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HASTE AND WASTE

OR

THE YOUNG PILOT OF LAKE CHAMPLAIN

A STORY FOR YOUNG PEOPLE

BY

OLIVER OPTIC

BIOGRAPHY AND BIBLIOGRAPHY

William Taylor Adams, American author, better known and loved by boys and girls through his pseudonym "Oliver Optic," was born July 30, 1822, in the town of Medway, Norfolk County, Massachusetts, about twenty-five miles from Boston. For twenty years he was a teacher in the Public Schools of Boston, where he came in close contact with boy life. These twenty years taught him how to reach the boy's heart and interest as the popularity of his books attest.

His story writing began in 1850 when he was twenty-eight years old and his first book was published in 1853. He also edited "The Oliver Optic Magazine," "The Student and Schoolmate," "Our Little Ones."

Mr. Adams died at the age of seventy-five years, in Boston, March 27, 1897.

He was a prolific writer and his stories are most attractive and unobjectionable. Most of his books were published in series. Probably the most famous of these is "The Boat Club Series" which comprises the following titles:

"The Boat Club," "All Aboard," "Now or Never," "Try Again," "Poor and Proud," "Little by Little." All of these titles will be found in this edition.

Other well-known series are his "Soldier Boy Series," "Sailor Boy Series," "Woodville Stories." The "Woodville Stories" will also be found in this edition.

CHAPTER I

THE SQUALL ON THE LAKE

"Stand by, Captain John!" shouted Lawry Wilford, a stout boy of fourteen, as he stood at the helm of a sloop, which was going before the wind up Lake Champlain.

"What's the matter, Lawry?" demanded the captain.

"We're going to have a squall," continued the young pilot, as he glanced at the tall peaks of the Adirondacks.

There was a squall in those clouds, in the judgment of Lawry Wilford; but having duly notified the captain of the impending danger to his craft, he did not assume any further responsibility in the management of the sloop. It was very quiet on the lake; the water was smooth, and the tiny waves sparkled in the bright sunshine. There was no roll of distant thunder to admonish the voyagers, and the youth at the helm was so much accustomed to squalls and tempests, which are of frequent occurrence on the lake, that they had no terrors to him. It was dinner-time, and the young pilot, fearful that the unexpected guest might reduce the rations to a low ebb for the second table, was more concerned about this matter than about the squall.

Captain John, as he was familiarly called on board the Missisque, which was the name of the sloop, was not a man to be cheated out of any portion of his dinner by the approach of a squall; and though his jaws may have moved more rapidly after the announcement of the young pilot, he did not neglect even the green-apple pies, the first of the season, prepared with care and skill by Mrs. Captain John, who resided on board, and did "doctor's" duty at the galley. Captain John did not abate a single mouthful of the meal, though he knew how rapidly the mountain showers and squalls travel over the lake. The sloop did not usually make more than four or five miles an hour, being deeply laden with lumber, which was piled up so high on the deck that the mainsail had to be reefed, to make room for it.

The passenger, Mr. Randall, was a director of a country bank, journeying to Shoreham, about twenty miles above the point where he had embarked in the Missisque. He had crossed the lake in the ferry, intending to take the steamer at Westport for his destination. Being a man who was always in a hurry, but never in season, he had reached the steamboat landing just in time to see the boat moving off. Procuring a wherry, and a boy to row it, he had boarded the Missisque as she passed up the lake; and, though the sloop was not a passenger-boat, Captain John had consented to land him at Shoreham.

Mr. Randall was a landsman, and had a proper respect for squalls and tempests, even on a fresh-water lake. He heard the announcement of Lawry Wilford with a feeling of dread and apprehension, and straightway began to conjure up visions of a terrible shipwreck, and of sole survivors, clinging with the madness of desperation to broken spars, in the midst of the storm-tossed waters. But Mr. Randall was a director of a country bank, and a certain amount of dignity was expected and required of him. His official position before the people of Vermont demanded that he should not give way to idle fears. If Captain Jones, who was not a bank director, could keep cool, it was Mr. Randall's solemn duty to remain unmoved, or at least to appear to remain so.

The passenger finished the first course of the dinner, which Mrs. Captain John had made a little more elaborate than usual, in honor of the distinguished guest; but he complained of the smallness of his appetite, and it was evident that he did not enjoy the meal after the brief colloquy between the skipper and the pilot. He was nervous; his dignity was a "bore" to him, and was maintained at an immense sacrifice of personal ease; but he persevered until a piece of the dainty green-apple pie was placed before him, when he lacerated the tender feelings of Mrs. Captain John by abruptly leaving the table and rushing on deck.

This hurried movement was hardly to be regarded as a sacrifice of his dignity, for it was made with what even the skipper's lady was compelled to allow was a reasonable excuse.

"Gracious!" exclaimed Mr. Randall, as the tempting piece of green-apple pie, reeking with indigenous juices was placed before him.

