He complained loudly of the treatment received by his son, and of the
negligence and delay of Mr. Markle. At last Mr. Harrison spoke up.

“If you choose to press your affair,” he said, “perhaps we can also
press something on our side.”

He then told the story, which Phil had given him, of Emile’s assault,
and the theft of the gun.

Mr. Alexander Muller had heard of the arrival of the Tourons, and had
strolled into Mr. Markle’s office, where nobody seemed to notice his
presence. Before Mr. Harrison had quite finished his story he went out.

“What you say to that?” asked Mr. Touron, of his son, when the lawyer
had finished.

“It is not true!” said Emile. “It is all one vile tale!”

And he went on, at considerable length, to assert that this was
only part of the persecution to which Phil and the other boys were
subjecting him.

“What proof have you of the charge you make?” asked Mr. Touron of Mr.
Harrison.

“We can bring forward the testimony of Philip Berkeley,” said Mr.
Harrison, “the boy whose life was threatened, and from whom the gun
was taken. His character has been proved to be an excellent one, and I
believe his testimony would be received by any jury in this county.”

“It is not as good as zat!” cried Emile, snapping his fingers. “I can
prove what he and ze ozers haf done to me, and my word will be as good
as his.”

“Excuse me for interrupting your conversation,” said Mr. Alexander
Muller, who had re-entered the room a minute or two before, “but this
gun which that young gentleman left between the mattresses of his bed,
on the evening when he so suddenly went away from town, may be useful
in proving the charge which Mr. Harrison has made.”

When Emile saw Old Bruden, he stepped back quickly, as if he were
afraid of it. Then he suddenly exclaimed,--

“I know not’ing about zat gun! I never saw it before!”

“The tavern-keeper informs me,” continued Mr. Muller, “that no one but
myself has occupied the room in which I found the gun since that young
gentleman left it. He also asserts that this gun belongs to Mr. Godfrey
Berkeley. He knows it very well. It has been in the neighborhood a
long time. It is also, as you see, without a ramrod, which corresponds
with young Berkeley’s story, as Mr. Harrison has just told it. But I
measured the barrels with a stick, and I find it is loaded, although
neither barrel went off, and these two caps were snapped,” and he
slightly raised the hammers, and showed the two split percussion-caps.
“I can swear,” he added, “that this is the condition in which I found
it.”

“I think,” said Mr. Welford, who had carefully attended to everything
that was going on, “that without any reference to the mortgage
proceedings or anything else, we should get out a warrant against this
young man. It is due to him, as well as to all parties concerned, that
the case should be investigated before a justice of the peace. You
must not think that we are trying to intimidate you,” he continued,
addressing Mr. Touron. “This matter, as I said before, has nothing to
do with the other affair.”

So saying, he left the office, accompanied by Mr. Harrison and
Alexander Muller, the latter carrying Old Bruden carefully under his
arm.

Mr. Touron leaned back in his chair and thought over the matter. He was
very much afraid that this charge against Emile could be proved. He had
no confidence in his son’s word, and the matter was a very serious one.

Mr. Touron was a prudent man, and considered the subject carefully. In
pressing the proceedings against Mr. Berkeley’s estate, he did not wish
to recover the money which was due him. He only desired that the place
might be sold by the sheriff that he might buy it. He already owned
property in Boontown, and had long wished to possess Hyson Hall, which
he intended to make his summer residence.

He knew that if he turned the Berkeleys out of it in the way he
proposed, it would make him unpopular in the neighborhood for a time;
but he supposed that this feeling would soon pass away, and he did not
care much about it. But if, almost at the same time that Hyson Hall
was sold by the sheriff, his son should be brought to trial here on a
charge that might send him to the penitentiary, his unpopularity might
be a very serious thing.

A jury selected from this vicinity would not be likely to deal gently
with Emile. He thought it better, therefore, to wait awhile before
pressing the foreclosure matter, and see how things would turn out. In
six months, more interest would be due on the mortgage, and he felt
quite certain that there would be no money to pay it. Godfrey Berkeley
would not have run away if he had not been bankrupt, and it was not at
all likely that there would be another steamboat for the boy to save.
In six months he could get the property without any trouble.

He therefore arranged with Mr. Markle that the foreclosure business
need not be pressed for the present, and left the office with his son,
intending to quietly take the first train for New York; but before he
reached the station Emile was arrested, and taken before a justice of
the peace.

Phil and Mr. Muller were sent for, and gave their testimony, and at the
conclusion of the examination, Emile was required to give bail for his
appearance in court early the next month. His father gave the required
bail, and the two left town.

Of course, this affair created a great deal of talk in Boontown, and it
interfered very much with the sleep of certain persons at Hyson Hall,
and at the Webster and Poole farms.

As soon as the cheque was received the interest on the mortgage was
paid, and the small sum remaining was divided among the three boys.
Phœnix bought his knife, which he kept for a long time, and which he
always called his Thomas Wistar.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE LONELY SUMACH.

Mr. Alexander Muller remained some days in Boontown, and for the
greater part of the time he was quite busy with the affairs which
brought him there. But there came a day in which he had nothing to do,
and it struck him it would be a good idea to take a holiday, and have a
long stroll in the woods. He was a good deal of a naturalist, and was
very fond of woodland rambles.

When he left Mr. Markle’s office, on the day of the Touron affair, he
had taken Old Bruden back to the tavern, where he supposed Phil would
call for it. But Phil’s mind had been much occupied, and he had not
thought of the gun. Mr. Muller determined, therefore, that he would
walk down some evening to Hyson Hall, and carry Old Bruden home.

But when he decided to give himself a holiday, he thought there could
be no objection to his taking Old Bruden with him, especially as he
intended afterwards to give himself the trouble to walk all the way to
Hyson Hall to return it.

The thought came into his mind that it would be well perhaps to leave
the gun in the condition it then was, as it might be used in the
approaching trial of young Touron. But Mr. Muller had his own ideas
about that trial, and he did not believe the gun would ever be needed.
Besides that, he did not know of any other gun he could borrow, and he
felt very much like having one with him, in case he should see anything
he wished to shoot. He therefore bought a small quantity of powder and
shot, and a box of caps; with these, and a luncheon in his pocket, and
Old Bruden on his shoulder, he started for the Green Swamp. He had no
ramrod for his gun, but he cut one from the first dogwood tree he met
with.

