"You may as well think of raising the Goblins on which she sank." "She can be raised, mother." "Perhaps she can, but you can't raise her." "I shall try, at any rate," replied Lawry confidently. The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the ferryman. The son cast an anxious glance at his father, as the latter took his accustomed place at the table. A forced smile played about the lips of Mr. Wilford; but Lawry interpreted it as an effort to overcome the sense of humiliation his father must feel at having his dishonest intentions discovered by his son. "Well, Lawry, I found him," said Mr. Wilford. "Did you? I'm very glad you did," replied the son. "Who?" asked Mrs. Wilford. "The bank man--the one that lost the money," replied the ferryman. "What did you want of him?" "We found his money after he had gone." "Did you? I'm so glad! And neither of you said a word to me about it." "I gave it back to him, and it's all right now." Unhappily, it was not all right; and the ferryman had scarcely uttered the words before a knock was heard at the door. Without awaiting the movements of Mrs. Wilford, who rose from the table to open the door, the visitors entered. Mr. Wilford turned deadly pale, for the first person that passed the threshold was the sheriff, whose face was familiar to the ferryman. He was followed by Mr. Randall and a constable. Lawry's heart sank within him when he saw who the visitors were. He feared that his father, in spite of his statement to the contrary, had been led to appropriate the six thousand dollars. It was a moment of agony to him, and he would have given his right, title, and interest in the sunken steamer for the assurance that his parent was an honest man. "I come on rather unpleasant business, Mr. Wilford," the sheriff began; "but I suppose I may as well speak out first as last." "Goodness! what can you want here!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilford. "Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Wilford," said the sheriff. "It may be all right, for what I know. Mr. Randall, here, has lost a large sum of money, and he thinks he has been robbed. I'm sure I hope it's all right." "Why, husband!" ejaculated Mrs. Wilford; "didn't you just say--" "I didn't say anything," interposed the ferryman. Lawry was quite as pale as his father. He would rather have been accused of the crime himself than had it charged upon his father; he would rather have gone to prison himself than had him dragged away on such an infamous accusation. The sheriff's encouraging words that it might be all right, had no force or comfort for him. Lawry knew that his father was guilty, and he was in despair.