At the same moment the bank director further indicated his astonishment and horror by slapping both hands upon his breast in a style worthy of Brutus when Rome was in peril.

"What's the matter, squire?" demanded Captain John, dropping his knife and fork, and suspending the operation of his vigorous jaws till an explanation could be obtained.

"I've left my coat on deck," replied Mr. Randall, rising from his chair.

"It's just as safe there as 'twould be on your back, squire," added the skipper.

"There's six thousand dollars in the pocket of that coat," said the bank director, with a gasp of apprehension. "Where's my coat?" demanded he.

"There it is," replied Lawry Wilford, pointing to the garment under the rail. "We had a flaw of wind just now, and it came pretty near being blowed overboard."

"Gracious!" exclaimed Mr. Randall, as he clutched the coat. "I'm too careless to live! There's six thousand dollars in a pocket of that coat."

"Six thousand dollars!" ejaculated Lawry, whose ideas of such a sum of money were very indefinite. "I should say you ought not to let it lie round loose in this way."

"I'm very careless; but the money is safe," continued the director.

"Stand by, Captain John!" suddenly shouted Lawry, with tremendous energy, as he put the helm down. The squall was coming up the lake in the track of the Missisque; a dull, roaring sound was heard astern; and all the mountain peaks had disappeared, closed in by the dense volume of black clouds. The episode of the bank director's coat had distracted the attention of the young pilot for a moment, and he had not observed the rapid swoop of the squall, as it bore down upon the sloop. He leaped over the piles of lumber to the forecastle, and had cast loose the peak-halyard, when Captain John tumbled up the companionway in time to see that he had lingered too long over the green-apple pie, and that one piece would have been better for his vessel, if not for him.

"Let go the throat-halyard!" roared he. "Down with the mainsail! down with the mainsail!"

Lawry did not need any prompting to do his duty; but before he could let go the throat-halyard, the squall was upon the sloop. Mr. Randall had seized hold of the rail, and was crouching beneath the bulwark, expecting to go to the bottom of the lake, for he was too much excited to make a comparison of the specific gravities of pine boards and fresh water, and therefore did not realize that lumber would float, and not sink.

The squall did its work in an instant; and before the bank director had fairly begun to tremble, the rotten mainsail of the Missisque was blown into ribbons, and the "flapping flitters" were streaming in the air. Piece after piece was detached from the bolt-rope, and disappeared in the heavy atmosphere. The sloop, in obedience to her helm, came about, and was now headed down the lake. The rain began to fall in torrents, and Mr. Randall was as uncomfortable as the director of a country bank could be.

"Go below, sir!" shouted Captain John to the unhappy man.

"Is it safe?" asked Mr. Randall.

"Safe enough."

"Won't she sink?"

"Sink? no; she can't sink," replied the skipper. "The wu'st on't's over now."

The fury of the squall was spent in a moment, and then the fury of Captain John began to gather, as he saw the remnants of the sail flapping at the gaff and the boom. The Missisque and her cargo were safe, and not a single one of the precious lives of her crew had been sacrificed; but the skipper was as dissatisfied as the skipper of a lake sloop could be; more so, probably, than if the vessel had gone to the bottom, and left him clinging for life to a lone spar on the angry waters, for men are often more reasonable under great than under small misfortunes.

"Why didn't you let go that throat-halyard?" said he, as he walked forward to where the young pilot stood.

"I did," replied Lawry quietly.

"You did! What was the use of lettin' it go after the squall had split the sail? Why didn't you do it sooner?"

"I did it as soon as I saw the squall coming down on us."

"Why didn't you see it before then?" growled Captain John.

"I told you the squall was coming half an hour ago. Why didn't you come on deck, and attend to your vessel?"

"Don't be sassy," said Captain John.

"I'm not the skipper of this craft. If I had been, that sail would have been safe. I told you the squall was coming, and after that I did the best I could."

"You ain't good for nothin' 'board a vessel. I thought you knew enough to take in sail when you saw a squall comin'."

"I should have taken in sail long ago if I had thought the captain didn't know enough to come on deck when there was a squall coming up," replied Lawry.

"I don't want nothin' more of you."

"And I don't want anything more of you," added Lawry smartly. "I've got almost home."

"What do you s'pose I'm goin' to do here, eighty mile from Whitehall, with the mainsail blowed clean out?" snarled Captain John, as he followed Lawry.

"Mind your vessel better than you have, I hope."

"Don't be sassy, boy."

"You needn't growl at me because you neglected your duty. I did mine. I was casting off the halyards when the squall came."

"Why didn't you do it before? That's what I want to know."

"I had no orders from the captain. Men on board a vessel don't take in sail till they are told to do so. When I saw the squall coming, half an hour ago, I let you know it; that was all I had to do with it."

"I don't want you in this vessel; you are too smart for me," continued Captain John.

"I'll leave her just as soon as we get to Port Rock," said Lawry, sitting down on the rail.

