CHAPTER IV.

THE PLANK OVER THE CHASM.

A week of indescribable misery to Nathan Fairfield passed away; but no trace of the robber or the money had been obtained. The constables and the deputy sheriff had visited the premises, and carefully considered all the facts, without affording the miserable man a particle of consolation. He groaned from morning till night, forlorn and desolate, declaring that he should come to want, and die in the poorhouse.

Probably the money the wretch had lost was not a fifth part of his fortune, and he was in no more danger of coming to want than the sea was of being dried up. But he felt as though he had lost all; and if he had been stripped of everything, he could hardly have suffered more. He felt poor, and wanted to earn money in some way. The dog-fish season had opened favorably, and he was actually preparing to go into the business of catching them. Dock Vincent had promised him the use of a dory,—for he could not afford to buy one,—and he had taken Levi's old lines and repaired them for use.

Mr. Fairfield groaned and sighed all day long while he worked upon his fishing-lines and his trolls. He could not tell who had stolen his money, and in his hatred of his nephew, he still persisted in suspecting him. There was no proof, and he could do nothing but believe that Levi was the thief. It was useless to say anything or do anything, for Levi was so popular that justice could not be had.

The lines, the troll, and the bait were all ready, and the old man carried them down to the landing-place where Dock had left the dory. Along the shore of this part of Cape Ann there is a succession of rocky peninsulas, extending out into the sea. Between these are the beaches, stretching in semicircles from bluff to bluff, as they have been fashioned by the mighty waves which roll in from the open ocean. On these sandy shores the billows chant their solemn melody all day and all night long, and break with sharper pitch and fiercer swell upon the jagged rocks that form the headlands.

On the road, but a few rods from Mr. Fairfield's, and near one of these peninsulas, was the house of Dock Vincent, where his family had always lived, even when he was in New York. The end of the headland curved round so as to leave a portion of the water behind it protected from the force of the sea, thus forming a sheltered landing-place. Off this point lay The Starry Flag, and on the rocks where the boatmen usually embarked were several skiffs, and among them Dock Vincent's dory, which Mr. Fairfield was to use.

Across the end of the headland, a few rods from the extreme point, was a natural chasm in the rocks, through which the water flowed at high tide. It was about ten feet wide, and rather more than this in depth. Across it a plank had been placed for the convenience of fishermen and others.

On the next headland, which terminated in Mike's Point, was the new summer residence of Mr. Watson. He had made a landing-pier, which was available at half tide; but Levi kept his boat at the old moorings, because the place was sheltered from the violence of the north-east winds, and it was less than half a mile across to the house where he usually took in his passengers.

Mr. Fairfield went down to the dory, and put his fishing-gear on board. He did it as a man goes to a funeral. He had been a fisherman in his younger days, but it was a bitter necessity, in his view, which now compelled him to resume it when he was old and stiff. While he was stowing the bait and lines in the skiff, Dock Vincent came down to see him. He had laid aside his suit of black, and now wore a full seaman's rig.

"Well, Squire Fairfield, have you heard anything from your money yet?" demanded Dock, as he seated himself on a rock.

"Not a thing; and 'tain't likely I ever shall, nuther," replied Mr. Fairfield, with a most distressing expression on his face.

"Haven't you any idea what has become of it?"

"Not the leastest grain in the world. It's gone, and that's all I know about it. I did think Levi took it, and I hain't got done thinkin' so yet."

"What made you think he took it?" asked Dock, with no little interest manifested on his ugly face.

"Well, he come to the house when I wan't in, though I was close by and see him go in. He went up garret and got a little saw-mill he made. I went up to the house, and was just goin' to see where he was; but I stopped a minute in the kitchen to tell my wife she was wastin' the wood, and Levi went out afore I see him. A little while arter, the fire bruk out, and arter that my money was gone. Levi's most eighteen, and it stands to reason he don't want no little saw-mill to play with."

"Of course he don't," added Dock, encouragingly.

"He said arterwards that he wanted to show it to the Watson gal. But what does a city gal like her keer about a saw-mill? and nuther on 'em hain't been near it sence."

"That shows how much they care about it," said Dock, who was evidently prepared to indorse the old man's philosophy.