He had never been in the Green Swamp, but he had heard a good deal
about it, and he wished to explore it as far as possible. He wandered
about the whole of the morning, finding a great many things to interest
him in the way of mosses, ferns, and other specimens of woodland growth.

He found, also, that it would have been just as well if he had not
brought Old Bruden with him, for he saw nothing at all at which he
cared to take a shot. There were no birds of any value, and although a
rabbit occasionally jumped from its cover and went skipping away into
the bushes, this was not the season to shoot rabbits.

Besides being entirely useless, Old Bruden was a real inconvenience to
him, for it was necessary, in order to push his way into the heart of
the woods, for him to cross wide expanses of swamp-lands, from which
the place derived its name. He frequently had to make his way from one
tussock of weeds and grass to another, and as the distance between
these tussocks was sometimes four or five feet, and the intervening
ground very wet and soft, he found that in making his long steps and
jumps a heavy gun was very much in his way. But he had it with him, and
there was nothing to do but to carry it along as well as he could.

After a time, he reached a stream of water, some eight or ten feet
wide, which seemed to bar his way entirely. Had it been an ordinary
stream, he might have waded across, but in a swampy place like this he
did not know but he might sink up to his waist if he stepped into this
apparently shallow piece of water; and to stick fast in the middle of
this lonely wood did not at all suit his fancy. He sat down on a little
piece of dry ground and ate his lunch, and then he determined to find,
if possible, some place where he could cross this brook.

The ground beyond seemed somewhat higher and drier, as if it were
drained by this running stream. The bank on his side, too, afforded
better walking than the swamp-land he had recently crossed.

He therefore pushed his way up the stream, hoping that he would come to
a place where the banks would be near enough together and firm enough
for him to jump across; but, though he walked a long distance, the
stream did not seem to narrow.

At last he reached a place where the bushes grew quite thickly on
either side, although he found little difficulty in pushing his way
along.

Soon, to his great delight, he came to the trunk of a large tree that
had fallen diagonally across the stream. It was not a very easy thing
to walk on this log, but Mr. Muller stepped boldly on it, and using the
gun as a balancing-pole, he got over without a slip. On the other side
he found, as he had expected, good walking, with very little underbrush
among the trees. Guiding himself by means of a pocket-compass toward
what he supposed must be the centre of the wood, he trudged gayly
onward.

Before long, he came to a space which was covered by low evergreens,
and, above these, he could see at a distance a little knoll or hill. On
the top of this knoll, the near side of which seemed rocky and almost
bare of trees, there grew a tall bush, or little tree, on which he
could here and there see a red leaf glowing in the sunshine. A short
distance behind this bush the forest seemed to rise again, thick and
shady.

“It is early for leaves to turn red,” said Mr. Muller to himself. “That
must be a sumach-bush,” and he walked toward it.

Just as he reached the bottom of the little hill, he heard a stir in
the tufted grass.

“What is that?” he thought, and instantly stopped and cocked his gun.

Old Bruden would have been freshly loaded if the dogwood ramrod had
grown with a screw at the end, so that Mr. Muller could have drawn out
the old loads. But he had sifted some powder into the nipples of the
gun, and had put on fresh percussion-caps, and was content to fire out
the old loads.

Something now quickly glided from the tuft, slipped rapidly over the
ground in front of him, and disappeared in another thicket.

It was a large blacksnake, but it passed before him so suddenly and
swiftly that Mr. Muller was not ready to fire at it. But he would be
sure to take a shot at it if it appeared again. He would be very glad
to kill a large snake like that. He would take the skin home and stuff
it. It would be quite a curiosity.

Mr. Muller stepped forward a few paces and stood ready, his eyes fixed
upon the thicket. In half a minute the blacksnake appeared again, and
rushed directly up the hill with that rapid motion peculiar to these
reptiles.

Mr. Muller took good aim at him, and when he thought he had him well
covered with the muzzle of his gun, he pulled the forward trigger. The
cap snapped loudly, but there was no report.

Instead of that, a man’s voice shouted,--

“What are you about?”

Utterly astonished, Mr. Muller looked beyond the point where the snake
had been, and found that he was aiming his gun almost directly at a man
who was lying on the ground in the shade of the tall sumach.

The snake had been on a little rise in the ground when he pulled the
trigger, and if the gun had gone off, a great part of the charge would
probably have struck the man, who was lying on the ground not many
yards beyond.

The man, who had been reading, sprang to his feet, leaving his book
wide open on the grass. He looked startled and angry, as well he
might. But before he could say or do anything, Mr. Muller hastened
forward to explain.

“I was not aiming at you, sir. I was going to fire at a large snake
that just passed near me.”

“But you ought to be more careful,” replied the other. “If your gun had
gone off you certainly would have hit me.”

“I am generally very careful,” said Mr. Muller; “but who in the world
could have imagined that a man would be lying on the ground in this
lonely spot?”

“That is true, perhaps,” said the other; “and, on my part, I never
could have imagined that anybody would come to this lonely spot to
shoot snakes. And may I ask, sir, what you are doing with my gun?”

“Your gun!” exclaimed Mr. Muller, and for a moment he seemed stupefied,
and then his face began to shine as if it had been lighted up from
inside. “Are you Mr. Godfrey Berkeley?” he cried.

“Yes, I am,” said the other, shortly.

Mr. Muller laughed aloud.

“Why, I have been wanting to find you for ever so long! And who could
have supposed I would stumble on you here?”

Mr. Berkeley now seemed quite annoyed and angry.

“You had no right to look for me, sir, whoever you may be! If I choose
to seek quiet and privacy, no one is authorized to intrude upon me.”

“I am sure, sir, I was not trying to intrude upon you this time,
although I admit I have been inquiring for you in various places. I
came here for sport and recreation, and I suppose these woods are as
free to me as to any one else.”

“Yes, they are,” said Mr. Berkeley, “but I did not think that any one
but myself would penetrate to this secluded spot. How did you get over
the stream down there? The bottom is very soft.”

“I found a fallen tree lying across it,” said Mr. Muller.

“You must have been very anxious to shoot snakes,” remarked the other.
“That fallen tree is surrounded by a thicket that I did not suppose any
one would care to penetrate.”

“I wished to explore the forest,” said Mr. Muller, “and so pushed on
toward its centre. And the way I happen to have your gun with me is
this: I found it, a few nights ago, in the bed where I was sleeping,
and where the Touron boy hid it, after he attempted to shoot your
nephew, Philip Berkeley.”