The rain ceased in a few moments, and the skipper ordered the jib, which had before been useless, to be set. At the invitation of Mrs. Captain John, Lawry went below and ate his dinner, to which he felt himself entitled, for he was working his passage up from Plattsburg. By the time he had disposed of the last piece of green-apple pie on board, the Missisque was before Port Rock, which was the home of the young pilot, and he saw his father's ferry-boat at the shore as he came on deck.

"Will you put me ashore here, Captain John?" asked Lawry.

"Yes, I will; and I'm glad to get rid of you," replied the captain testily.

"I think I will land here, also," added the bank director. "Now you have lost your sail, I'm afraid you won't get along very fast."

"I don't expect I shall. I sha'n't get to Shoreham till to-morrow morning with this wind. I'm sorry it happened so; but that boy didn't mind what he was about."

"The captain didn't mind what he was about," added Lawry. "He needn't lay it to me, when it was all his own fault."

"I will cross the lake, and get a horse at Pointville, so that I shall be in Shoreham by five o'clock," continued the bank director.

Captain John ordered one of the men to pull Mr. Randall and Lawry ashore in the boat, and in a few minutes they were landed at Port Rock.

CHAPTER II

THE PORT ROCK FERRY

Lawrence Wilford was a full-fledged water-fowl. From his earliest childhood he had paddled in Lake Champlain. His father had a small place, consisting of ten acres of land with a small cottage; but it was still encumbered with a mortgage, as it had been for twenty years, though the note had passed through several hands, and had been three times renewed. John Wilford was not a very sagacious nor a very energetic man, and had not distinguished himself in the race for wealth or for fame. He wanted to be rich, but he was not willing to pay the price of riches.

His place was a short distance from the village of Port Rock, and John Wilford, at the time he had purchased the land and built his house, had established a ferry, which had been, and was still, his principal means of support; for there was considerable travel between Port Rock and Pointville, on the Vermont side of the lake.

The ferryman was a poor man, and was likely to remain a poor man to the end of his life. Hardly a day passed in which he did not sigh to be rich, and complain of the unequal and unjust distribution of property. He could point to a score of men who had not worked half so hard as he had, in his own opinion, that had made fortunes, or at least won a competence, while he was as poor as ever, and in danger of having his place taken away from him. People said that John Wilford was lazy; that he did not make the most of his land, and that his ferry, with closer attention to the wants of passengers, might be made to pay double the amount he made from it. He permitted the weeds to grow in his garden, and compelled people to wait by the hour for a passage across the lake.

John Wilford wondered that he could not grow rich, that he could not pay off the mortgage on his place. He seldom sat down to dinner without grumbling at his hard lot. His wife was a sensible woman. She did not wonder that he did not grow rich; only that he contrived to keep out of the poorhouse. She was the mother of eight children, and if he had been half as smart as she was, prosperity would have smiled upon the family. As it was, her life was filled up with struggles to make the ends meet; but, though she had the worst of it, she did not complain, and did all she could to comfort and encourage her thriftless husband.

The oldest son was as near like his father as one person could be like another. He was eighteen years old, and was an idle and dissolute fellow. Lawrence, the second son, inherited his mother's tack and energy. He was observing and enterprising, and had already made a good reputation as a boatman and pilot. He had worked in various capacities on board of steamers, canal-boats, sloops, and schooners, and in five years had visited every part of the lake from Whitehall to St. Johns.

Speaking technically, his bump of locality was large, and he was as familiar with the navigation of the lake as any pilot on its waters. Indeed, he had occasionally served as a pilot on board steamers and other vessels, which had earned for him the name of the Young Pilot, by which he was often called. But his business was not piloting, for there was but little of this work to be done. Unlike his father, he was willing to do anything which would afford him a fair compensation, and in his five years of active life on the lake he had been a pilot, a deck-hand, a waiter, and a kitchen assistant on board steamers, and a sailor, helmsman, and cook on board other craft. He picked up considerable money, for a boy, by his enterprise, which, like a good son with a clear apprehension of domestic circumstances, he gave to his mother. At the time of his introduction to the reader, Lawry had just piloted a canal-boat, with movable masts, from Whitehall to Plattsburg, and was working his passage home on the "Missisque.

"Captain John feels bad about the loss of his sail," said Mr.
Randall, as the sloop's boat pulled off from the shore.

"Yes, he does; but it was his own fault," replied Lawry. "He paid too much attention to his dinner at the time."

"That's true; he was very fond of the green-apple pies."

"Well, they were good," added the young pilot.

"I'm sorry he lost his sail."

"It wasn't worth much, though it was a bad time to lose it."

"He lost his temper, too. I wanted to land on the other side, but the captain was so cross I didn't like to ask him when we were so close to this shore. Your father is the ferryman, I believe."

"Yes, sir."

"Will you ask him to take me over?"

