As the sloop skimmed along far enough from the shore to catch the full benefit of the breeze that was blowing, I espied another craft anchored in a little cove a quarter of a mile below the mill.
She was a stranger to me, and I wondered who owned her, and why her master had stopped at the spot, which was a rocky one, full of thorny bushes.
Perhaps he had come for some geological specimens, which the visitors at Bayport were frequently after. The region was full of all kinds of stone, and I knew it was quite a fad to study them.
I passed the craft, and continued on the way to Bend Center, arriving there in the middle of the forenoon.
I found that the news of my father’s death had been widely circulated, and nearly every one I met came forward to extend a sympathy that went straight to my heart.
I did not go to Mr. Jackson’s store, but to the “opposition,” as it is called in such places. This was kept by Mr. Frank Lewis, a young man, and one whom I found very obliging.
It did not take me long to make my purchases. As I turned to go back to the boat I came face to face with Tom Darrow.
“Hullo, Rube!” he exclaimed. “Well, this is lucky! You’re the fellow I want to see.”
“What about?” I asked. “Have you found the sloop?”