One afternoon, after leaving the boat, Gerald was on his way home when he was accosted by a stranger—a stout, muscular man, roughly dressed, who looked like a laboring man.
"Are you acquainted hereabout, young man?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"I have a sister living here somewhere, but as I have never been in Portville before I don't know where to find her."
"Perhaps I can direct you," said Gerald, politely. "What is her name?"
"Her first husband was a Tyler, but I hear she married a rich man in this town—his name was Lane, I'm told."
Gerald was amazed. Was it possible that this rough-looking man was the brother of his stepmother and the uncle of Abel? It must be so, for Abel's last name, as he recalled, was Tyler.
"You have come to the right person for information," he said. "Your sister married my father."
"You don't say! Well, that beats all. Is it true that my sister is again a widder?"
"Yes; my father is dead," said Gerald, gravely.