"He's going right over in the large boat, for there's a team waiting for him," replied Lawry, pointing to a horse and wagon, the owner of which had sounded the horn just as the passengers from the boat landed.

"Ask him to be as quick as possible, for I'm in a hurry," added the bank director.

"Won't you come into the house, sir?"

"No, I will sit down under this tree."

Lawry went into the house, where the family were at dinner, the meal having been delayed by the absence of the ferryman on the other side of the lake. The youth was greeted coldly by his father, and very warmly by his mother.

"I'm glad you've got home, Lawry, for Mr. Sherwood has been after you three times," said Mrs. Wilford, when the young pilot had been duly welcomed by all the family.

"What does he want?" asked Lawry.

"His little steamboat is at Port Henry, and he wants you to go up and pilot her down."

"The Woodville?"

"Yes, that's her name, I believe."

"Well, I'm all ready to go."

"Sit down and eat your dinner.

"I've been to dinner."

"Mr. Sherwood wanted you to go up in the Sherman; but it is too late for her, and he may go in the night boat."

"I'm ready when he is. Father, there is a gentleman outside who wants to go over the lake; and there is a team waiting in the road," continued Lawry.

"They must wait till I've done my dinner," replied the ferryman.
"Who is the gentleman?"

"Mr. Randall; he is a director in a bank, and has six thousand dollars with him."

"I suppose so; every man but me has six thousand dollars in his pocket. Where's he going to?"

"To Shoreham, and he wants to get there by five o'clock, if he can."

"What's he traveling with so much money for?"

"I don't know. It is in his coat pocket, and it would have gone overboard if it hadn't been for me."

The ferryman finished his dinner in moody silence. He seemed to be thinking of the subject always uppermost in his mind, his thoughts stimulated, no doubt, by the fact that his expected passenger carried a large sum of money on his person.

"Mr. Randall is in a hurry, father," interposed Lawry, when the ferryman had sat a good half-hour after his son's arrival.

"He must wait till I get ready. He's got money, and I haven't; but I'm just as good as he is. I don't know why I'm poor when so many men are rich. But I'm going to be rich, somehow or other," said he, with more earnestness than he usually exhibited. "I'm too honest for my own good. I'm going to do as other men do; and I shall wake up rich some morning, as they do. Then I sha'n't have to go when folks blow the horn. They'll be willing to wait for me then."

"Don't keep the gentleman waiting, father," added Mrs. Wilford.

"I'm going to be rich, somehow or other," continued the ferryman, still pursuing the exciting line of thought he had before taken up. "I'm going to be rich, by hook or by crook."

"This making haste to get rich ruins men sometimes, husband; and haste makes waste then."

"If I can only get rich, I'll risk being ruined," said John Wilford, as he rose from the table and put on his hat.

He looked more moody and discontented than usual. Instead of hastening to do the work which was waiting for him, he stood before the window, looking out into the garden. Mrs. Wilford told him the gentleman would be impatient, and he finally left the house and walked down to the ferry-boat.

"I wonder what your father is thinking about," said Mrs. Wilford, as the door closed behind him.

"I don't know," replied Lawry; "he don't seem to be thinking that people won't wait forever for him. I guess I'll go up to Mr. Sherwood's, and see when he wants me."

"You must fix up a little before you go," replied the prudent mother. "They are very grand people up at Mr. Sherwood's, and you must look as well as you can."

"I'll put on my best clothes," added Lawry.

In half an hour he had changed his dress, and looked like another boy. Mrs. Wilford adjusted a few stray locks of his hair, and as he put on his new straw hat, and left the house, her eye followed him with a feeling of motherly pride. He was a good boy, and had the reputation of being a very smart boy, and she may be pardoned for the parental vanity with which she regarded him. While he visits the house of Mr. Sherwood, we will follow his father down to the ferry, where the bank director was impatiently waiting his appearance.

After the shower the sun had come out brightly, and the wind had abated so that there was hardly breeze enough to ruffle the waters of the lake. It was intensely warm, and Mr. Randall had taken off his coat again, but he was careful to keep it on his arm. At the approach of the ferryman he went into the boat, where he was followed by the vehicle that had been waiting so long for a passage across the lake.

John Wilford pushed off the boat with a pole, and trimmed the sail, which was the motive power of the craft when there was any wind. The ferry-boat was a large bateau, or flatboat, the slope at the ends being so gradual that a wagon could pass down over it to the bottom of the boat. This inclined plane was extended by a movable platform about six feet wide, which swung horizontally up and down, like a great trap-door. When the ferry-boat touched the shore, this platform was let down upon the ground, forming a slope on which carriages were driven into and out of the bateau.

The wind was very light, and the clumsy craft moved very slowly—so slowly that the passage promised to be a severe trial to the patience of Mr. Randall, who hoped to reach Shoreham by five o'clock. He was not in a very amiable frame of mind; he was angry at the delay in starting, and he was vexed because the wind would not blow. He walked nervously from the forward platform to the after one, with his coat still on his arm.

