"It's very strange," repeated Mrs. Brandon, as she cleared away the breakfast dishes; "there's Grit gone, I don't know where, and now Mr. Brandon has started off on some mysterious business. What can it all mean?"
CHAPTER XXVI. THE FALL RIVER MANUFACTURER.
Grit lost no time in prosecuting his journey. In Portland he found that he should need to stay over a few hours, and repaired to the United States Hotel. He left word to be called early, as he wished to take a morning train to Boston.
At the breakfast-table he found himself sitting next to a man of swarthy complexion and bushy black whiskers.
"Good morning, my young friend," said the stranger, after a scrutinizing glance.
"Good morning, sir," said Grit politely.
"Are you stopping at this hotel?"
"For the present, yes," answered the young boatman.
"Are you going farther?"