[Illustration: “You had no right to look for me, sir, whoever you may
be!”]

“What in the name of common sense are you talking about?” cried Mr.
Berkeley. “Shoot my nephew! Are you crazy?”

“No, I am not crazy,” said Mr. Muller, very quietly, “and you need not
alarm yourself. No one has been injured. If you will sit down here in
the shade I will tell you the whole story. It is a long one, and I am
rather tired.”

The two then seated themselves in the shade of the sumach, and the man
with the black straw hat told Mr. Godfrey Berkeley the story of the
troubles at Hyson Hall as he had had it from Chap Webster; he also
related the startling events which had since occurred.

These accounts greatly excited Mr. Berkeley. He frequently interrupted
Mr. Muller with exclamations of astonishment, and when all was told, he
sprang to his feet and exclaimed,--

“I must leave here instantly!”

“You need to be in no particular hurry,” said Mr. Muller. “Everything
is all settled now.”

“Nevertheless, I must return immediately,” said Mr. Berkeley, “and if
you will wait a few minutes I will walk back with you.”

So saying, Mr. Berkeley picked up his book and hurried to a group of
large trees, which stood some distance back from the lonely sumach.

Mr. Muller followed him, and was much surprised to see him approach a
neat little log hut, which was quite concealed from the open ground by
a clump of bushes.

Mr. Berkeley entered, and the other looked in at the door. There was a
low bed on one side of the cabin. On a small table and a shelf were a
number of books, in leather bindings, and a valise stood in the corner.
Outside, by the door, were a few cooking utensils.

“Do you live here, sir?” asked Mr. Muller.

“Yes,” said Mr. Godfrey, who was busily putting a few things into his
valise, “I have lived in this cabin for several weeks, and I expected
to spend the rest of the summer here. I suppose you want to know why I
have been leading this hermit life?”

“Of course I have no right to inquire,” said Mr. Muller, “but I am
burning with curiosity.”

“I am so glad you found me,” said Mr. Berkeley, “although you did it
accidentally, that I feel quite willing to tell you all about my coming
here. I will do so as we walk through the woods.”

“I am also extremely glad I found you,” remarked Mr. Muller, who had
said nothing yet about his own reasons for wishing to see Mr. Berkeley,
preferring to wait until the mind of the other should not be so
occupied and excited by the affairs of which he had just heard. “And
what is more,” he continued, “I am greatly rejoiced that this gun did
not go off.”

“And I more than you,” said Mr. Berkeley. “I knew Old Bruden could
not be depended on for sure fire, but I never expected to derive any
advantage from that fact. And now,” added he, taking up his valise, and
preparing to padlock the door of his hut, “I think we are ready to go.”

“Do you intend to leave all those books here?” asked Mr. Muller, in
surprise.

“Yes,” said Mr. Berkeley, “I brought them here by degrees, and I
can’t carry them all away at once. Besides, I may want to come back
here again. I think they will be quite safe, for I am certain that no
one but you and myself has yet discovered that fallen tree among the
bushes.”

As the two walked away--the one carrying the gun and the other the
valise--Mr. Berkeley told his little story.

“I came out here,” he said, “to study law.”

“To study law!” exclaimed Mr. Muller.

“Yes,” said the other. “You need not be surprised, and you need not
laugh. The idea is not original with me, and the thing has been done
before. A young friend of mine read law for four months in that very
hut, which he built. He approached it, however, by a difficult path
through the woods, not knowing of our convenient bridge. He came for
the same reason that I came,--to study undisturbed. His provisions were
brought to him on certain days by his brother, who left them under a
tree more than a mile from here, where my friend went to get them. His
brother never knew where the hut was situated. I go over to the little
village of Bridgeville for my provisions. It is a long walk, but I
don’t have to go often.”

“But I cannot understand why _you_ should come here,” said Mr. Muller,
to whom the idea of a man owning a fine house and choosing to live in a
little hut like that seemed utterly absurd.

“When I was a young man,” said Mr. Berkeley, “I studied law, but soon
tired of it. Lately, since I have determined to settle down to a quiet
life, I have tried farming; but I do not think I succeed very well as a
farmer. I lose more money than I make.”

Here Mr. Muller gently rubbed his hands together, as if the remark
pleased him.

“I recently determined to take up law again,” said Mr. Berkeley, “and
began to read at home; but there were so many things there to disturb
me, and continually to distract my mind, that I found it impossible
to study. I therefore decided to follow my young friend’s example,
and betake myself to the woods. I found his house in good order, and
soon made it quite habitable. Of course, I allowed no one to know
where I had gone, as, otherwise, I would have been bothered almost
as much as if I had stayed at home. I would like you to understand,”
continued Mr. Berkeley, “that I have good reasons for wishing to study
law,--especially a particular branch of it. There are large tracts
of land in the West, which were acquired by grants and purchases by
my grandfather, to which I know I have a legal right. It is to make
myself able to investigate the title to these lands, and to prosecute
my claims to them, that I wish to become master of the laws concerning
such matters. I am not a rich man, and I have every desire to better my
fortunes.”

“A very laudable desire, truly,” said Mr. Muller; “and I hope to be
able to---- But no matter about that now. Don’t let me interrupt you,
sir.”

“Of course I had no idea,” continued Mr. Berkeley, “that when I went
away there would be any money troubles at Hyson Hall. Mr. Touron, who
is a relative by marriage, has repeatedly assured me that I need give
myself no concern about the payments on the mortgage that he holds, if
at any time it should be inconvenient for me to make them. He never
before even asked for his interest, and I intended in the fall, when I
generally go to New York, to have a settlement with him, but I did not
imagine he would make any trouble when I was absent.”

“Perhaps that is the very reason he tried to foreclose,” said Mr.
Muller. “He probably thought you would never turn up again, and the
chance was too good to lose.”

“That may be very true,” said Mr. Berkeley. “But tell me more about
this young Touron. He is the son of the old man’s first wife, but I had
almost forgotten his existence.”

Mr. Muller then proceeded to tell all he had heard about Emile, and
related how, in addition to his more serious offences, he had gone to
Hyson Hall and cut up all sorts of didos, such as hanging a lot of
bells on the roof, threatening the housekeeper, and he knew not what
else besides.

Mr. Berkeley stopped short in his walk.

“Hung bells on the roof?” he said. “Are you sure of that?”

