The Treasure Box

The Treasure Box by Margaret Wild When the enemy bombed the library, everything burned. Chard paper, frail as butterflies fluttered in the wind. People caught the words and cupped them in their hands. Only one book survived, a book that Peter's father had taken home to study, a book he loved more than any other. When the enemy ordered everyone out of their houses, Peter's father brought out a small iron box. This will keep our treasure safe, he said. But we have no treasure, said Peter, no rubies, no silver, no gold. His father wrapped the book in a thick cloth and put it in the box. This is a book about our people, about us, he said. It is rarer than rubies, more splendid than silver, greater than gold. Peter and his father joined the others fleeing the city. Behind them, their houses burned. For weeks they trudged through mud and rain. They slept at the side of the road under hedges, in ditches, huddling together to keep warm. As the days went by, Peter's father became very ill. He whispered, you must be brave for both of us. Promise me you will keep our treasure safe. I promise, said Peter, and he gripped his father's hand through the long night. In the morning, the other people helped Peter bury his father and say goodbye. Leave the iron box, they told him. We have a long way to go. But instead, Peter left his suitcase behind and held on to the box. By the time he reached the last village, Peter's arm ached. He knew he would never be able to carry the box over the mountains. At the edge of the village was a cottage with ancient linden tree. Peter chipped away at the frozen earth under the tree and buried the box. Here, it would be safe from bombs and fire. During the following years, as Peter grew from a boy to a man in a strange new country, he often thought about his father and the book he loved more than any other. When it was safe to return, he journeyed back to the cottage at the edge of the village. He saw a little girl playing in the garden. He told her about the treasure under the linden tree. She helped him dig up the iron box. Will I see rubies and silver and gold? asked the little girl. Peter opened the box. Oh, she said, it's only a book. This is a book about our people, about us, Peter said. It is rarer than rubies, more splendid than silver, greater than gold. Peter took the iron box back to the city where he had lived when he was young. There was now a new library with new books. He put the book back on the shelf where, once again, it could be found and read.