"I can't help thinkin' Levi set the house afire, and then took the money," continued Mr. Fairfield, ignoring the current explanation of the cause of the fire. "My wife says 'tain't so, because the boy has all the money he wants, and don't have no occasion to steal; but Levi hain't no more idee of the vally of money than he has of flyin', and he throws it away as reckless as a sailor arter he comes home from a Cape Horn v'y'ge."

"I know he does; if he had to earn it, he wouldn't be quite so free with it."

"Levi hates me, 'f I am his uncle, and never did nothing but take good keer of his money for him—he hates me like destruction; and that's what makes me think he done it. He's a bad boy, if he is go'n' to jine the church. Folks will find him out one of these days, and then they'll know I told the truth about him."

"Could anybody else have taken the money? That's the p'int."

"Not's I know on—least ways nobody but you and Mat Mogmore."

"You don't think I took it—do you?"

"I hain't been able to think so," replied the miser, looking up into the face of Dock. "I allers thought you set too much by me to sarve me sech a trick as that. I've lent you a good deal of money one time 'n another."

"But I paid you ten per cent. for it. I didn't take your money, and I know Mat Mogmore didn't. I was with him all the time he was in the house. We worked together."

"It stands to reason, then, that Levi took it; I can't help thinkin' so."

"They say he carries a good many things to your house," suggested Dock.

"Kerries a good many things to my house!" repeated the miser with a sneer. "Mebbe he does. What sort of things does he kerry there? Chickens and turkeys, and surlines and ribs of beef, and sech truck! He knows I don't want sech things, and he does it jest to aggravate me. If he wants to do anything for me, why don't he gim me the money he pays out for 'em? That's what I want to know."

"I don't think you've hit the nail on the head this time, Mr. Fairfield," added Dock, who evidently had a theory of his own to propose. "They say you are worth some thirty or forty thousand dollars, Mr. Fairfield."

"Bless ye! I ain't wuth no sech money. I've got a little or sunthin, but I expect to lose it all."

"Well, call it twenty thousand, then."

"I ain't wuth that," added Mr. Fairfield, testily; for, like all misers, he desired to conceal his possessions, as much to blind the assessors as to avoid the peril of robbery.

"Well, you are worth something."

"A little or sunthin," answered Mr. Fairfield, conceding this for the sake of argument.

"Have you made a will, Squire Fairfield?"

"No, I hain't made no will. I hain't got nothin' to leave wuth makin' a will for."

Dock did not believe this statement, but he took no notice of it.

"You haven't any children, and if you should die, half of your money would go to Levi, and half to your wife. If you should die, Levi would make ten or fifteen thousand dollars by it. Don't you see now what he gives you chickens and turkeys for? He means to keep things smooth till you step out. If you shouldn't come back, when you go out after dog-fish to-morrow morning, Levi wouldn't feel half so bad about it as I should."

This was a disagreeable topic to the miser, and he cut it short; but the idea that Levi was ready to have him die took fast hold of his shattered mind. Dock Vincent had produced the impression he desired; he had added fresh fuel to the flame of the old man's hatred; and he was content to let the subject drop for the present.

Dock, finding himself a person of no consequence at the Cape, had already announced his intention to emigrate to Australia with his family; and he appeared to be waiting only to wreak his vengeance upon Levi Fairfield, who had defeated his plan to swindle Mr. Watson out of twenty thousand dollars. The young man had exposed and ruined him, in his estimation—not the crime; and he could not leave the country till he had "paid him off," though he was not so particular about his honest debts.

The next morning Dock went down to the landing-place. When he reached the chasm, he saw Levi coming across the beach. His eyes glowed with hatred, as they always did when he looked upon the author of his misfortunes, the one whose testimony had sent him to the state prison. He did not care to meet him, and it was evident that Levi was coming for his boat. Stooping down, he adjusted the plank over the chasm in such a way that his victim would be pitched down upon the sharp rocks beneath, the instant he stepped upon it. The fall would not kill him—it would only bruise and maim him. Levi was beneath the rocky precipice, and could not see him.

There was a smile on the villain's countenance as he retreated to a place of concealment near the spot, to wait for the disaster that should lay his victim upon the bed of pain and suffering.