“Oh, yes!” said Mr. Muller; “these things are quite the town talk. He
found the house deserted one day, except by the women, and it seems he
did pretty much as he pleased.”

This statement seemed to affect Mr. Berkeley more than anything he
had yet heard, and for some time he walked on without saying a word.
When they reached the outskirts of the town, Mr. Berkeley asked his
companion if he still intended to go to Hyson Hall.

“Yes,” said Mr. Muller, “I proposed to take this gun there, and I also
have something which I wish to say to you, and it may take some time to
talk about it.”

“In that case,” said Mr. Berkeley, “I shall be very glad if you will go
on to the house now. You must stay all night, and I will talk with you
to-morrow. I wish to stop to see Mr. Welford, but would like to have a
note reach my nephew before my arrival.”

Mr. Muller consented to this arrangement, and Mr. Berkeley, writing
a short note in pencil on a piece of paper which he tore from a
blank-book, directed it to Phil, and gave it to his companion. The two
then separated, Mr. Berkeley promising to be at Hyson Hall in time for
supper.

“I hope that young Webster won’t be there,” thought Mr. Muller,
as he trudged away,--“that is, if he has not forgotten the sunken
treasure-ship and the three brothers.”

But Chap was there, and he had not forgotten.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE RETURN OF THE RUNAWAY.

When Phil Berkeley read the note that was brought to him by the man
with the black straw hat, he gave a shout of joy which rang through the
house.

“Read that,” he cried to Chap, who had been on the porch, making
calculations on a piece of paper, and who now ran in to see what was
the matter.

Chap seized the note and read:

  “MY VERY DEAR PHIL,--From the bottom of my heart I beg your pardon
  for the cruel words I wrote you. It was all a mistake. I long to see
  you again, and shall be with you very soon after you read this.

                                      “Your affectionate uncle,
                                                              “GODFREY.”

The joyful news spread rapidly over the place, and in ten minutes Joel
was driving a light wagon toward town, to meet Mr. Berkeley and bring
him home.

Never was prodigal uncle received more warmly. Phil, of course, was
wild with joy. Even if Mr. Berkeley had not returned that day, the note
he had received would have made him the happiest boy on earth.

Chap was a good deal more overjoyed than if one of his own uncles had
arrived, and Susan’s face had not been so radiant for many a year.

Even Mr. Muller, possessed with the pervading spirit, could scarcely
resist welcoming Mr. Berkeley to Hyson Hall. But as he had not the
slightest right to do so, he kept discreetly in the background and
smiled his gratification.

During supper, and long after the meal was over, the talking, the
questioning, and the explanations went on. There was so much to ask and
to tell that there seemed to be no end to it all. Mr. Muller went to
bed early, for he had done a great deal of walking that day. Chap would
have been glad to sit up all night to talk and listen, but, after a
time, he discreetly followed the example of Mr. Muller.

As he was about to pass the open door of the room which that gentleman
occupied, he stopped and asked,--

“Are you asleep, sir?”

Mr. Muller felt very much inclined to say that he was, but instead of
that he muttered that he was not quite asleep yet--just dropping off,
he thought.

“I’ll not bother you now,” said the considerate Chap; “but to-morrow
you’ll find me all ready to talk about that business.”

And he passed on.

“That is more than I shall be,” said Mr. Muller to himself. “I wonder
if there is such a thing as a sunken ship on the place?”

And he went to sleep and dreamed that he had gone to bed in a ship that
was buried three hundred feet under mud and sand; and he was in a great
deal of trouble when he thought how difficult it would be for him to
get out when it was time for him to go ashore for breakfast.

Phil and his uncle sat up until long after their usual bedtime. As soon
as they were alone, Mr. Berkeley explained to Phil the reason he wrote
the note which had caused the boy so much grief.

“When I walked over this way on the morning of that day,” said Mr.
Berkeley. “I came after Old Bruden, because I thought it would be a
good thing to have a gun out there in the woods with me, and I picked
up a little fellow on the road to send to the house. I thought it very
likely you would come running to meet me when you heard where I was,
and so I did not stay by the bridge where the boy left me, but went
over to the top of one of the little hills in the field, to watch and
see who came from the house.

“I knew very well that if you came to me you would wheedle and coax
me into giving up my splendid plan of study. When I saw you coming,
and without the gun, as if my wishes and requests were not worth
considering, I was a little provoked, and hurried down the other side
of the hill, and by the time you reached the bridge I was far enough
away. I did not, however, go back to my little hut, and after a time
I began to think how disappointed you must have been when you came
to the bridge and did not find me. It also dawned upon me that I was
not behaving in a very sensible manner. It would be much better to
go home and get what I wanted and trust to you not to annoy me with
questions as to where I was and what I was doing. So, in the course
of the afternoon, I started back for Hyson Hall, thinking it very
likely I should spend the night there and return to my hut the next
day; but when I came near the house, I heard those bells and soon saw
them on the roof. I don’t know of any sound that could have affected
me more disagreeably than the jingling of those bells. I knew that you
understood how much I disliked them, and it pained me to think you
should hang them up while I was gone. And when I considered that you
knew I had been in the neighborhood that morning, it seemed to me that
you had hung them in revenge for my having taken myself out of your
way. I was so angry at this imagined insult that I marched off and
mailed you that abominable note.”

“It’s all right now, uncle,” said Phil. “I don’t wonder you thought I
was a contemptible rascal. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to start
off and look for you, Emile would not have dared to come here, the
bells would not have been hung up, you would have been home in the
afternoon, and everything would have been all right.”

“It often happens that way, my boy,” said Mr. Berkeley. “But you have
had a hard time, Phil, and you have done splendidly. If any mistakes
were made they were not your fault. You have saved me this property,
and I shall never forget what I owe you. When I went away, I expected
you would have some bothers and perplexities, but I thought it would
be a useful experience for you to weather through them. It would have
been impossible for me to imagine that you would have such anxieties
and trials as those you have gone through. And, although I always had
a good opinion of you, I would not have supposed that you would have
stood up against your difficulties so manfully.”

As to the deficiency in money for household and other expenses, Mr.
Berkeley easily explained that. He had expected a certain sum which
was owing to him to be paid on his account to Mr. Welford, which that
gentleman had not received. If this payment had been properly made,
there would have been no difficulty in carrying on the Hyson Hall
establishment until Mr. Berkeley’s return.

