"I suppose that's the only way out of it," the captain finally said, though with no very good grace. "Only the whole cargo must not be upset looking for those boxes."
"I'll be careful," promised Nat. "I think I know where they were stowed."
"Um! You think you do, but you'll soon find you're much mistaken!" said the mate scornfully.
"I'll give you a hand," said the pilot. "Mr. Simmon, my helper, is in the pilot-house," he went on, in answer to a questioning glance from Captain Marshall. "The ship is on a straight course now, and we'll hold it for an hour or two. Now, Nat, come on, and we'll see if we can't solve this puzzle."
It did not take long to demonstrate that Nat was right, and the mate wrong. The ten boxes were found in the afterhold, where they had been put by mistake, which accounted for the mate not being able to find them.
"What have you to say now?" asked the pilot of Mr. Bumstead, when the search was so successfully ended.
"What have I to say? Nothing, except that I think you did a mean thing when you got this boy in here, and kept my nephew out of the place, which he needs so much. But I'll get even with him yet for coming here." It appeared the mate's protest to Captain Marshall, about employing Nat, had been of no effect.
"I guess Nat needed a place to work as much as did your nephew," replied Mr. Weatherby, when his protégé had gone back to the purser's cabin. "His father is dead, and you ought to be glad that the orphan son of an old lake sailor has a chance to earn his living, instead of making it hard for him."
"Was his father a lake sailor?" asked the mate quickly.
"Yes. Nat's father was James Morton, who was employed on a lumber barge."