"I almost believe I am in the old room at the Anchorage," said Bob. "There is one thing sure: Barlow will have a time getting at me here to shanghai me. I'd like to see him try it. And to think that my cousin should uphold him in such a trick! I tell you, that beats me."
Bob put some more wood on the fire and then went out on the porch to wait for Ben. He was so long in coming that finally Bob got impatient and strolled through the bushes to meet him. The way he took led him to the beach, and almost the first thing he saw was the ten-ton schooner in which he had taken so much delight in going fishing and exploring the inlets of the bay. He had so many things to think of that he had forgotten all about her until he caught sight of her. It did not seem possible that his father would have taken his schooner away from him, even if he had made a codicil to his will, and he determined to speak to Mr. Gibbons about it that very afternoon.
"It is bad enough to have taken my horses without saying a word to me, but I didn't believe he would so far forget himself as to take my schooner," said Bob, seating himself upon the grass. "If he had only left me that and the ponies I should have been satisfied—that is, if he is dead; but that is something I won't believe until I receive proof of it. Now, then, what has become of Ben?"
Barlow's chance words, that it was no concern of his what he had seen on that stormy morning, had put Bob on his mettle, but for all that, he was not inclined to put faith in anything that man said or did; consequently he was disposed to make the best of a bad bargain. He had all along supposed that his father was dead, but the hint Barlow had thrown out that he might turn up again when nobody was expecting him worked a change in Bob in spite of all he could do to prevent it. But he intended to wait until he could see Mr. Gibbons about it.
"I won't put any confidence in what that old land-shark said," soliloquized Bob, stretching himself out flat on the grass. "If Mr. Gibbons says he is alive I will believe it; and if he says he is dead, I shall believe that, too. I will think no more about it. I am ready for anything that happens. There's Ben; he has been to town. I object to his going on in this way in regard to me; but first I am going to speak about that boat. Say," he added, rising to his feet and taking some of the parcels from the old sailor, "do you see that boat over there?"
"Yes; and I know it's your'n."
"It ought not to have been taken away from me, ought it?"
"No; nor your ponies, either."
"That's all right. I shall speak to Mr. Gibbons about it this afternoon. Now, Ben, what made you go to town? Don't you know that I can live on the grub that you do?"
"Say, Bob," replied the sailor, who did not care to argue this point, "you haven't had any scouse or dough-boy lately, have you? Well, now, you just sit down in that chair and watch me get them ready for you. I'll have them ready while you are thinking about it."