“Where did he go?”
“Up to your cabin. He was very much put out that you had gone away.”
“Do you know anything of my Uncle Si?” asked Andy.
“Well, rather.” The storekeeper laughed outright. “Richest thing ever was!” he chuckled.
“What?”
“The way the men around here treated him. They got tired of his laziness and habit of borrowing money, and told him he must go to work. He wouldn’t do it at first, and they hauled him out of bed one night, and said they were going to tar and feather him. Then he got scared to death, and promised to go to work, and he’s been at work ever since—over at Larrington’s sawmill. He came in last Saturday and paid his bill in full, and bought some groceries for spot cash. I reckon he’s turned over a new leaf.”
“I’ll be thankful if he has,” said Andy.
“By the way,” continued the storekeeper, “he was talking of some property that is coming to you.”
“Property?”
“Yes,—some timber land in Michigan. I believe you had the papers and lost ’em. Well, one day some hunters found the papers in the woods—pretty well soaked, but all there—and they brought ’em to your Uncle Si. He’s got ’em now, and he’s waiting to hear from you. He told me a real estate fellow named Hopton wanted ’em, but he was going to hold on to ’em until he heard from you.”