“But, uncle,” said Phil, as they were preparing to go up-stairs,
“there’s one thing I don’t understand. You said, in the long letter
you left for me when you went away, that you couldn’t stay at home any
longer because life here was so monotonous. Now, it seems to me it
must have been ever so much more monotonous in a little log hut in the
woods, where you never saw a soul. Of course I can understand why you
couldn’t study here, where you are interrupted every five minutes by
some of us.”

“It was the monotony of interruption that disturbed me,” said Mr.
Berkeley, smiling. “Every day it was the same thing. I would plan out
a certain amount of reading, and the day would often pass without my
opening a book. In the woods it was very different. Law is generally
considered a very dry and musty subject, but my studies were very fresh
and interesting to me. The whole affair seemed like an adventure. It
reminded me of part of my life in South America, and I enjoyed it
greatly. I was not only leading an untrammelled life in the woods,
but I was doing something useful and sensible besides, and this is
more than I can say of a good deal of the out-door life of my earlier
years. And, then, there was the spice of running away from a tyrannical
nephew. That made it all the jollier, don’t you see?”

“No, I don’t,” said Phil. “But some of these days I may run away from
you, just to see how pleasant it is.”

“If you do,” said Mr. Berkeley, “I’ll let old Touron buy Hyson Hall,
and when you are tired of roving you can come back and live with Emile.”

When the two went up-stairs, Chap called out to them from his room. He
had evidently been keeping himself awake on purpose to hail them when
they came up.

“Phil,” cried Chap, “did you ask your uncle if he saw anything of the
lonely sumach when he was in the Green Swamp?”

“That boy again!” groaned Mr. Muller, as he turned over in his bed.

“No, I didn’t,” said Phil. “I never thought of it. But you have heard
of that lonely sumach, haven’t you, uncle? Did you see it?”

Mr. Berkeley stopped at the door of Chap’s room, which, like the other
bedrooms on that floor, opened on the large central hall.

“Yes, I have heard of it,” he said, “and I am quite sure I have found
it. It was not far from my hut, and I did most of my reading in its
shade.”

“In its shade!” cried both of the boys together.

“Yes,” said Mr. Berkeley. “The ground under it was smooth and grassy,
and, as it stands by itself on a little hill, there was more air out
there than in the thick woods about my hut.”

“Then it isn’t poisonous, after all!” cried Chap, who was sitting up in
bed.

“No,” said Mr. Berkeley, “I certainly did not find it so.”

“That _is_ a disappointment!” cried Chap.

“What!” exclaimed Phil. “Did you want me to have a dead uncle?”

“No,” replied Chap, “I didn’t mean that; but still---- Oh, you
understand! Good-night!”

And he lay down, and drew the bed-covers around his ears.

He had earnestly longed to find that tree, and now, alas! it was not a
deadly tree at all. One of life’s charms had vanished.

The next morning, after breakfast, Mr. Berkeley noticed Old Bruden
standing in a corner of the hall, where Mr. Muller had placed it when
he brought it home, the afternoon before. Taking up the gun, Mr.
Berkeley raised the hammers, and then remarked,--

“Have you forgotten, Phil, that it is against orders to leave a loaded
gun about the house in this way? There is a fresh cap on one of these
barrels.”

Phil explained that he had had so much to think about the night before
he had not noticed the gun at all.

Thereupon Mr. Berkeley, having put upon the other nipple a
percussion-cap, which Mr. Muller produced from one of his pockets, went
out on the porch to fire out the loads.

He pointed the gun over the lawn, where there was nothing that could be
injured, and pulled one trigger. A cap snapped. Then the other trigger.
Another snap.

“What is the matter with this old gun?” said Mr. Berkeley, coming into
the hall. “I must draw the loads. Where is the ramrod?”

Phil got it from the umbrella-rack, where he had put it when he brought
it home. Mr. Berkeley then fixed the screw and, running the ramrod
into one of the barrels, proceeded to draw the load. First he pulled
out a piece of raw cotton, then another piece, and then some more.

“Why, this load seems to be all wadding!” said Mr. Berkeley, in
surprise. “Here is quite a pile of it.”

The interested and somewhat amazed group standing around the gun was
now joined by Jenny.

“Them’s Susan’s loads,” she said to Phil. “She put ’em in when she took
the gun up to her room. She wanted to make sure it wouldn’t go off.”

“And she certainly did make sure of it!” cried Phil, as his uncle
pulled the cotton from the other barrel.

Phil was now obliged to tell the story of Susan and the gun, though
he touched so lightly upon the bad points of it that Chap stuck his
hands in his pockets and strutted up and down in disgust. Mr. Berkeley
understood the story quite well, although he chose to say little about
it.

“Susan is a prudent woman,” he remarked, “and her cotton loads have
probably saved at least one of our lives.”

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE ONE FELLOW WHO WAS LEFT YET.

During the morning, Mr. Berkeley and Phil were busily engaged in farm
affairs with Jenny’s father and Joel. Chap had thought of going home,
but Mr. Berkeley had urged him not to break up the family party so
soon, and Mr. Muller remained until he should have an opportunity of
entering upon his own business.

Chap was delighted when he saw the man with the black straw hat sitting
alone under one of the trees on the lawn, but it cannot be truthfully
said that the heart of Mr. Muller leaped very high for joy when he saw
the long-legged boy striding down upon him.

“What about that wreck?” said Chap. “I’ve been just aching for a chance
to speak to you. We ought to go right to work. It won’t do to let this
family slide back again into misery the very minute they’ve got a
little hoist out of it. From what I can make out, there’ll be lots of
money wanted yet. And that wreck has got to be bounced out of the mud
in short order. I suppose you are all ready to pitch right in. Have you
told Mr. Berkeley what you’re here for?”

“Well, no,” said Mr. Muller, “I haven’t yet. There has been no time.
And I am sure there is no hurry about that wreck. It has been in the
mud a long time, and it will wait there till we want it.”

“No, it won’t,” cried Chap. “No, it won’t. There isn’t a night but I
tremble for that wreck. That French boy knows all about it, and you
can’t tell when he and his father will come up the river in a boat,
with divers and submarine armor, and they’ll have a hole cut in the
side of that ship, and all the treasure-boxes taken out, before we know
a thing about it.”

“That would be bad, indeed,” said Mr. Muller, “but I don’t see how it
is to be prevented, unless a guard is kept up on the river-bank.”

“Prevented!” cried Chap. “The way to prevent their doing it is to do it
ourselves--slam-bang! without waiting a minute longer than we can help.”