"We shall not get over to-night," said he impatiently, as he stopped by the side of the ferryman, and threw his coat down upon the platform, while he wiped the perspiration from his brow.

"Yes, I guess we shall," replied John Wilford.

"I'll give you a dollar if you will land me at Pointville by three o'clock."

"I can't make the wind blow, if you would give me a hundred dollars."

"Can't you use the pole or the oars?" said the bank director petulantly; "you kept me waiting half an hour before you started."

"I couldn't help that," replied John Wilford.

Mr. Randall walked to the forward platform, fretting with impatience at the indifference of the ferryman. He stood for a few moments gazing at the Vermont shore, and appeared to be engaged in estimating the distance yet to be accomplished. The calculation was not satisfactory, and the bank director's wrath was on the increase. With hasty step he walked aft again.

"I think we shall have more wind in a minute," said John Wilford, as he stepped down from the platform and adjusted the sheet.

"If we don't, I shall go crazy," replied Mr. Randall.

When he had placed one foot on the platform, by some means the drop, true to its name, went down and splashed in the water. The bank director stepped back in season to save himself from a cold bath or a watery grave, as the case might be.

"My coat! save my coat!" shouted Mr. Randall, as the garment rolled off the platform into the water.

"Why didn't you hold on to it?" said John Wilford.

"Save my coat! There is six thousand dollars in the pocket," groaned the unhappy bank director.

CHAPTER III

SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS

Within half a mile of the ferryman's cottage, at Port Rock, was the summer residence of Mr. Sherwood, who, two years before, had become the husband of Bertha Grant, of Woodville. The scenery in the vicinity was beautiful, and the mansion commanded a splendid view of the Adirondack Mountains and of the lake.

Mr. Sherwood was an enthusiastic admirer of the scenery of Lake Champlain. His constant visits at Woodville had given him a taste for aquatic sports, in which he was disposed to indulge on a larger scale than ever had been known at Woodville. He had been remarkably fortunate in his financial operations, and was already a wealthy man. Though he did not retire from active business, he had taken a partner, which enabled him to spend a part of his time during the summer at his country house on the lake.

Mr. Grant had gone to Europe a second time, to be absent during the summer, and Miss Fanny and Fanny Jane had accepted Bertha's invitation to spend a few weeks at Port Rock. A splendid time had been promised them by Mrs. Sherwood, who had made extensive preparations for their visit. The arrangements included a novelty which offered a very brilliant prospect to the party, and excited the imagination even of the older ones to the highest pitch.

This novelty was nothing less than a miniature steamboat, which had already been christened the Woodville, in honor of the home of the owner's lady. She was a splendid little craft, and as perfect in her machinery and appointments as any steamer that ever floated. She was a side-wheel boat, sixty feet in length, by twelve feet beam. Forward there were a regular wheel-house, a small kitchen, and other rooms usually found in a steamer. Abaft the wheels there were a saloon and two staterooms. Of course all these apartments, as well as the cabin below, were very contracted in their dimensions; but they were fitted up in the most elegant style.

The Woodville had cost a great deal of money; but her owner expected to realize a full return for it in the enjoyment she would afford him, his wife, and their friends. She had been sent up the Hudson, and through the canal to Whitehall, and thence to Port Henry, where she had arrived on the day before Lawry Wilford's return to Port Rock.

On board of the little steamer there is an old friend of our readers. He may be found in the engine-room; and as he rubs up the polished iron of the machinery, he is thinking of Fanny Jane Grant, with whom he escaped from the Indians in Minnesota, and whom he expects on board with Mr. Sherwood's party. The young man, now sixteen years of age, is the engineer of the Woodville. Though he has been but two years learning the trade of machinist, he is as thoroughly acquainted with every part of a marine-engine as though he had spent his lifetime in studying it.

The engine of the Woodville was built at the works where Ethan French was learning his trade, and he had been employed in its construction. As he was a frequent visitor at Woodville, he had petitioned for the situation he now held. At first, Mr. Sherwood was not willing to trust him; but Ethan's employers declared that he was a man in everything but years, and was fully competent to manage the engine, and even to build one after the designs were made. He had come up from New York in the steamer. He had seen Mr. Sherwood at Port Henry, on his arrival, and had been ordered to have the boat in readiness to start on the following morning, when the family would be passengers.

Mr. Sherwood had already selected Lawry Wilford as the pilot of the Woodville. He was small in stature, and would look better in the wheel-house than a full-grown man. He had often met the young pilot, and had been greatly pleased with his energy and decision. Lawry had been employed by Miss Fanny several times to row her on the lake; and he had served her so faithfully that her influence was not wanting in procuring for him the situation.

Lawry, not yet informed of the honorable and responsible position which had been awarded to him, walked up to Mr. Sherwood's house. He had heard Miss Fanny speak of the Woodville, while in the boat with him, and had listened with delight to her enthusiastic description of the beautiful craft. He was quite as anxious to see her as any of the party who were more directly interested in her.

