“Sure I have. Say, Dick, isn’t it almost lunch time?”
“I don’t know. I’m not the cook this week. It’s up to Tom.”
“Can we eat, Tom?” asked his roommate at Elmwood Hall.
“Not until we get to the mill. Work before pleasure, my boy. That’s the rule here.”
“Well then, get ready with the grub,” said Jack, quietly, “for there’s your mill,” and he pointed just ahead of them.
“By Jove! So it is!” exclaimed Tom.
They had gone around a turn in the river, and on one bank, situated on a little rise, were the ruins of an old stone mill.
In its day it had been a big structure, built of field stone, and it must have been a substantial place to which the settlers for miles around probably came with their grain. But now it was in ruins, through the ravages of time and the hands of those who sought the treasure.
As the boat approached it the boys could see where a flume had been built to take the water from the river, and direct it over a big wheel. Of the latter there was little left. Trees and underbrush grew up close to the old structure, near which were the rotting remains of a wharf where, in the olden days, likely, the craft of the settlers had tied up when they came with grist.
“Say, it’s a wonderful ruin all right,” said Tom in a low voice. “Put over to shore, Jack, while I get a picture. Then we’ll get out and have a look around.”