But to seize a spade
in the morning, and turn up doubloons like potatoes; but thou must
dream of hardship, and rise to poverty - must dig thy field from year's
end to year's end, and - and yet raise nothing but cabbages!"
Wolfert Webber went to bed with a heavy heart; and it was long before
the golden visions that disturbed his brain, permitted him to sink into
repose. The same visions, however, extended into his sleeping thoughts,
and assumed a more definite form. He dreamt that he had discovered an
immense treasure in the centre of his garden. At every stroke of the
spade he laid bare a golden ingot; diamond crosses sparkled out of the
dust; bags of money turned up their bellies, corpulent with pieces of
eight, or venerable doubloons; and chests, wedged close with moidores,
ducats, and pistareens, yawned before his ravished eyes, and vomited
forth their glittering contents.
Wolfert awoke a poorer man than ever. He had no heart to go about his
daily concerns, which appeared so paltry and profitless; but sat all
day long in the chimney-corner, picturing to himself ingots and heaps
of gold in the fire. The next night his dream was repeated. He was
again in his garden, digging, and laying open stores of hidden wealth.
There was something very singular in this repetition. He passed another
day of reverie, and though it was cleaning-day, and the house, as usual
in Dutch households, completely topsy-turvy, yet he sat unmoved amidst
the general uproar.
The third night he went to bed with a palpitating heart. He put on his
red nightcap, wrong side outwards for good luck. It was deep midnight
before his anxious mind could settle itself into sleep. Again the
golden dream was repeated, and again he saw his garden teeming with
ingots and money-bags.
Wolfert rose the next morning in complete bewilderment. A dream three
times repeated was never known to lie; and if so, his fortune was made.
In his agitation he put on his waistcoat with the hind part before, and
this was a corroboration of good luck. He no longer doubted that a huge
store of money lay buried somewhere in his cabbage-field, coyly waiting
to be sought for, and he half repined at having so long been scratching
about the surface of the soil, instead of digging to the centre.
He took his seat at the breakfast-table full of these speculations;
asked his daughter to put a lump of gold in to his tea, and on handing
his wife a plate of slap-jacks, begging her to help herself to a
doubloon.
His grand care now was how to secure this immense treasure without it
being known.
