Somewhat to the surprise of the boy the answer came promptly:
“Yes, I do. A man named O’Neil.”
“What!” exclaimed Neale, starting forward. “Do you know my father? Where is he? Tell me about him!”
“Well, I don’t know that he’s your father,” went on the black-bearded man. “Though, now I recollect, he did say he had a son and he hoped to see him soon. But this O’Neil lives on one of the islands here in the lake. Or at least he’s been staying there the last week. He bought some fish of me, and he said then he’d been to the Klondike after gold.”
“Did he say he got any?” asked Neale.
The man of the cabin shook his head.
“I wouldn’t say so,” he remarked. “Mr. O’Neil had to borrow money of one of my boys to hire a boat. I guess he’s poorer than the general run. He couldn’t have got any gold in the Klondike.”
At this answer Neale’s heart sank, and a worried suspicion crept into his mind. If his father were poor it might explain something that had been troubling the boy of late. Somehow, all the brightness seemed to go out of the day. Neale’s happy prospects appeared very dim now.
“Poor father!” he murmured to himself.
Suddenly, from the lake behind them came some loud shouts, at which the dog began to bark. Then followed a shot, and the animal raced down the slope toward the water.