It was not much out of his way to go down to the margin of the river, and he did so. It happened that, as he reached it, Grit had just arrived from Portville with a second load of passengers. Fortune, as if to compensate him for his loss of a boat, had brought him an unusual number of passengers, so that he had already earned a dollar.
When Brandon saw Grit engaged in his usual avocation, he opened wide his eyes in surprise.
"Has the boy got his boat back again?" he asked himself.
He was not familiar with the appearance of the boat, and the name had slipped from his recollection. Then, also, Jesse's boat looked very much like Grit's.
When the passengers had walked away Brandon took measures to gratify his curiosity.
"Where did you get that boat, Grit?" he asked.
"Ah, it's you, is it?" said Grit, seeing his stepfather for the first time. "What business had you to sell my boat, Mr. Brandon?"
"Ain't I your stepfather, I'd like to know?" retorted Brandon.
"I am sorry to say you are," answered Grit; "but that doesn't give you any authority to steal and sell my boat."
"Don't you dare to charge me with stealin', you—you young puppy!" exclaimed Brandon, indignantly. "If you had behaved as you ought to me, I wouldn't have meddled with your boat."