Last summer, my best friend Rita and I decided to uncover hidden treasures in my grandmother’s attic. While rummaging through dusty old books, we found a peculiar yellowing parchment. I unfolded it to find a map of The Old Island, a forgotten spot nearby where pirate ships used to anchor. Rita and I knew immediately: It was a treasure map!
“I know this island well,” I said confidently. “Let’s go treasure hunting!”
Rita was excited and clapped her hands. “Let’s search for the treasure of Captain Bartholomew!”
The next day was bright and sunny. We rode our bikes to The Old Island. As we crossed a bridge, a shiver of excitement ran down my spine. We hopped off our bikes and stood before a sign that read, “THE OLD ISLAND: Property of Tommy’s Grandmother.”
The island was a lovely place with trees, flowers, and a shimmering pond. We followed the map closely as it crooked through the trees. Soon, we reached a towering oak tree, the largest we’d ever seen.
“If the map’s right, the treasure should be buried under this tree,” I said.
Rita pulled out a small spade she had brought along. “Let’s dig!”
We dug and dug but found nothing. “Where’s the treasure? This is not fun anymore!” Rita complained, throwing down the spade.
But I couldn’t give up. I noticed strange markings on the map that resembled the roots of the tree. “Rita, let’s follow the markings!” I suggested.
Reluctantly, she followed me, and soon we were again in front of the oak tree. Rita looked at me questioningly. “What now?”
“There are feet carved at the bottom of the map,” I said, pointing. “I think we’re supposed to find an old rock along the way.”
I was sketching what the rock looked like when I heard Rita gasp. Together, we carefully examined the area and soon discovered some old steps leading down into a dark tunnel.
“Is this the treasure trove?” Rita asked anxiously.
“I think so!” I replied, my heart racing. Taking a deep breath, we ventured into the dark passageway. Our excitement grew as we walked and walked—until we noticed how quiet it was. Suddenly, I heard faint whispers.
“Who’s there?” I called, my voice trembling. We quietly moved forward and discovered two shadowy figures deep in conversation.
“They’re thieves!” Rita hissed.
“Shh!” I whispered back. “Stay here while I go back and report this to Grandma!”
“Alone? No way!” But I was already heading back. Unfortunately, I took a wrong turn and ended up at a large pile of driftwood. But I figured if I climbed over the wood, I might find the right path soon. So I climbed and climbed until I found myself in Hamlet!
“Oh dear! Where’s Rita?” I murmured, stepping back, trying to gather my thoughts. It took me a while to soak in everything that had happened: joining up with pirates, getting shipwrecked during our escape, washing ashore on a deserted island, being captured by native tribes, and finally finding the foot of the old tree where the treasure was hidden. Raymond was no good to me—he’d completely forgotten me in the months since we had last met. What was I going to do now? It was terrible to be alone and with so many enemies!
Suddenly, I felt my pocket: the treasure map was still there! Perhaps all was not yet lost. I looked at it in the moonlight, hoping it would lead me home! But study it as I would, I could still see nothing but the two strange feet at the bottom.
“I can’t stay here,” I said at last, shaking my head.
So, with the map firmly in hand, I decided to explore. Perhaps disaster could still mean escape.
The moment I climbed to the mouth of the cave leading to my prison in the heart of the island, a cry of joy burst from my lips. For there before me was my faithful Rita, almost too glad to see me as I was to see her. We hugged tightly, thankful to have found each other.
Since then, camaraderie and cooperation have carried us far. Rita and I knew together we could answer the riddle of the two strange feet pointing towards the old tree. It was only a few steps further when, upon following the feet to the old oak, I saw they led straight to an iron chest partly buried in the ground.
“We’ve found the treasure!” Rita shrieked.
And yes, it was treasure, indeed! We opened the chest to find it filled with piles of doubloons, jeweled goblets, and rich chains and pendants—more treasure than we’d ever seen in our lives. Each of these things radiated pure gold, shimmering like the sun, each one telling its own story of voyages across greets seas and daring adventures.
The journey was long and wearisome to tell. We want to thank one of Mr. Smith’s power-boats, in which we just succeeded in getting home through the kindness of his sailors, when hope had almost deserted us.
“That story should find what is known as an ‘uplifter,’” our teacher said, when I read my adventure to the class at school. It has surely something to say upon the great principle of friendship.