I told my story; for I felt that if the senator could trust me, I could trust him. I did not say anything about my half-formed intention to run away. The squire was very sorry there was any trouble; but, as it was a family matter, he did not like to say much about it, though he promised to do all he could for me.
"I think I won't go any farther, Buck," said he. "I suppose you will despise me, for you know me better than any other person."
"I'm sure I don't despise you."
"I'm confident my misfortune—if it can be called by that name—is all for the best. When I go home, I shall come out for temperance, and I think this journey will do me good."
I thought it must be very mortifying for him to talk to me in that way; but he was sincerely penitent, and I am sure he was a better Christian than ever before. He was a truer man than his brother in every respect, and I should have had a high regard for him, even if he had not given me a hundred dollars.
I had money enough now to pay my own and my sister's passage to New Orleans in a steamboat; but I was so fascinated with the raft that I could not think of abandoning it. I was going to build a house upon it; and my fancy pictured its interior, and the pleasure we might enjoy in it, floating down the river. It was a very brilliant ideal which I had made up in connection with the new craft.
In due time I reached Riverport, and obtained the mail-bag. At the post-office, I happened to meet the landlord of the hotel, who wanted to know how Squire Fishley was. I told him he was quite well.
"They say there was a man drowned in the river last night," he added. "I'm glad to hear from Squire Fishley."
"It wasn't the squire," I replied. "He went home with me."
"It was somebody else then; but nobody seems to know who it was."