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.