atMr。Brown’slastvisit，and
Peter’scrazedandhaggardaspectwhenhehadtalkedwithhimatthe
window。
“Poorfellow！”thoughtMr。JohnBrown。“Poor，crackbrainedPeter
Goldthwaite！Foroldacquaintance’sake，Ioughttohavetakencare
thathewascomfortablethisroughwinter。”
Thesefeelingsgrewsopowerfulthat，inspiteoftheinclement
weather，heresolvedtovisitPeterGoldthwaiteimmediately。The
strengthoftheimpulsewasreallysingular。Everyshriekoftheblast
seemedasummons，orwouldhaveseemedso，hadMr。Brownbeen
accustomedtoheartheechoesofhisownfancyinthewind。Much
amazedatsuchactivebenevolence，hehuddledhimselfinhiscloak，
muffledhisthroatandearsincomfortersandhandkerchiefs，and，thus
fortified，badedefiancetothetempest。Butthepowersoftheairhad
ratherthebestofthebattle。Mr。Brownwasjustweatheringthe
corner，byPeterGoldthwaite’shouse，whenthehurricanecaughthim
offhisfeet，tossedhimfacedownwardintoasnowbank，andproceeded
toburyhisprotuberantpartbeneathfreshdrifts。Thereseemedlittle
hopeofhisreappearanceearlierthanthenextthaw。Atthesame
momenthishatwassnatchedaway，andwhirledaloftintosomefar
distantregion，whencenotidingshaveasyetreturned。
NeverthelessMr。Browncontrivedtoburrowapassagethroughthe
snow-drift，and，withhisbareheadbentagainstthestorm，floundered
onwardtoPeter’sdoor。Therewassuchacreakingandgroaningand
rattling，andsuchanominousshakingthroughoutthecrazyedifice，
thattheloudestrapwouldhavebeeninaudibletothosewithin。He
thereforeentered，withoutceremony，andgropedhiswaytothe
kitchen。
Hisintrusion，eventhere，wasunnoticed。PeterandTabithastood
withtheirbackstothedoor，stoopingoveralargechest，which，
apparently，theyhadjustdraggedfromacavity，orconcealed
closet，ontheleftsideofthechimney。Bythelampintheold