Mr. Muller did not know what reply to make to his enthusiastic
companion.

“Suppose we go and look at this wreck,” he said, after a moment’s
thought.

This suited Chap exactly, and without further ado the two proceeded to
the river-bank. The tide was not very low, and only the extreme ends of
the exposed ribs of the treasure-ship could be seen.

“She is pretty well covered up,” remarked Mr. Muller.

“You can see more of her at low tide,” said Chap, “but we don’t care
anything about that part of the ship. That is the bow, and most likely
there is nothing in it but sailors’ clothes and such stuff.”

“Which would be dreadfully old-fashioned now,” remarked Mr. Muller.

“The part we want to get at,” continued Chap, “is the stern, which is
out there in deep water, and never can be seen at all. The treasure
would, very naturally, be in that part of the ship.”

“Quite likely,” said Mr. Muller, “but it is frightful to think of its
being out there in deep water.”

“Yes,” said Chap, “and, what is more, one side of it must be jammed
against the shore, and pretty well covered up with mud.”

“The channel must come quite near the bank in this part of the river,”
said Mr. Muller.

“Oh, yes,” replied Chap, “a good stone’s-throw from where we stand it
is deep enough to float anything. Down below here, near the place where
the Thomas Wistar was run ashore,--they’ve towed her off now,--it’s
shallow ever so far out, and it’s pretty much the same thing above.”

Mr. Muller looked about the place where he was standing, and seemed to
be considering something.

“Well,” said Chap, impatiently, “what do you say? Are you ready to go
right ahead with this thing? You may think it is none of my business,
but I’ve been pushing on the affair for ever so long, and I want to be
on hand when anything is done.”

“I have no doubt you will be,” said Mr. Muller,--“no doubt of it at
all. But I really cannot counsel immediate action in this matter. A
great many things have to be considered first. I think we had better
let the subject drop for the present.”

“All right!” said Chap. “Drop her!”

And, without another word, he marched off, leaving Mr. Muller standing
on the river-bank.

Disgusted with human beings, especially with the man in the black straw
hat, Chap walked directly home.

“I did think,” he said to himself, “that when I got to work with
a man something would be done; but men are just as pokey and
shilly-shallying as boys. But there is one fellow left yet!” he
continued, giving himself a bold slap on the chest; and, with a stern
and determined mind, the one fellow who was left yet strode rapidly
home.

In the course of a few days Mr. Berkeley made arrangements by which
he procured the money to refund to the three boys the amount they had
received from the owners of the Thomas Wistar. Phil declared he did not
want his share, but his uncle insisted he should take it. It had been
fairly earned by his own exertions, and he must keep it. The sum was
accordingly handed over to Mr. Welford to be invested in Phil’s name.

“What are you going to do with your money?” asked Chap, the first time
he met Phœnix after the distribution.

“We have been talking the matter over a great deal at our house,” said
the stout Phœnix, “and I haven’t made up my mind whether I’ll put my
money into land or into education.”

“The whole of it into one of them?” eagerly asked Chap.

“Yes,” said Phœnix. “Mother wants me to go to college; but father says
if I buy a piece of land down below our place, and get it ditched, and
put into grass, and cleared up, it will be a valuable property by the
time I am married.”

“Married!” cried Chap, in accents of scorn. “Think of a fellow waiting
to get the good of his money till he is married!”

“From what I have heard the folks say,” said Phœnix, “I should think
that would be the best time to get the good of it. But I don’t know
that I’ll put my money into land. I may switch off into a straight-out
education. Mother says that is better than any property. What are you
going to do with yours?”

“Well,” said Chap, “a part of mine is to be put into stocks, along with
Phil’s. That is what they all thought was the best thing to do with it
for the present. But there’s a certain lot of it I’m going to keep for
my own square, particular, and not-to-be-talked-about purposes, and no
questions asked or answered.”

“All right,” said Phœnix, “nobody is asking any.”

The next day Chap made a visit to the city, and spent the whole day
there. He paid his own way. It was vacation time, and no one interfered
with him.

On his return he was asked a good many questions, especially by Helen,
but answered none. For several days he spent a good deal of time away
from home, but he did not go to Hyson Hall, nor did Phœnix see anything
of him.

Mr. Berkeley was not long in making up his mind not to return to his
hut in the woods; but, although his affairs demanded his attention
at home, he determined to continue the study of law, for he was not
too old to achieve success in this profession, and he felt he ought
to devote his life to something for which he was better suited than
scientific farming.

A small room in the third story was fitted up as his study. His books
and papers were taken there, and strict orders were given that during
certain hours in the day he was not to be disturbed on any pretext.

It was much easier to observe these orders than it would have been
before the time in which our story began; for now John Morgan--Jenny’s
father--was regularly installed as farmer and general manager on the
Hyson Hall estate, while Joel was retained as his assistant.

Phil was much pleased with the new arrangement, and listened with great
interest to all the plans which were discussed.

This pleased Mr. Berkeley, for he wanted Phil to like a country life,
and to understand better than he had ever done how to manage with
comfort and profit an estate like Hyson Hall.

It may be here remarked that Emile never came to Boontown to stand
his trial. His father thought it prudent to send him to France on
business, and his bail was forfeited.

The man with the black straw hat had some time since told his business
and gone away. He had come to Hyson Hall to try to induce Mr. Berkeley
to build a town. This seemed like a vast enterprise to suggest to a
private gentleman, but Mr. Muller had studied the subject for a long
time, and had very clear and definite ideas about it.

He was quite ready to prove that it would be an easy thing for Mr.
Berkeley to have a small town on his property, if the work should be
begun in the way which he (Mr. Muller) recommended. It was plain enough
that a town was needed in this locality. The people living along the
river for several miles below had to go to Boontown for their groceries
and other merchandise, and their crops and produce had to be hauled to
that place to be shipped to the city and other points.

Moreover, a little town or village on this beautiful part of the
river-bank would attract people who would like to have a rural home not
too far from the city. Nothing of this kind was offered at Boontown.
That place was not attractive, and its river-front was particularly
disagreeable.

If Mr. Berkeley would lay out his land along the river in building
lots, and buy, perhaps, some adjoining tracts, and then build a wharf,
so that the steamboats could stop there, and put up a store, the thing
would be begun, and the place would then grow of itself. Mr. Muller was
ready to stock and take charge of the store. That was in his line of
business.

