There was something about the personality of Naboth Perkins that invited confidence; or perhaps it was my loneliness and need of a friend that led me to accept this astonishing uncle in good faith. Anyway, I did not hesitate to tell him my whole story, including my recent grief at the news of my dear father’s death and the startling discovery I had just made that I was penniless and in debt for my living to Mrs. Ranck. “Father has often told me,” I concluded, “that the house was mine, and had been put in Mrs. Ranck’s name because he felt she was honest, and would guard my interests in his absence. And he told me there was a store of valuable articles in his room, which he had been accumulating for years, and that the old sea-chest alone contained enough to make me independent. But when we examined the room this morning everything was gone, and the chest was empty. I don’t know what to think about it, I’m sure; for father never lied, in spite of what Mrs. Ranck says.” Uncle Naboth whistled a sailor’s hornpipe in a slow, jerky, and altogether dismal fashion. When it was quite finished, even to the last quavering bar, he said: “Sam, who kept the keys to the room, an’ the chest?” “Mrs. Ranck.” “M—m. Was the room dark, an’ all covered over with dust, when you went in there this mornin’?” “I——I don’t think it was,” I answered, trying to recollect. “No! I remember, now. The blind was wide open, and the room looked clean and in good order.” “Sailors,” remarked Mr. Perkins, impressively, “never is known to keep their rooms in good order. The Cap’n been gone five months an’ more. If all was straight the dust would be thick on everything.” “To be sure,” said I, very gravely. “Then, Sam, it stands to reason the ol’ woman went inter the room while you was asleep, an’ took out everything she could lay her hands on. Cap’n Steele didn’t lie to you, my boy. But he made the mistake of thinkin’ the woman honest. She took advantage of the fact that the Cap’n was dead, an’ couldn’t prove nothin’. And so she robbed you.” The suspicion had crossed my mind before, and I was not greatly surprised to hear my uncle voice it. “Then, can’t we make her give it up?” I asked. “If she has done such a wicked thing, it seems as though we ought to accuse her of it, and make her give me all that belongs to me.” Uncle Naboth rose slowly from the bench, settled his felt hat firmly upon his head, pulled down his checkered vest, and assumed a most determined bearing. “You wait here,” he said, “an’ I’ll beard the she-tiger in her den, an’ see what can be done.” Then he gave a great sigh, and turning square around, marched stiffly up the path that led to the house. CHAPTER III. MY FORTUNES IMPROVE.