“Nothing. He met with an accident,” I replied, struggling hard with the lump that seemed bound to rise in my throat. “He fell over a ravine while looking for a place to locate a mill. You can read the letter if you wish.” “I will.” Mr. Sandon adjusted his spectacles, and read the letter carefully. While he did so I sat with my head buried in my hands, trying to hide the tears that would not stop flowing. “This is from your Uncle Enos Norton, I see,” he went on. “I thought Enos Norton was dead long ago.” “I have never seen him,” I replied. “He used to be around these parts years ago when he was a young man; but he got a sudden notion to go West, and he went. He loaned your father some money, it appears.” “So he says. I don’t know what for. Father took enough along to pay his expenses,” I returned despondently. “Maybe he made a venture of some kind or another. A man is apt to risk more when he strikes a new country.” I made no reply to this remark. My heart was too full for further talk, and leaving the post-office I walked slowly back to my boat. If the prospect before had been gloomy it was now worse. The pang over the news of my father’s death overshadowed everything else; yet I could not help but remember that my uncle was soon to arrive, and that my father’s estate was indebted to him for money loaned. Entering my sloop, I was soon on the way to Torrent Bend River. The wind was still fresh, and I skirted the shore rapidly, arriving in sight of the mill at sundown. Ford stood at the door awaiting me. “Been a little longer than you expected,” he said. “Anything wrong?” “Yes, Dan; everything is wrong,” I replied. “Read that letter.” He did so; and somehow it was a comfort to see his eyes grow moist. “Dead!” he exclaimed, and then he caught me by the shoulder. “Rube, I can’t say how sorry I am for you; there ain’t words strong enough to tell it.” And without another word he led me into the mill. We passed a rather silent evening. Ford was in the habit of leaving as soon as the day’s work was over, but that night he remained. He was the first up in the morning, and when I came down I found breakfast already prepared. “Come, Rube, have a strong cup of coffee,” he said. “I know you haven’t slept a wink. I hardly got a nap myself, thinking matters over. Do you know anything about this uncle that’s coming?” “Nothing but that he was my mother’s brother.” “He seems to be mighty anxious about his money,” went on the mill-hand, who was always outspoken in his opinions. “Well, I suppose he is entitled to what is due him.” “He might have waited till he got here. Wonder when he will arrive?” “I’m sure I don’t know.” I was utterly cast down, and could not do a stroke of work. I took a walk up the river, and sat down on a rock to think the whole matter over. It was two hours later before I rose to go back. The time had been a bitter one; but now I felt better, and was ready to face whatever was to come.