CHAPTER XXX.

BEN'S DISCOVERY.

It is doubtful whether Pine Tree Island, since the days when the red men had dwelt upon its shores, had heard such a shout as went up from our boys when they discovered that the visitor was Jock's father. When the lad learned that his mother was at Alexandria Bay, and that she and his father had come from New York that very day, nothing would satisfy him but to return to the hotel.

Before they departed, Jock's father explained that he had come over to the camp in the early evening with a boatman, but when he discovered that no one was there, he had decided to remain until they returned. As it was now after ten o'clock, he had begun to feel somewhat uneasy; but the fact that all were gone, and that everything about the camp seemed to be in good order, had led him to believe that they could be in no danger, at all events, and so he had waited until the time when his patience had been amply rewarded.

After the messages from the other homes had been delivered, and Mr. Cope had satisfied himself that all were well, he said, "I think we'd better go back to the hotel now, my boy. Your mother will be uneasy about me, to say nothing of you."

"Do you think it will be safe for Jock to go?" inquired Bob, soberly.

"Safe? Why, yes. Why shouldn't it be safe?"

"Oh, I don't know. We've been living here in primitive style, you know, and whether Jock will remember how to behave is a question."

"It's time he reviewed his lessons, then," was the reply. "Good night, boys," he added, as he started toward the dock.

The campers followed Jock and his father to the dock, and as they were about to put off, Bob called out, "I say, Jock, don't forget to use your fork when you go into the dining room to-morrow."

"I'll try not to," promised Jock.

"And if I'm not mistaken they have napkins there, too."

"Good night, fellows. I'll see you in the morning," called Jock; and the skiff soon disappeared in the darkness.

Few words were spoken by the remaining campers that night as they prepared for bed. Perhaps the presence of Jock's father, and the eagerness of their friend to see his mother, may have produced similar longings in their own hearts; but if it was so, no one referred to them, and soon the great pile of logs was sending its ruddy glow over the shadows of the silent river, and the sounds which came from the tent indicated that any possible feeling of homesickness had at least been forgotten for the time.

When Bert awoke early in the following morning, he speedily discovered that he was alone in the tent. As he dressed himself hastily, and ran forth toward the bank of the river, he discovered the long form of Ben paddling in his canoe not far away, but Bob was nowhere to be seen.

It was such an unusual occurrence for Bob to be awake so early in the morning that the sturdy Bert was at a loss to account for his absence. As a rule, Bob was the last to appear for breakfast, and not infrequently a dash of cold water had been required to make him fully aware of the hour; and now to find him gone was, to say the least, surprising.

Ethan and Tom arrived, but still Bob did not appear. Ben came in from his daily task, but he, too, had not seen the missing Bob, and declared that he had left him sleeping in the tent when he himself had departed. The absence certainly was strange, and the boys were just beginning to feel uneasy as to the missing boy's whereabouts, when the lad in question was seen approaching the camp. But he was coming from among the trees, and his eager friends hailed him with the question,--

"Where have you been, Bob?"

"Out taking a peep at the rising sun."

"You've been taking more than that," exclaimed Ben, quickly, as he perceived that Bob's garments were all dripping wet. "You've been in the water."

"The early dew is heavy here," replied Bob, evasively, as he turned to the tent to change his clothing.

It was evident that Bob did not intend to disclose the purpose of his early rising, and Ben's suspicions were at once aroused. He concluded that his friend was practising for the race in which he himself was to enter. He did not refer to his surmise, however, and in a few minutes Bob came forth and took his seat at the table with his friends.

Soon after breakfast, Jock, accompanied by his father and mother, returned to the camp, and the greeting which Mr. Cope gave his old schoolfellow, Ethan, was one which warmed the heart of that worthy boatman.

"I thought mebbe ye'd forgotten yer old friends since ye've got so rich," said Ethan, soberly.

"Forgotten them? Why, man, they're the best part of my life. I've a painting of the old red schoolhouse hanging in my dining room, and I never see it without thinking of the boys and girls who were there years ago, and the good times we used to have."

"Got a pictur of it? Ye don't say so!" exclaimed Ethan, in surprise. "Well, I never thought nobody'd want a pictur o' that place. It's most gone to rack an' ruin now. I'm afeard we'll have to fix it up purty quick or it'll fall down o' itself."

"That's too bad; I should think the district would keep it in repair."

"The deestrict hain't got no money. The only folks hereabouts what has any money are mostly those who've gone off deown to New York. Seems as if 'most any fool could make money deown there. The' say as how Homer Perkins's boy has gone deown there, an' is a-gettin' a dollar an' a half a day the whole year through, an' all he has to do is to drive a hoss car."

Mr. Cope laughed as he replied, "I'm telling you the truth, Ethan, when I say I never worked so hard in my life as I do now. I used to pick up stones on the old farm, and haul and chop wood, and get up at four o'clock in the morning and milk eight or ten cows before breakfast, and then carry the milk to the factory, and that was before the day's work was supposed to have begun; but all that's as nothing compared with the way I have to work now."

Ethan was evidently incredulous, and said, "What time do ye get up in the mornin' now?"

"About eight o'clock."

"And I s'pose ye don't get down to yer store till abeout nine?"

"I usually go down to the office about that time."

"An' when do ye shut up?"

"Anywhere from half-past four to six."

"An' ye call _that_ workin' harder 'n ye did on the old stone hill farm, do ye?"

