When I arrived at the mill I found Ford hard at work. Tom Darrow had just tied up at the pier, and my helper had told him the sad news. “It’s hard, Rube, dreadful hard, and no mistake,” he said. Later on he told me he had sailed around the lake, and into many of the coves, but had seen no trace of the Catch Me. I was sorry to hear this, but in the light of the greater calamity I hardly gave the matter any attention. “I suppose you didn’t think to get them things you spoke on?” observed Ford when the fisherman was gone. “What things?” I asked. “The groceries you were going to get down to Jackson’s.” “He wouldn’t let me have them. He said I would have to settle up in full before I could have anything more.” “The miserly chump!” exclaimed Ford; “and after you paying him hundreds of dollars! I wouldn’t patronize him any more!” “I don’t intend to.” I paused for a moment. “Dan, I am in a bad fix all around. I haven’t any money, and we need things. I don’t know how I am going to pay you your wages next Saturday.” “Well, don’t let that worry you, Rube; I can get along.” “But that’s not the point. It isn’t fair to ask you to wait,” I went on earnestly. “I ain’t starving,” he laughed. “I’ve got some little saved. Besides, when you find the Catch Me, she’ll be worth at least a couple of hundred dollars to you.” “That’s so; but I imagine finding her will be a bigger job than I thought it would be. I am satisfied that some one has towed her off, and has got her in hiding.” There was quite a bit of grinding to do at the mill, and after a dinner of which I hardly ate a mouthful, I started in to help Ford do the work. It was the best possible thing I could undertake; for it diverted my mind, and that eased my heart, which felt at times like a big lump of lead in my breast. As I tended to the hoppers and helped fill the bags I began to speculate upon what kind of a man my uncle would prove to be. The tone of his letter, as I read it over again, did not exactly satisfy me. What did he mean by stating that he intended to take charge of affairs? At five o’clock I heard the sound of a horn coming from the main road that ran from Harborport through the Bend to Kannassee, ten miles distant. “There’s the horn of the stage-coach,” said Ford. “Bart Pollock must want to see you.” “Perhaps he’s after some feed,” I replied. “I’ll go down and see.” Brushing the flour from my face and hands, I left the mill on a run. The main road was fifteen rods away through the bushes. There was a rough path but little used, and this I followed. When I arrived I found the stage-coach standing in the middle of the road, with Bart Pollock, the driver, sitting contentedly on the front seat along with a tall stranger. “Here I am, Bart!” I sang out. “What’s wanted?” “Hullo, Rube! Nothin’s wanted. Here’s a visitor to see you,――your uncle, all the way from Western parts.” “Oh!”