“I have an uncle,” he said, “a farmer, who lives across the river about a mile below here. If you boys have a mind to go over there with me, we can get a roof to sleep under, and something for supper and breakfast, and he’ll trust me for the bill.”
The suggestion was adopted at once. It seemed to be a sure way out of the present difficulty. Brede alone remained sullen and silent. The party moved up the street and then down to the dock. There was a row-boat ferry there, and, after much dickering, the proprietor of it agreed to take them across the river for six shillings.
Brede inquired privately of a man standing by when the next train would go north, and, learning that it was due at New Hornbury in about ten minutes, he became animated with a sudden desire to get the boats loaded and started as quickly as possible. He took charge of the proceeding, and hurried it along vigorously.
The first boat, in which Brightly had embarked, with the smaller boys, had already been pushed off, and the strong young man who managed it was heading it down the river against the tide. In the second boat the proprietor of the ferry seated himself at the oars.
“All ready!” cried Brede, still standing on the dock; “push off!”
“Aint you goin’ yourself?” inquired the man.
“No; push off, I say!”
The ferryman, with a sweep of his oars, placed a broad band of foaming water between the boat and the landing. Then some one, recovering from sudden amazement, pointed at Brede and shouted,—
“He’s got the money!”
The shout aroused Brightly in the forward boat. He took in the situation at a glance.