He waited ten minutes for the crash of the falling plank; but it did not come. Rising from his seat, he moved to a position where, looking through the chasm, he saw The Starry Flag standing over towards Mr. Watson's house. Levi had walked on the shelving rocks, and reached the landing without crossing the bridge. Dock was disappointed, and began to climb the rocks to readjust the plank. As he ascended, he discovered Mr. Fairfield, just stepping on the bridge. He shouted, but it was too late; the end of the plank slipped off, the old man danced upon nothing, and sank in the abyss below.

CHAPTER V.

AN INDUCTIVE ARGUMENT.

Dock Vincent was appalled to find that he had tumbled Mr. Fairfield into the chasm; not that he was disturbed by any compunctions of conscience, but because he wished to keep on the right side of the old man, from prudential motives. He was in doubt whether to exhibit himself to the injured man or not. If he showed himself, he might be suspected of setting the trap into which the miser had fallen.

The old man might be dead, and curiosity, if no stronger motive, induced him to inquire into his condition; but he took the precaution to reach the path by a roundabout way, and approach the chasm as though he had just come from his house. When he reached the abyss, he found Mr. Fairfield had risen, and was trying to climb up the rocks. He was groaning and taking on as though he had been badly hurt.

"What's the matter, Squire Fairfield?" demanded Dock. "What you doing down there?"

"O! O!" groaned the miser.

"Looking for your money in there?"

"O! No! O! I fell in," said the sufferer, in gasps.

"Fell in! Why, how did that happen?" asked Dock, with well-feigned astonishment.

"I donno. O! that plank gin away, O, and let me down."

"Are you hurt?"

"Most killed," replied Mr. Fairfield, holding his breath, and then exploding the words.

Dock walked down the shelving bank above the water, and then entered the chasm.

"Where are you hurt?" he asked.

"My hips is both broke, and I'm jarred e'enamost to pieces."

"I guess your hips aren't broke; you couldn't stand up if they were," suggested Dock.

"Sunthin's broke, I know."

"Sit down on this rock, and let me see what is broke."

Mr. Fairfield complied, and Dock, who, as the master of a vessel, had had some experience with sickness and injuries, carefully examined the old man's limbs. He was badly bruised in several places, on the legs and arms, but no bones appeared to be broken, so far as Dock's surgical skill could discern. The jar of the fall had doubtless racked his frame severely; but the miser was still a strong man, physically, and could bear a pretty hard rap.

After resting a while, and rubbing his limbs, the sufferer was able, with the assistance of Dock, to walk home. He went to bed, and his wife bathed his limbs, and dressed the bruises on his legs and arms.

"Shall I go for the doctor, Squire Fairfield?" asked Dock, when he had assisted the patient into his bed.

"The doctor? No; he charges a dollar a visit," replied the old man, fearfully; for the idea of paying a physician's bill filled him with horror. "You say there ain't no bones broke; so I don't need no doctor."

"He don't need no doctor," added Mrs. Fairfield.

"I don't think you do myself. I've had worse cases than this aboard my vessel, and I got along without any doctors. You'll be all right in a week or two, Squire Fairfield."

"It's jest my luck," sighed the miser. "Everything's goin' wrong with me. I shouldn't be a grain surprised if the house burned down over my head afore I got out agin. I shan't ketch no dog-fish to-day, that's sartain. There's ten dollars out o' my pocket, as sure's you live!"

Dock was a rough comforter; but he spoke such words of consolation as the occasion required and his vocabulary contained.

"It's jest my luck," repeated the miser. "Every other man in town might have walked over that plank, and it wouldn't gin away. I walked over that plank last night, and airly this morning. I see, when I stepped on to it, that somebody had been a movin' on it; but I didn't know the 'tother eend was only just ketched on to the rock."

"Who moved it?" asked Dock, rather disturbed by this suggestion of a suspicion.

"I don't know nothin' about it; but somebody's been a movin' on it, or it wouldn't a gin away under me, and let me down."

"But who could have moved the plank?" persisted Dock.

"I donno; the eend I stepped on was kinder hauled up."

"You say the plank was all right in the morning, when you went down?"

"Sartin it was. I went over it, and fixed the dory, ready to go arter dog-fish, arter breakfast."

"Well, the question is, Who has been down to the P'int since you went?"

"I donno; but I believe somebody's tryin' to kill me—that's what I believe."

"O, nonsense! who should want to kill you?"

"I donno," replied Mr. Fairfield, hastily, and in a tone which implied that he knew very well who intended to kill him, but he did not wish to name the person. "If I hadn't been as tough as an old black-fish, it would have killed me, as sure as fate; that's the whole truth on't!"