Mr. Berkeley listened with great attention to the long discourse of his
visitor, and then remarked that the idea was not a new one, and had
been seriously thought of before.

His father had greatly desired to have a small settlement on his
place, and had gone so far as to put up a wharf, so that people could
come up here by boat and look at the property, and the produce of the
surrounding country could be shipped from this point. But the first
steamboat that stopped there struck on a sunken wreck, that lay not far
from the wharf, and old Mr. Berkeley had to pay for the damages done
to her. Disgusted with this, he had had the wharf taken down, and the
piles pulled up, for fear that some other steamboat would make a stop,
and more damages would have to be paid.

“But could not a wharf be built farther out, or at some other point?”
asked Mr. Muller.

“There is no other point suitable for a steamboat-landing on my
property,” said Mr. Berkeley. “The channel makes a bend inland here,
and above and below the water is shallow for some distance out;
besides it would be very expensive to build a wharf into the deep water
beyond the sunken wreck. It is not the part that you may see sticking
out of the mud that is dangerous,” he continued. “It is another portion
of the vessel which is sunk in the channel, but not far from the bank.
The condition of my fortune does not warrant me in removing this wreck,
which has been there so long that it has probably become a part of the
bank. You see, therefore, that as it is impossible for us to have a
steamboat wharf here at present, it is useless to talk of starting a
town.”

Thus the matter was disposed of, and Mr. Muller discovered that
although he had not had the slightest idea of the fact when he told
Chap the story of the three brothers, the sunken ship had, after all,
very much to do with his business at Hyson Hall.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE GREAT MOMENT ARRIVES.

Early one afternoon Chap Webster might have been seen rowing a little
boat, near the water’s edge, in front of the Hyson Hall estate. In the
stern of the boat was a box with a piece of canvas thrown over it, and
in the bow were several large packages. These things had been brought
home by Chap, in a wagon, that morning from Boontown, where they had
been sent to him from the city.

When Chap reached a spot nearly over the sunken vessel--and he found
the place very easily, for it was marked by a little floating buoy
which he had put there after many previous soundings and surveys--he
anchored his boat with a long rope, and began to carry out the great
scheme on which his mind had so long been set.

A large package securely tied up in India-rubber cloth, with the ends
of a long, double wire inserted into it, was lowered to the bottom
of the river, where it rested as near as possible to the side of the
sunken ship. The upper ends of the double wire were then attached to
the ends of two long, covered wires, which lay in separate coils in the
boat. This being done, Chap pulled up his anchor and slowly paddled
his boat to shore, carefully letting out his wires with one hand as he
paddled with the other.

This was quite a difficult thing to do, and it would have been much
better if he had had one of the other boys to help him. But he had come
to the conclusion that there must be no faint hearts in this matter,
and he had said nothing to them about it.

When he reached the shore, he fastened the boat to a stake, and taking
one coil of wire in his arms, he carried it up to the fence, which
stood at a little distance from the water’s edge, carefully uncoiling
it as he proceeded.

Then he laid it along the bottom of the fence, until he came to a
little brook which ran to the river through a pasture-field, and which
was bordered by thick bushes. He laid the wire along the edge of this
brook until it was all uncoiled. Then he went to his boat and brought
the other coil of wire, laying it by the side of the first.

Having thus carried these wires up the brook as far as they would
reach, he went to the boat and brought his box, which contained an
electric battery, to the spot where the farthest ends of his wires lay.

It was evident that all the distances had been measured and the
localities carefully surveyed. Having placed the box under some
overhanging bushes, where it could not readily be seen, Chap walked
along the line of his wires, carefully concealing them with leaves and
weeds wherever he thought it was necessary.

There were no cattle in the fields that afternoon, and as people seldom
passed that way, it was likely that his wires would be unnoticed and
undisturbed for an hour or so at least. Having settled these matters to
his satisfaction, Chap got into his boat and rowed away.

The first thing Chap did on reaching home was to go to Helen and tell
her all about this great affair.

His sister had often heard him talk of the wreck and the treasure he
thought it contained; but when she heard that Chap had made all the
arrangements for blowing the ship out of the water, and that it was to
be done that very afternoon, she was indeed astounded.

“Don’t you intend to tell the other boys?” she asked.

“No,” he answered. “They’ll be sure to want to put it off for this
thing or that, and might want to wait till we could have tin hoppers
made to catch the money in, or something of that kind. I’ve been
waiting long enough to do this thing, and I’m not going to hold back
another day. But I just felt I couldn’t keep it all to myself, so I
told you, for I know you’re the kind of girl who won’t hinder. Now I’m
going to take you down with me to see the thing blow up. Would you like
that?”

“Oh, yes!” said Helen, her eyes sparkling, “if we don’t have to go too
near.”

“We’ll keep out of danger,” said Chap. “But I’m going to do something
more for you. I’m going to let you touch her off!”

“Me!” cried Helen. “Oh, Chap! I couldn’t do that!”

“Why, it is nothing to do,” said Chap. “We’ll be far enough away, and
you’ve only got to touch a knob. Get your hat and come along. We’re
going to have the grandest blow-up ever heard of in these parts.”

A little nervous as to the danger, but wild with excitement as to what
was going to happen, Helen ran for her hat, and the two started away,
walking across the fields to the place where the battery had been
concealed.

On the way, Chap explained to his sister all his arrangements.

“According to what I can make out,” said he, “I’ve got enough
giant-powder sunk by the side of that wreck to blow up two ships.”

“I shouldn’t think they’d sell that stuff to a boy,” said Helen.

“It isn’t everybody who takes me for a child,” said Chap, loftily, and
made no further remarks on the subject.

“But how are you going to get the treasure?” asked Helen, presently.
“Won’t it be scattered all over, in every direction?”

“Now, look here, Helen,” said Chap, “I don’t want you to be making
objections. I didn’t let you into this thing for that purpose. I’ve
put the powder on the outside of the wreck, and it’s my opinion that
most everything will be blown in shore. If the money is stowed away in
iron boxes, perhaps they’ll come down without breaking. But we can’t
calculate for everything. The main thing is to blow her up.”

Soon after this the two arrived at their destination, and, uncovering
his battery, Chap exhibited it to his sister, and explained its action.

One of the wires which came from the jar which contained his simple
battery he united to the end of one of his wires from the river. The
end of the other wire was laid on a small board which covered one end
of the box, and was held in position by two wooden pegs. Directly over
this end of the wire was the end of the other short wire which came
from the battery, and which was fastened under a little wooden spring,
which Chap had made, and to the top of which he had fixed a small knob
or button.

