Your true friend,
Caleb Wetherbee,
Mate of the Silver Swan.
CHAPTER VIII
SOMETHING ABOUT LEAVING THE FARM
Certainly Uncle Arad Tarr had never been so filled with astonishment in his life as he was upon reading the letter of the mate of the Silver Swan to the captain’s son.
Diamonds enough to make Brandon a second Vanderbilt! The thought almost made Arad’s old heart stand still.
“Who’d er-thought it—who’d ever er-thought it?” he muttered weakly, folding the letter once more, and thrusting it into the pocket of his patched coat.
Then he picked up the reins and drove on, shaking his head slowly.
“Diamonds enough ter make him rich!” he murmured, with an avaricious contortion of his face. “Jest ter think o’ Anson Tarr ever gittin’ more’n his bread and butter. It don’t seem ter me he c’d ha’ got ’em honest.”
He was very ready now, considering the guilty thoughts there were in his own heart, to declare the fortune gained by his nephew Anson to be dishonestly obtained.
“It jest stands ter reason,” he went on, “that this ’ere Caleb Wetherbee isn’t er—er trustworthy person to hev charge o’ Brandon—or them di’monds either. I mus’ hev them papers made out jes’ as soon as th’ square kin do it, an’ then I kin find that ’ere wreck—er hev it found—m’self.”
His mind at once reverted to Jim Leroyd, the sailor with whom he had entered into a compact to “divide the spoils,” and he shook his head again doubtfully.