"But who could have set such a trap?" persisted Dock.

"You didn't—did you?" added the old man, innocently.

"Of course I didn't. You don't think I'd do such a thing as that," said Dock, laughing.

"My wife didn't—did she?"

"Massy sakes! What's got into your head, Nathan?" interposed the old lady. "Goodness knows I didn't do no sech thing."

Mrs. Fairfield was a simple-minded woman, and she did not comprehend that her disabled lord was only reasoning by an interrogatory and inductive method.

"Certainly Mrs. Fairfield didn't meddle with the plank," added Dock.

"'Twan't Mr. Watson—was it? nor the Watson gal, nuther?"

"No," answered Dock.

"Who was it, then—don't you see?"

Dock did not choose to see yet, though his mental visuals had perceived from the beginning what the old man was driving at; and he was greatly rejoiced to have the suspicion turned away from himself.

"Who else goes down on to that P'int, almost every day of the week, 'cept Sunday?—and he don't go then 'cause he's go'n' to jine the church," continued the miser, excited by the topic he was discussing.

"You don't mean Levi—do you?" said Dock, opening his eyes as wide as the hawse-holes of a man-of-war.

"I see The Starry Flag a standin' over to Mr. Watson's new house when I was goin' down to the P'int."

"Did you?" asked Dock, when the old man paused to note the effect of the climax of the inductive argument upon the listener.

"I sartainly did. That proves that Levi went down to the P'int afore I did—don't it?"

"Well—yes; he went down there, of course," added Dock, in rather deprecating tones. "He couldn't have got his boat if he hadn't gone down there."

"Then of course Levi done it!" exclaimed the old man. "'Tain't no use o' beating round the bush no more. Levi done it, and he meant to kill me."

"'Tain't so!" protested Mrs. Fairfield, warmly. "There ain't no sense nor reason in sayin' Levi done it. Levi wouldn't do sech a thing."

"He may jine all the churches in town, but I tell you he's a bad boy, and he's go'n' as straight to the gallows as a chicken goes to her dough. Don't you know how he used me? how he fit me, and found fault with his victuals; and then got all the property took away from me, jest because I wouldn't let him spend it all? Don't tell me! I know what Levi Fairfield is better 'n any other man."

"What on airth should the boy wan't to break your bones for, let alone killin' on you?" demanded Mrs. Fairfield.

"O, well, Susan, you're nothin' but a woman; and we can't expect women folks to see through everything—can we, Dock?"

"Your wife has excellent judgment about things in general, Squire Fairfield," replied Dock, smoothly.

"There now! Tell me I don't know!" retorted the irate helpmate, somewhat appeased by the delicate compliment. "'Tain't in reason that boy meant to do sech a thing."

Mr. Fairfield groaned, and changed his position in the bed. His bones ached, and his bruises smarted; but the task of showing that Levi was wicked enough even to plan a deliberate murder was too pleasing a one to be abandoned, though the twinges of pain that darted through the miser's limbs indicated rest both for body and mind. The sufferer rehearsed all the points bearing against his nephew in the heinous act under consideration, and he succeeded in satisfying himself and his visitor that the young man intended to shorten his uncle's life. Mrs. Fairfield,—grateful for the newspapers, which had given her a new joy in the desolate world, and for the chickens, turkeys, and roasting-pieces, which afforded her an occasional respite from salt fish and fresh fish,—Mrs. Fairfield was obstinate, and refused to believe that Levi—who, by the way, had just added the "Cape Ann Light" to his aunt's sum total of earthly joys—was capable of doing a wicked act.

"Women folks don't see through things," said Mr. Fairfield, disgusted at his wife's want of perception. "I've been thinkin' o' what you said last night," he added, turning to Dock. "I never thought of sech a thing before; but, I vow, it's just as you said."

"Well, Squire Fairfield, I didn't say that to set you against the boy; only to have you keep your eyes open," replied Dock.

"When I fell into that hole, it opened my eyes so wide, I shan't shet 'em agin very soon."

Mrs. Fairfield wanted to know "what on airth all this talk meant;" and the relations of Levi to his uncle's post-mortem estate were explained, so that "women folks" could understand them. She did not believe Levi cared for the property, what there was of it, and she was not yet willing to believe that he set the trap to destroy his uncle.