"Can I see Mr. Sherwood?" asked Lawry.

"He has gone away," replied the man.

"Where has he gone?"

"To Port Henry; he went in the carriage, and is coming back in the new steamboat."

"Has he got a pilot?" continued Lawry anxiously.

"I don't know; he expected you, I believe; but when you didn't come back, he couldn't wait any longer. I heard him say he could pilot her himself, and I suppose he is going to do so."

"I'm sorry I didn't see him; I have but just got home," replied Lawry.

He wanted to pilot the beautiful little steamer up from Port Henry. He wanted to see her; wanted to make her acquaintance, for she promised to be the belle of the lake. He was sorry to lose the chance, for it might prove to be a valuable one to him. Mr. Sherwood was very liberal, and he hoped he would not engage another pilot. It was no use to complain, and Lawry walked back to the ferry, where he could see the steamer when she arrived. When he reached the landing-place, the ferry-boat was about halfway across the lake, and his attention was attracted by the strange movements of those on board of her. His father was laboring at the steering-oar with a zeal which indicated that some unusual event had occurred. The ferry-boat was thrown up into the wind, and while Lawry was waiting to ascertain what the matter was, his father leaped into the water.

It was now evident to Lawry that something serious had happened, and he sprang into the small keel-boat, used for conveying foot-passengers across the lake, which was fastened to a stake on the shore. Taking the oars, he pulled with all his might toward the ferry-boat. He was a stout boy, and handled his oars very skillfully; but before he could reach the scene of the excitement, his father had returned to the bateau.

"There's your coat," said John Wilford.

Mr. Randall seized the garment with convulsive energy, and with trembling hands felt for the pocketbook in which the six thousand dollars had been kept.

"It is gone!" gasped he; and he seemed ready to sink down in the bottom of the boat when he discovered his loss.

"Gone!" exclaimed John Wilford.

"What's the matter?" asked Lawry.

"I've lost my pocketbook with six thousand dollars in it," groaned the bank director.

"How did you lose it?" demanded Lawry.

"That drop came down and let my coat into the lake; but I don't see how my pocketbook could get out of the coat."

"I don't believe the money was in the pocket," added the ferryman.

"Yes, it was," persisted Mr. Randall.

"I don't see how it could fall out of the pocket," said John Wilford.

"Nor I; but the money is gone," answered the bank director, with a vacant stare. "I'm ruined!"

"Well, I can't help it. I've done all I could for you. I tried to save it; and if I get the rheumatism for a month or two, it will be a bad job for me."

"Wasn't the pocketbook in the pocket when you picked up the coat?" asked Mr. Randall, walking up to the ferryman.

"How should I know?" replied John Wilford. "I gave you the coat just as I found it."

"I don't believe the pocketbook would sink," added the director.
"There was nothing but paper in it."

"Of course it wouldn't sink, then," interposed the owner of the vehicle in the ferry-boat.

"I don't think it would," said Mr. Randall.

"I know it wouldn't," protested the stranger. "I dropped my pocketbook into the lake once, and it floated ten minutes before I could get it again."

"Then it must be floating about on the water," added Lawry. "I will try to find it."

"I'll go with you," said Mr. Randall.

They got into the boat, and Lawry pulled about the spot where the coat had fallen into the water for half an hour without discovering the pocketbook.

"I suppose I must give it up," sighed the director.

"I'm sure it's not on the water," replied Lawry.

"Do you suppose it would sink?"

"I don't know; the gentleman in the ferry-boat says it wouldn't."

"Stop a minute, boy, and I will soon find out," continued the unfortunate loser of the money.

He took all the money and papers out of his wallet, and stuffed it with pieces of newspaper which Lawry gave him. Having thus prepared the wallet, which he said was of the same material as the lost pocketbook, he placed it on the surface of the water, holding his hand underneath to save it, in case the trial should result differently from his anticipations. It floated, and he removed his hand from under it to exhibit his confidence in the law he had tested.

"That's plain enough," said he. "My pocketbook hasn't gone to the bottom."

"It certainly has not," replied Lawry.

"Then where is it?—that's the next question."

"Are you sure it was in your pocket when you got into the ferry-boat?"

"Just as sure as I am that I sit here."

"You were very careless about your coat on board of the sloop."

"I know I was."

"I don't see how a man could throw down his coat with six thousand dollars in the pocket," said Lawry.

"I know I'm careless; but I'm so used to carrying money that I don't think much about it. I always carry it in a pocket inside of my vest," continued the director, putting his hand in the place indicated; "but this is a new vest, and hasn't any such pocket. Things don't look all right to me. Is the ferryman your father?"

"Yes, sir; he is."

"Well, the money's gone," added Mr. Randall. "We will go back to the ferry-boat."

"Did you find it?" asked John Wilford, as the bank director stepped into the bateau.

