The saw-miller shook his head. "Ours is an immense country," he said. "Unless you have some clue to his whereabouts I'm afraid you won't be likely to find that uncle of yours, my boy."
"Then, if you please," said Cyril, "can you help me to return to my friends in England?"
The saw-miller said nothing. He looked discouragingly at the boy.
"You see," said Cyril, "I've scarcely any money with me. But my father had plenty. When I get back to England I shall just go to Mr. Betts, our lawyer, and get him to send your money back, with interest—that is, if you will be so very kind as to lend me some."
"Just so," said the saw-miller. "But how can a little chap like you travel all those thousands of miles alone? No, no, my boy, it's not so easily done."
"But I must return home," protested Cyril.
"Yes, of course. All in good time. But you must wait here until someone going to Chicago comes this way."
"But——" began Cyril.
"Now, I can't argue with you, boy," said the saw-miller shortly. "You're very welcome to stay here with us until it's convenient to send you along to England. More than that I cannot do for you."
He touched the bell.