"I believe it; and what's more, I know it," persisted the miser. "But I'll cheat him out of it; I'll make a will this very day! I'll give what little I have to Susan—I will, by gracious!"

"It's very proper for you to do so," replied Dock, mildly.

"Can't you write a will, Dock?"

"Me! No. I don't know how. You must make it strong, or they'll break it, you know. Better send for Squire Saunders, and have it done right."

"Squire Saunders!" exclaimed the invalid. "What'll he charge?"

"O, five dollars, perhaps."

"Five dollars! What jest for writin' a little or sunthin?"

"Perhaps he won't charge you more than three."

"I shan't give no three dollars, nuther. I can't afford it. I'm e'enamost stripped of everything now."

The will was not made, and Dock left the house, promising to call again in the afternoon.

CHAPTER VI.

THE STARRY FLAG.

Levi Fairfield, in happy ignorance of the misfortune which had befallen his uncle, headed The Starry Flag towards the mansion of Mr. Watson. This was to be a great day with him, and he was filled with hope and exultation.

The Starry Flag was a capital boat, but Levi had long been beset by an ambition to sail something larger. This desire was about to be realized, for Mr. Watson, always a lover of the sea, had contracted for a yacht of eighty tons, at the establishment of a celebrated builder in the city. She was to be ready by the 1st of June, but she was not completely stored and furnished till the 10th.

Mr. Watson had remained in the city over night, and was to sail in the yacht for his summer home the next morning—on the day that Levi missed falling into the chasm. As the wind was fair, and tolerably fresh, the young skipper thought she would arrive by noon, and he was to take the ladies round as far as Eastern Point, to give her a welcome to the waters of the Cape.

Levi was to be the commander of the yacht, and he was every way qualified for the position. He had studied navigation, could take an observation, and do all the problems required of a thorough sailing master. On the deck of a vessel he was in his element, and there was not a point in navigation or seamanship with which he was not familiar. He could not only hand, reef, and steer, but he could knot and splice, parcel and serve, as neatly and as skilfully as a veteran man-of-war's man. He was interested in such matters, and had spent hours and hours in making short and long splices, eye splices, Turk's heads, and other parts of rigging, until he was an adept in the art.

Bessie had been the prime mover in this enterprise. She insisted upon having a craft in which the whole family could go off for a month, and be almost as comfortable as in their own home. She prevailed in this, as she did in nearly everything which involved only the will of her father to gratify her.

Bessie and Mrs. McGilvery were handed into the boat at the pier behind the house, and The Starry Flag was soon dancing over the long waves that roll into Sandy Bay from the broad ocean. All the party were excited; for to see a splendid, new yacht, in which they hoped to have many good times, was enough to kindle a glowing enthusiasm in such lovers of the art of boating.

"You don't know her name yet—do you, Levi?" said Bessie, in a kind of taunting tone.

"I do not, but I shall soon find out if this breeze holds," replied the skipper, who had been wilfully kept in ignorance on this important matter.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" added Bessie, teasing him.

"Of course I would; but I am willing to wait a few hours longer."

"Why don't you manifest a little impatience about it?" pouted she.

"It wouldn't do any good; besides, I am a Yankee, and I think I can guess what her name is. Indeed, I feel almost sure I know it."

"What do you think it is?"

"That's telling," laughed Levi.

"But won't you tell me?" said Bessie, assuming an imploring look.

"I think I will pay you off by keeping still."

"Do tell me what you think it is. I shall not like it if you don't."

Levi would have dived down among the fishes if such had been her will, and he was compelled to answer,—

"Of course there is only one name for her, and your father must have chosen that."

"Perhaps not. But why don't you say what you think the name is?"

"Will you tell me if I guess right?"

"I will if you guess right the first time."

"Very well; here goes, then! Her name is the Bessie Watson, to be sure. There is no other name fit for her."

"No! How absurd you are, Levi Fairfield!" replied Bessie, blushing up to the eyes.

"No? Why, that ought to be her name, if it isn't. It's the Bessie, the Bessie Watson, or something of that kind. I know it is. Of course your father wouldn't think of calling her by any other name."

"It isn't anything of the kind, Levi. I am willing to confess that father wanted to name her after me, but I wouldn't let him. I wanted another name."

