Brandon pulled a jack-knife out of his pocket, and after awhile—for it was very dull—succeeded in severing the rope.
Then he jumped into the boat and began to row out into the stream.
He was a little at a loss at first as to where he would be most likely to find a purchaser. In his five years' absence from the neighborhood he had lost his former acquaintances, and there had been, besides, changes in the population.
As he was rowing at random, he chanced to look back to the shore he had left, and noticed that a boy was signaling to him.
He recognized him as the boy whom he had heard speaking of Grit's treasure, and, being desirous of hearing more on the subject, he at once began to pull back to the river bank.
The boy, as the reader will surmise, was Phil Courtney.
"Hello, there!" said Phil; "isn't that Grit Morris' boat?"
"No, it's mine."
"It is the same Grit usually rows in," said Phil, beginning to suspect Brandon of theft.