Eaton told Mr. Bell about the ventures that Charlie sent in the Ark, which gave him the first money he ever possessed; also about his learning the ship carpenter’s trade; and astonished the old gentleman by telling him that Charlie’s land cost only seventy-five cents an acre. He also told him about the building of the Hard-scrabble, and how much money she made. Upon these matters Eaton was an authority, as he had worked on all the vessels Charlie had built, and knew the whole matter from the beginning, whereas Walter Griffin was too young to be familiar with the events of Charlie’s boyhood, and the information of Ned was all second hand.
As the voyage approached its termination, the excitement of the father increased. Ned was now able to stand his watch, and often, at twelve o’clock, the old gentleman would come on deck, and spend the remainder of the night talking with him and Eaton, and also with Peterson, whose acquaintance he had now made.
When, by the captain’s reckoning, the vessel was nearly up with the land, and men were sent aloft to look out for it, he became quite nervous, thinking, perhaps, the happiness of possessing and meeting such a son was too great a boon. Again, he imagined that he might die before the vessel arrived, or that, after all, there might be some mistake. “God only knows what is in store for me,” he said, brushing the tear from his eye, as a joyous scream from the royal yard, in the shrill tones of Ned, proclaimed, “Land, O!”
Let us now see what the unconscious object of all this solicitude is doing. He is about half way between his house and Uncle Isaac’s, walking at a smart pace, and with the air of one bound upon a long walk. It was early autumn. As he approached the house, he saw Uncle Isaac in the barn floor, winnowing grain in the primitive fashion.
“Good afternoon, Charlie. Go into the house. I’ll be there in a moment. I’m almost through.”
“I can’t stop, Uncle Isaac. I’m going farther.”
“Where to?”
“Over to Mr. Colcord’s, to look at a cow. He’s got seven. He told me I might have my pick of them for fifteen dollars.”
“What! Jim Colcord?”
“Yes, sir.”