"I'm sorry you did, for I wanted that name; and I shall not enjoy her half so much as I should if she had been called after you," replied Levi, not at all in the tones of gallantly, but in those of simple truth and sincerity.

"It is very kind of you to say so, and to think so, Levi; but I believe she has received a better name," added Bessie, not unmoved by the devotion of the gallant skipper.

"There isn't any better name. I'm really disappointed."

"You will not be when you read her name."

"But what is the name?" asked Levi, seriously.

"The—why, I almost told you!" laughed Bessie.

"I hope it is not a hard name, for sailors make such a fuss about jaw-breaking words. An old coaster meant to name his vessel the Amphitrite, but he gave the name of Anthracite to the painter, and it was duly lettered upon the stern. However, it answered just as well, as the craft went into the coal trade."

"It isn't a long name, nor a hard one, and I know it will suit you."

"Well, Bessie, if it suits you, it will suit me," added Levi; "though I did hope she would be called the Bessie."

The Starry Flag sped on her way, and before noon was off Eastern Point. There were several coasters approaching, but Levi could not make out the yacht till he examined every craft with the spy-glass.

"I see her!" exclaimed he, as he headed his boat so as to intercept her.

"Is she handsome?" asked Bessie.

"I can't make her out very well at this distance; but we shall be up with her in half an hour or so."

Bessie looked through the glass, and so did Mrs. McGilvery, but they did not obtain much satisfaction. The yacht was making her ten knots, and in the time Levi had named they were within hailing distance of her.

"She is a beauty, and no mistake!" exclaimed the skipper, warmly. "She is pretty enough to be called the Bessie Watson."

"You mustn't say such things, Levi. They are not pretty," said Bessie, very seriously.

"The yacht is pretty enough, and so is the one she ought to have been named after," persisted the gallant skipper.

"There it is again! You are real naughty, Levi," pouted she; and probably, like all pretty girls, she had a distaste for compliments.

"Yacht ahoy!" shouted Levi.

But Mr. Watson had already recognized The Starry Flag, and the yacht was thrown up into the wind. Levi hauled in his sheet, and sailed in a graceful curve around the stern of the vessel, intent upon reading the secret which had been so persistently kept from him.

"Now you will know!" exclaimed Bessie, gazing anxiously into his face to observe the effect of the discovery upon him.

"Dog-fish and dunderfunk!" ejaculated Levi, as he read the name, "The Starry Flag!"

"There now, Mr. Skipper! Isn't that the name of all names for her?"

"The Starry Flag!" repeated Levi, as he gazed at the golden letters on the stern of the yacht.

"Why don't you say something, you absurd skipper? I'm dying to know what you think of it, and you don't say a word."

"I like it first-rate; but if I had read 'Bessie' there, I should have liked it better, much as I like it now."

"I couldn't have her named after me! How ridiculous! I'm sorry you don't like the name."

"But I do like it, Bessie; though you couldn't expect me to like any other name as well as yours."

"Why, how absurd you are!" replied Bessie, as Levi ran the boat up to the yacht.

The gangway had been rigged so that the passage from one craft to the other was an easy matter, even for ladies. Mr. Watson assisted them on board. One of the hands, who knew the coast, was deputed to take charge of The Starry Flag, and Levi went on board of the beautiful vessel he was to command.

"Well, Levi, what do you think of her?" asked Mr. Watson, after they had walked around the deck, and inspected the cabin and cook-room of the yacht.

"She is magnificent, sir!" replied Levi. "She is, without exception, the finest yacht I ever saw, and I have examined a great many."

"I am glad she suits you. How do you like the name?"

"Very much, sir, though if it had been the Bessie, I should have liked it better."

"I intended to give her that name, but Bessie was contrary, and insisted that she should be called The Starry Flag, in grateful remembrance of her trip from the Penobscot. I really appreciate her motives, and both of us desire to perpetuate the name of your boat by giving it to the finest yacht that could be built."

"Since it pleases both you and her, I ought to be satisfied with it—and I am. We have two Starry Flags now, and we may get them mixed."

"The name of your boat shall henceforth be The Starry Flag, Jr.," laughed Mr. Watson. "When we say The Starry Flag, we mean the yacht, and when we say The Starry Flag, Jr., we mean your boat."