"No; but I'm certain it has not gone to the bottom."

"Where is it, then?"

"I don't know; can you tell me?"

Mr. Randall looked at the ferryman very sharply. His manner indicated that he had some suspicions.

"How can I tell you?" replied John Wilford.

"The money was in the coat pocket when you picked it up in the water—I know it was."

"Do you mean to say I took it out?" demanded the ferryman angrily.

"If you didn't, I don't see what has become of it."

"Do you mean to accuse my father of stealing?" said Lawry indignantly.

"I don't accuse him of anything; but here are the facts, and you can all see for yourselves."

"You throw your coat down anywhere. It would have gone overboard from the sloop if I hadn't saved it; and it won't do for so careless a man as you are to accuse anybody of stealing your money," added Lawry angrily.

"Very likely you lost it out of the pocket before you got into the ferry-boat."

"Never mind him, Lawry. I haven't got his pocketbook," interposed the ferryman.

"I know you haven't, father; and it makes me mad to hear him accuse you of stealing it."

"Mr. Randall, if you think I've got your money, I want you to satisfy yourself on the point at once," continued John Wilford, turning to the director.

"I hope you haven't."

"But you think I have. Search me, then."

Greatly to the indignation of Lawry, Mr. Randall did search the ferryman; turned out his pockets, and examined every part of his wet garments. The pocketbook was not upon his person; and the loser, in spite of the laws of specific gravity, which he had just demonstrated, was almost compelled to believe that his money had gone to the bottom of the lake.

CHAPTER IV

THE STEAMER "WOODVILLE"

Mr. Randall, now that his money was lost, declared that he had no business in Shoreham, and it was useless for him to go there. The six thousand dollars belonged to his bank, and, having an opportunity to put this sum in circulation, where it would be "kept out" for several weeks, he was making this journey to accomplish the business. He facetiously remarked that it was likely to be kept out longer than was desirable.

Lawry was so sure Mr. Randall had dropped the pocketbook on the shore before he got into the ferry-boat, that he insisted upon returning to Pork Rock and having the ground searched. Though the bank director was satisfied that the pocketbook was safe in his possession when he entered the bateau, he was willing to return, since the object of his journey had been defeated, and Lawry pulled him back to the landing-place. The ground under the tree, and over which Mr. Randall had walked while waiting for the ferryman, was carefully examined, but the lost pocketbook could not be found.

The bank director had very little to say after he left the ferry-boat; but he was very thoughtful, as a man who had lost six thousand dollars might reasonably be. After the search on shore was completed, he walked off toward the village without mentioning his intentions, but he looked as though he purposed to do something.

"What's the matter, Lawry?" asked Mrs. Wilford, who had been watching the movements of Mr. Randall and her son from the window, as she came out of the house.

"The gentleman has lost his money—six thousand dollars," replied
Lawry.

"Lost it!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilford, recalling the conversation with her husband at dinner.

"His coat fell overboard, and the pocketbook dropped out."

"Fell into the lake," added she, with a feeling of relief.

"Yes; father swam out and got the coat, but the money was gone."

Mrs. Wilford returned to the house. Perhaps she had some misgivings, and felt more than before that those who make haste to be rich are often ruined; but she said nothing. Lawry was perplexed at the disappearance of the money. Mr. Randall had proved that a pocketbook with nothing but paper in it would not sink within a reasonable time. If the lost treasure had fallen into the water, he would certainly have found it. If it had been dropped on shore or in the ferry-boat, it would not have disappeared so strangely.

Lawry was so positive that the pocketbook was still in the ferry-boat, or on the shore, that he renewed the search, and carefully scrutinized every foot of ground between the house and the landing-place, but with no better success than before. By this time the ferry-boat, which had been favored by a good wind during the last half-hour, returned.

"What do you suppose became of that pocketbook, father?" asked
Lawry, as he stepped into the boat.

"I don't know. I don't believe he lost any pocketbook," replied John
Wilford.

"He says he did, and I saw it myself."

"Perhaps you did, but I don't believe there was any six thousand dollars in it. If there had been, he wouldn't have thrown it about as he did."

"He says there was six thousand dollars in the pocketbook."

"I don't believe it. It's a likely story that a man would throw down his coat, with all that money in the pocket, on the drop. In my opinion it's some trick to cheat his creditors out of their just due."

"It don't seem possible."

"That's the truth, you may depend upon it. That's the way men make money."

Lawry was by no means satisfied with this explanation. He went into the boat, and carefully searched every part of it. His father watched him with considerable interest, declaring that it was useless to look for what had not been lost.

"You had better go up and see Mr. Sherwood now," said Mr. Wilford.

"I have been up, and he was not at home."

"You better go again, then."

"He has gone to Port Henry after the new steamer."

"Has he got a pilot?"

"Not that I know of."

"He can't get one at Port Henry," said the ferryman.

"I suppose he is going to pilot her himself."

