At length I reached the spot where the catastrophe had occurred, and looked around. The large sloop had disappeared. CHAPTER III. BAD NEWS. For a moment I could not believe the evidence of my own eyes. I had fully expected to find the large sloop in the spot I had left her, held there by the anchor that must have fallen from the deck. But she was gone, and a rapid survey of the surrounding water convinced me that she was nowhere within a quarter of a mile. This discovery was a dismaying one; yet it did not entirely dishearten me. The sloop had probably drifted to the lower end of the lake, somewhere near the Ponoco River, which was its outlet. I would no doubt find her beached in the vicinity of the south shore. I at once turned and sped away in that direction. The distance was about two miles, and in half an hour I had covered it, and skirted the shore for a considerable length. The large sloop was nowhere to be seen. I was now really worried. Was it possible that some one had found the craft, and towed her off? It seemed more than probable. The situation was unpleasant, to say the least. The sloop was now my property just the same as if I had purchased her, and I did not like the idea of any one making off with her, and then setting up a claim against me for so doing. I spent two hours in my search for the craft, but without success. By this time it was well on in the afternoon, and it became necessary for me to return to the mill. With something like a sigh, I tacked about, and started on the return, resolved to continue the search at daylight on the following day. In sailing up the lake to the spot where the Torrent Bend emptied, I had to pass Bend Center; and I decided to tie up at the village, and settle up with Mr. Jackson, who was so afraid I was going to cheat him. There was a trim harbor at this spot, and into this I ran and lowered the mainsail. “Hullo, Rube!” I suddenly heard some one call; and looking up, I beheld Tom Darrow, an old fisherman that I knew well, seated at the other end of the pier, smoking his pipe. “Hullo, Tom!” I returned. “Through work for the day?” “Yes.” “How’s the catch?” “Pretty poor, Rube. Too windy for pickerel,” returned Tom, as he arose and knocked some ashes from the top of his pipe-bowl. “I suppose it is.” “Where have you been?” he went on, coming to where I was tying up. “Over to Bayport with a load of middlings.” “That so? Thought I see you coming up the lake.” “I’ve been down looking for a sloop that capsized,” I returned. “Did you see anything of her?” “What kind of a sloop?” “A large one, painted blue and white, and named the Catch Me. I believe she used to belong to some one in Bayport.” “No, I didn’t see her; that is, I don’t think I did. I saw some fellows towing something up the lake about an hour ago. But I thought that was a raft.” I was interested at once. “Are you sure it was a raft?”