The Starry Flag, then, cut her way through the long billows at a rate which was highly gratifying to the embryo captain, who, prompt to his instincts, had taken the helm, when he had examined her. He declared that she steered splendidly, and he was sure she would prove to be a good sea-boat. In a short time she came to anchor off Mike's Point. The steward had prepared a lunch for the party, and they sat down at the table as soon as the yacht swung round to her cable.

"Now, Levi, you must get a crew for your vessel. These men, with the exception of the cook and steward, will return to Boston this afternoon," said Mr. Watson.

"Are the crew to leave her?"

"I only engaged them to bring her down, for I thought that you would prefer to select your own hands."

"I should," replied Levi, thinking what young men he could procure.

"We shall be ready to start on our cruise to the eastward in three or four days," added Mr. Watson.

"I will be ready, sir."

By the time the lunch was disposed of, The Starry Flag, Jr. had arrived, and Levi landed the party. He was anxious to engage his crew, and he ran the boat over to her moorings. On the rocks he found Dock Vincent, who had been observing the yacht.

CHAPTER VII.

GRAVE CHARGES.

"What vessel's that, Levi?" asked Dock Vincent, as the young skipper landed on the rocks.

"It's The Starry Flag," replied Levi, smiling.

"No, I mean the large yacht, off the Point."

"So do I."

"You don't mean to tell me that vessel's called The Starry Flag!"

"Yes, I do; that's her name. My boat is now called The Starry Flag, Jr.," answered Levi, beginning to move off, for he was not disposed to hold any intercourse with such a person as Dock Vincent.

"Hold on a minute, Levi; tell us about her," said Dock. "What is she for?"

"A yacht; but I am in a hurry now."

"Wait a minute. I have some bad news to tell you."

"Bad news?"

"Your uncle had an ugly fall this morning, just after you went off in the boat," added Dock.

"Where did he fall?" asked the young skipper, interested now, and troubled by the information.

"He fell into the cut, where the plank crosses it," replied Dock, pointing to the place where the accident had occurred.

"Is he much hurt?"

"Yes; I think the old man is putty badly damaged in his timbers. He has taken to his bed, and I shouldn't wonder if he had to stay there a month."

"I am sorry for it," said Levi, with entire sincerity. "How did it happen?"

Dock explained how it happened, taking care to locate himself at a considerable distance from the scene of the catastrophe.

"The old man thinks somebody fixed the plank so as to make him fall," added he, finishing his narrative.

"To make him fall!" exclaimed the attentive listener. "Who does he think did it?"

"Well, Levi, he thinks you did it," answered Dock, softening his tones, so as not to commit himself to this view.

"I!"

"The old man thinks so, but that don't make it so, you know."

"What makes him think I did it?"

"Because you were the last person that went down to the P'int before he did. You were running over to Watson's new house, in the Flag, when the thing happened."

"I haven't been over the plank to-day," said Levi.

"You went to your boat just before the old man come down here; and he don't see who else could have done it."

"I did not cross on the plank; I went along on the rocks, as I always do when I come across the second beach," protested the young skipper.

"Well, I don't know anything about it, you see, Levi," added Dock, in deprecatory tones. "I only tell you what the old man told me. He knows you hate him."

"But I don't hate him."

"Don't you?" asked Dock, with a sceptical grin.

"I'm sure I do not," answered Levi, with emphasis.

"Perhaps you don't; but after all the trouble there's been between you and the old man, it wouldn't be strange if you hated him and he hated you."

Probably Dock was as sincere as Levi; for there was not a Christian idea in his head, or a Christian purpose in his heart. He had no keener perception of the sublime doctrine of forgiving one's enemies, than the beasts of the field or the fowls of the air. In his view it was the most natural thing in the world for the uncle to hate the nephew, and for the nephew to hate the uncle; and he did not believe it possible for either of them to banish the foul impulse from his heart.

"I don't hate my uncle; I would do anything in the world for him," continued Levi, earnestly, but thoughtfully, for he was deeply pained by the suspicions of his uncle.

"I'm going up to see the old man, by and by, and I'll tell him what you say about it," added Dock.

"I have a great deal to do, but I shall go and see him myself," said Levi, as he began to move up the rocks again.

"What's your hurry, Levi? I want to talk with you about that vessel. She is a fine schooner."