"Yes, a good deal harder. It's true I used to get tired and go to bed some nights feeling as if every bone in my body ached, but I would go to sleep right away and forget it all, and next morning I'd be all ready for another day. Now I have to carry my load day and night, and there is no escape. I have hundreds, yes, thousands, of men dependent on me. When hard times come, and it sometimes seems to me that they come pretty often, I carry a good many of these men through just for the sake of their families, and when good times come they seem to forget all about it, and some of them are always ready to make trouble. There are times, Ethan, when it seems to me my load is heavier than I can bear. I almost never have a day off, and sometimes I long to return to the old farm, and am hungry for its peace and quiet."

"I guess there ain't nuthin' to hinder ye from comin' back if ye want to," grunted Ethan. "The old place is for sale, an 'twon't cost over twenty-five or thirty dollars an acre. Ye can stand that much, can't ye? Yer boy here says he guesses ye're worth more 'n five thousand dollars."

Mr. Cope's cheeks flushed slightly, and he glanced reprovingly at Jock; but evidently wishing to change the subject, he said, "I fancy, Ethan, that most of the boys and girls who used to go to school with us are gone now."

"Pretty much."

"What's ever become of Hiram Munsell? Hi Munsell we called him."

"Oh, he went out to the state o' Milwaukee. He's got rich too, they say."

"Went where?"

"The state o' Milwaukee. He's a policeman an' gets a thousan' dollars a year, or leastwise that's what the report is. You know as much as I do about whether it's true or not. I hev my doubts, myself. Hi always was one to stretch it pooty good, as you may recommember yerself."

Mr. Cope glanced again reprovingly at the boys, who for some strange reason appeared to be highly delighted at the reference to the "state" to which the wealthy Hi had gone, and said quickly,--

"Well, Ethan, I want to talk over old times with you some more, and I want to go over to the old schoolhouse, too; but I'm to have only a day or two here, and I fancy the boys are more interested in my putting that to good use than they are in our reminiscences, so if you're agreed, we'll try the sport for a time. Can you take us fishing now?"

Ethan responded that he could, and when the two skiffs were made ready it was discovered that Bob was not to go with them. Ben said nothing, though his suspicions were at once aroused, and at first he, too, was inclined to remain in camp; but Jock's evident disappointment was so marked that he hastily recalled his words, and said that he would go, making one proviso, that he should be permitted to take his canoe with him.

Mrs. Cope was to remain in the camp, declaring that she wished to look after some of the belongings of the boys, which she said were in a "sad state," though just what she meant by the expression she did not explain, and that she was not in the least afraid of being lonesome. The party soon set forth in the skiffs, from one of which Ben's ever present canoe was towed, and Ethan directed the way to a spot where none of them had as yet been. Mr. Cope apparently was most enthusiastic of all. Whatever may have been his inability to cast aside his pressing problems when he was at home, here certainly they were not to be found, and he entered into the sport with all the zest of the boys themselves.

Their former successes in no way seemed to interfere with the eagerness of the campers in the present experience, and when at last Ethan and Tom rowed ashore to prepare dinner, they had all had a degree of success which corresponded with their most ardent desires.

After dinner the sport was resumed, but about the middle of the afternoon Ethan rowed his skiff close in to the other, and Mr. Cope called out: "Boys, we've decided to land over here and go up to the old schoolhouse, which isn't more than a mile and a half from the shore. Jock wants to go; and if you would like to go too, we should be glad to have you. What do you say?"

Ben looked at Bert a moment, and then said, "Thank you, Mr. Cope, Bert would like to go and so should I, but I ought to go back to the camp."

"Why? What's wrong?" inquired Mr. Cope, quickly.

"There isn't anything wrong, only I've something I ought to do. I was just thinking that I would take my canoe and go back, and leave you all here anyway. I didn't want to break up your sport."

"He wants to write a letter, I guess," said Jock. "Well, Bert, you come along, and let Ben go back if he wants to."

The proposal was agreed to, and Tom was to wait on the shore and guard the skiff while his companions were gone to visit the scene of Mr. Cope's and Ethan's earlier days. Ben did not wait, but hoisting his little sail began to speed over the river in the direction of Pine Tree Island.

What the urgent duty was which had induced him to depart from his companions became apparent when he approached within a half mile of the camp. He then lowered his sail and carefully scanned the river before him.

Apparently satisfied with the inspection, he took his paddle and began to send the light canoe swiftly over the water, but instead of making his way to the dock he paddled around to the opposite side of the island.

There he landed, and lifting his canoe, bore it up the shore and carefully concealed it among the bushes. Satisfied that he had not been seen, he cautiously made his way toward the shore of a sheltered bay not far away. As soon as he had arrived at a place from which the waters of the bay could be seen, he halted for a moment and peered cautiously about him.

Evidently not satisfied with what he saw, he began to advance again, stepping carefully from tree to tree, and at last arrived at a sheltered spot from which he could see both the shore and bay. Instantly he was deeply interested in something he there discovered, for he peered farther out from behind the tree, and watched Bob, who now could be seen near the shore.

"The rascal! He thought he'd fool us all," muttered Ben, as he watched his friend, who plainly was unaware that his actions were observed.

"What's that he's doing?" he suddenly added. "If that doesn't beat anything I ever saw before!"

So interested was Ben that he remained in the secluded spot for more than an hour, watching the movements of Bob, who was in sight all the time. Occasionally the watching Ben almost laughed aloud, and frequently uttered exclamations expressive of his astonishment or pleasure,--any one who might have heard him could hardly have told which,--but at last he retraced his way through the woods to the spot where he had left his canoe.

Speedily embarking, he paddled back around the island, and soon afterward approached the dock; and the first person he discerned there was Bob himself, seated on the edge and lazily swinging his feet out over the water.