If the prospect before had been gloomy it was now worse. The pang over the news of my father’s death overshadowed everything else; yet I could not help but remember that my uncle was soon to arrive, and that my father’s estate was indebted to him for money loaned.
Entering my sloop, I was soon on the way to Torrent Bend River. The wind was still fresh, and I skirted the shore rapidly, arriving in sight of the mill at sundown.
Ford stood at the door awaiting me.
“Been a little longer than you expected,” he said. “Anything wrong?”
“Yes, Dan; everything is wrong,” I replied. “Read that letter.”
He did so; and somehow it was a comfort to see his eyes grow moist.
“Dead!” he exclaimed, and then he caught me by the shoulder. “Rube, I can’t say how sorry I am for you; there ain’t words strong enough to tell it.” And without another word he led me into the mill.
We passed a rather silent evening. Ford was in the habit of leaving as soon as the day’s work was over, but that night he remained. He was the first up in the morning, and when I came down I found breakfast already prepared.
“Come, Rube, have a strong cup of coffee,” he said. “I know you haven’t slept a wink. I hardly got a nap myself, thinking matters over. Do you know anything about this uncle that’s coming?”