“Now, Helen,” said Chap, when everything had been made ready, “you can
see just how the thing will work. When you press that knob, and push
the spring down, the two ends of the wires will touch, and the electric
circuit will be complete. These wires, which are insulated by being
covered with tape dipped in paraffine, except these upper ends, which
don’t need insulating, as they lie on wood, which is a non-conductor,
extend from the battery down to the giant-powder at the bottom of the
river. The two ends which are in the powder are united by a little
piece of thin platinum wire. When the circuit is completed by pressing
down the wire fastened to the spring, the electricity runs along
one wire, to come back by the other, but when it reaches the little
platinum wire it makes it red-hot, and that explodes the powder. So,
you see, it is all simple enough.”

“Yes,” said Helen, a little hesitatingly, “but you must have studied a
good deal to understand it all, and these things must have cost a good
deal of money, too.”

“I don’t mind expending time or capital,” said Chap, “when I am going
to do anything of importance. And now I think everything is ready.”

He then ran to a fence near by, and got up on the top rails, from which
he could get a view of the river for some distance up and down. Jumping
to the ground, he hastened back to Helen.

“There is no boat nor anything in sight!” he cried, “and the great
moment has arrived. Just push down that knob.”

“Oh, Chap, I can’t do it!” cried Helen, springing back.

“But you must! I want you to have the honor of touching her off. It’s
nothing to do, and it can’t hurt you. Just press down the knob.”

With trembling hand, Helen put her finger on the little knob and
pressed it down.

[Illustration: A column of water rose from the river, together with a
mass of mud and timbers]

A great boom, not loud, but deep and heavy, shook the air, and Chap,
who was standing outside the bushes, saw a column of water rise from
the river, together with a mass of mud and timbers. Smaller objects
flew high into the air, and as the wind was blowing from the river,
a sudden shower of spray fell all around him, as if it had been
raining. Then pieces of wood came thumping down, some in the field near
by.

One large stick, nearly three feet long, stuck into the ground not a
dozen yards from the spot where Helen sat, her hands before her eyes.

Chap rushed to his sister, as if he would throw himself over her to
protect her, but there was no need of that. Everything that was coming
down had come.

“Oh, Helen!” he cried. “I might have killed you! I ought to have had
ever so much longer wires. But there is no danger now. Let’s run down
and see how it looks.”

Before they reached the water’s edge, it was easy to see that something
very unusual had happened. The river was still heaving and tossing
above the place of the explosion. The water was thick and dark with
mud for some distance from the shore. Fresh mud was scattered over
everything,--the leaves and trunks of trees, the grass, the ground.
Pieces of timber, some half in and half out of the water, and some
thrown high up on shore, lay scattered about, but nothing was floating
on the surface of the river. All the woodwork of that vessel had become
water-logged long before, and such of it as had fallen into the water
had sunk again to the bottom.

With anxious eyes and hurried steps, Chap and Helen went up and down
the beach, looking here and there and everywhere, but they found no
iron boxes, nor did they see a single piece of gold or silver.

Mr. Berkeley and Phil, with Phœnix Poole, were sitting on the porch at
Hyson Hall, when they heard a great explosion down the river. There was
no flash or smoke, but they saw black objects flying into the air.

They sprang to their feet, and Phœnix exclaimed,--

“I’ll bet a thousand dollars that is Chap. He’s blown up the ship.”

Without another word all three started off at full speed for the
river-bank. When they reached the spot, they found Chap and Helen still
searching among the fallen timbers and clots of mud.

When the story had been told, and Chap had explained everything to the
astonished Mr. Berkeley, Phil exclaimed,--

“And haven’t you found any money?”

“Not a cent,” said Chap, ruefully. “I believe the crew must have been
paid off before they left the ship.”

Mr. Berkeley appeared much excited by what had occurred.

“Look here, young man,” he cried, clapping Chap on the shoulder, “you
needn’t trouble yourself about not finding any money. If you have
really blown that old wreck out of the channel, we’ll have a town here,
and I’ll give you a corner lot. I never thought the thing could be done
so easily.”

“Where is the scow?” said Phil. “If we could get a grapnel we might
fish up something.”

The boys looked up and down the beach, but saw no scow. And then Chap
pulled a long face.

“I forgot the scow was moored here,” he said. “I guess she’s blown to
flinders. But I’ll pay you for it, sir.”

“Not a bit of it,” cried Mr. Berkeley. “The old tub is not worth
considering. Judging from the timber lying around here, there can’t
be much of the wreck left. You didn’t think, young lady,” said he,
addressing Helen, “that when you touched that button you were starting
a town?”

“No, indeed, sir!” said Helen, with brightening eyes.

“But such was the fact,” said Mr. Berkeley; “and if we ever have the
town it shall be called Helena.”

When the bed of the river was afterwards examined, it was found that
there remained no obstructions to navigation which had not been so
shattered and loosened by the explosion that they could easily be
removed, and there was no reason why a wharf at that point could not
be used by river steamboats.

It was not long before Mr. Muller received a letter from Mr. Berkeley
assuring him of his hearty co-operation in the matter of the town of
Helena, which town ultimately proved a success, and became a source of
so much profit to Mr. Berkeley that the incumbrances upon Hyson Hall
were removed long before he had made out his titles to his Western
lands.

The first time the man with the black straw hat met Chap, he warmly
shook him by the hand.

“I didn’t suppose anything would come of your explosive ideas,” he
said, “but you have been the best man of us all. Mr. Berkeley says he
is going to make you a landed proprietor.”

“I don’t want any town-lots,” said Chap. “What I want is to be captain
of a tug-boat.”

“All right,” said Mr. Muller. “If the town ever owns a tug-boat, I’ll
see that you command her.”

On two stout brackets, over the dining-room mantel-piece at Hyson Hall,
and secured to the wall by a stout hasp and padlock, hangs Old Bruden.

When Mr. Berkeley heard Susan’s story about the gun, her superstition
pleased his fancy, for he was an imaginative man.

“It shall always be the master’s gun,” he said, when he hung it there;
“and when we shall have built our town, and paid our debts, and I shall
go to the city to practise law, Hyson Hall shall belong to my dear
Phil, and his shall be the master’s gun.”

THE END.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

  Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.

  Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.