"He will pilot her on the rocks, then. He don't know anything about
Lake Champlain. Why don't you row up the lake till you meet the boat?"

"I was thinking of doing so, but I can't keep this money out of my mind."

"Why need you trouble yourself about that?" demanded the father impatiently.

"It was lost in your boat, and I am very anxious that it should be found. I'm sure Mr. Randall thinks you've got it."

"Well, he searched me, and found out that I hadn't got it—didn't he?" added Mr. Wilford, with a sickly smile.

"I don't like to have you suspected of such a thing, and for that reason I want to find the money."

"You can't find it, and I tell you he hasn't lost any money. He's going to cheat the bank or his creditors out of six thousand dollars."

"I don't believe he would do such a thing as that."

"We have looked everywhere for the money, and it can't be found. It's no use to bother any more about the matter. It's gone, and that's the end of it—if he lost it at all. You have looked all over the ferry-boat, and it isn't there. If it had been floating in the lake, you couldn't help seeing it. Now, you better take your boat and row up the lake till you meet the steamer."

"I'm going pretty soon."

"Better go now. I'm going up after a drink of water. If you don't go pretty soon, you will be too late to do any good on board the steamer," said Mr. Wilford, hoping, if he left the spot, his son would depart also.

Lawry hauled in the rowboat, ready to embark; but, before he did so, he made one more search in the bateau for the pocketbook. The timbers of the ferry-boat were ceiled over on the bottom, leaving a space for the leakage between the inner and the outer planking. Near the mast there was a well, from which, with a grain-shovel, the water was thrown out. Lawry examined this hole, feeling under the planks, and thrusting the shovel in as far as he could. This search was unavailing, and he gave it up in despair. As he stepped on shore, his curiosity prompted him to look under the platform outside of the boat.

The pocketbook was there!

In a space between the planks, a foot above the surface of the water, and the same distance from the side, the pocketbook was thrust in. It could not be seen from the inside of the boat, nor from the platform; and it could not have got there of itself.

Lawry's face turned red, and his heart bounded with emotion, for the situation of the pocketbook pointed to but one conclusion. It had been placed there by his father, who had evidently taken it from the pocket of the coat, and concealed it, either before or after the garment had fallen into the water. He was appalled and horrified at the discovery. He knew that his father was discontented with his lot; that he was indolent and thriftless; but he did not think him capable of committing a crime.

He reached under the platform, and took the pocketbook from its hiding-place. It was perfectly dry; it had not been in the water. John Wilford had probably taken it from the coat pocket, and after thrusting it into the aperture beneath the drop, had let the platform fall into the water for the purpose of dislodging the coat, and making it appear that the money had been lost in the lake.

The pocketbook seemed to burn in Lawry's fingers, and he returned it to the place where he had found it; for he was confused, and did not know what to do. He stood, with flushed face and beating heart, on the shore, considering what course he should take. He could not think of exposing his father's crime, on the one hand, or of permitting him to retain the money, on the other.

After long and painful deliberation, he decided to take the pocketbook, follow Mr. Randall, and return it to him, telling him that he had found it under the drop of the boat. He was about to adopt this course when his father came out of the house, and walked down to the ferry-boat.

"Not gone yet?" said Mr. Wilford.

"No, sir; that money has troubled me so much that I could not go," replied Lawry.

"What's the use of bothering your head about that any longer?" added the father petulantly.

"It troubles me terribly."

"Let it go; it can't be found, and that's the end of it."

"But it can be found."

"Why don't you find it, then?"

"I have found it, father!"

"What!"

"It's in a crack under the platform," replied Lawry.

"You don't mean so!" exclaimed the ferryman.

"It's no use to talk round the barn, father; the pocket-book is just where you put it."

"Where I put it? What do you mean, Lawry?"

"There it is in the crack under the drop, a foot above the water. It did not wash in there of itself. Oh, father!"

Lawry, unable longer to control his feelings, burst into tears.

"What are you crying about, Lawry? Do you think I hid the pocketbook?"

"I know you did, father," sobbed Lawry.

"Do you accuse me of stealing?" demanded Mr. Wilford, with a weak show of indignation.

"I don't accuse you of anything, father; but there it is."

"You mean to say that I stole it?"

"Oh, father!"

"Stop your whining, Lawry! What possessed you to poke round after what did not concern you? Now, shut up, and go off about your business."

"You will not keep it, father?"

"I haven't got it. If you have found it, I suppose there is time enough to think what is best to be done."

"I don't want any time to think of it," replied Lawry; and before his father could prevent him, he took the pocketbook from its place of concealment.

"What are you going to do with it?" demanded Mr. Wilford.

"I'm going to find Mr. Randall, and give it back to him, as quick as
I can."

"What's the use of doing that?"

"Because it's the right way to do."

"That isn't the way to get rich."

"But it's the way to keep honest."

"Give it to me, Lawry."

"What are you going to do with it, father?"