"She is all that. I have to find a crew for her, for we are going off on a cruise in three or four days. Do you know of any young fellows who want to make good wages without working very hard?"

"Yes; there's Mat Mogmore," replied Dock, after a little reflection. "He'll make a first-rate hand for you. I rather think he'll go off to Australia with me in the Caribbee."

"In the what?"

"In the Caribbee—that's my vessel. She's a schooner, rather larger than that yacht, and she'll outsail anything of her inches that ever floated. If you want Mat Mogmore, he'll be glad of a lay in that yacht, for I shan't get off for three weeks yet. I'll speak to him about it."

Levi preferred to do his own speaking, not wishing to place himself under any obligation, however slight, to a man of Dock's character and antecedents. He decided to visit his uncle at once, and call at Mr. Mogmore's house on his way home. With some difficulty he escaped from his ancient enemy, and crossing the plank, which had been placed in its original position by Dock after the accident, he walked up the tongue of land, dreading the scene at his uncle's which the information he had received led him to expect.

He found his aunt in the kitchen, and inquired particularly into the condition of uncle Nathan. She thought he was "a leetle more comfortable," and told Levi to go in and see him if he wanted to, for she was confident that the young man could clear himself from the grave charge preferred against him.

"How do you feel, uncle Nathan?" asked Levi, kindly, as he entered the bed-room.

The old man looked at him with a savage stare, but made no reply.

"I am sorry you have had such a fall," continued Levi.

"No, you ain't sorry, nuther! What do you want to say that for, Levi Fairfield? It's all your work, and 'tain't likely you keer how much I suffer," growled the injured man, his words interspersed with many a groan.

"What is my work, uncle?" asked Levi, mildly.

"Didn't you fix that plank over the cut so's to gim me this fall?"

"No, sir, I'm sure I did not," protested Levi.

"Don't tell me!" groaned the old man, suffering as much from passion as from pain.

"I can only say, uncle, that I have not touched the plank; and I did not go near it this morning."

"'Tain't no use; I know you did! You went down to your boat afore I did, for I see you standin' over to Watson's new house jest afore I fell. You want to kill me—that's what you're tryin' to do; and you e'enamost done it this mornin'."

"I'm sorry you have such an opinion of me, uncle," replied Levi, more in sorrow and pity than in anger.

"You've got most of my money afore I'm dead, and you mean to have the rest on't arter I'm gone," continued the old man, in angry, whining tones.

"Do you still think I took the gold, uncle Nathan?"

"Do I think so! I know you did! Nobody else took it, and nobody could done it but you! What have you done with it?"

"I know nothing about it, uncle. I am sorry you think so hard of me. I'm ready and willing to do anything I can for you."

"Then gim me back my money!"

"I haven't it."

"Yes, you have!"

It was useless to talk with the sufferer, and Levi's presence only excited him. After repeating, in the gentlest of tones, his desire to serve him, the young skipper turned to depart.

"You'll be found out, Levi Fairfield, and you'll have to give that money up. 'Tain't no use to try to git red on me, for I'm go'n' to make a will, and leave what little I've got to your aunt," said Mr. Fairfield.

"Uncle Nathan, do you really think I want your money?" asked Levi, beginning to be indignant at the foul suspicious of the old man.

"That's what you want to kill me for," whined the miser.

"I don't want to kill you, or hurt you."

"I'm go'n' to make a will; so 'tain't no use to try to git red of me any more."

Levi pitied the sufferer, as much for his moral as his mental obtuseness, and fearful that his indignation might get the better of his pity, he left the room. His uncle threatened him with all the terrors of the courts and the prisons as he withdrew. In the kitchen he found Dock Vincent, who had come to make his promised afternoon visit. Levi left immediately, and called at the house of the carpenter. Mat Mogmore, after some haggling, consented to become one of the crew of the yacht. He was a young man of eighteen, who had made two or three fishing voyages, and was a smart, active fellow. He had been rather intimate with Dock since the return of the latter; and this was all Levi had against him. Before night, the young captain of The Starry Flag had engaged three other hands. The crew were to go on board the next morning, when Levi intended to start on a trial trip, for the purpose of training his men, and becoming more familiar himself with the working of the yacht.

Dock Vincent entered the chamber of Mr. Fairfield. He found the old man agitated, and almost crying with anger and vexation.

"So Levi's been to see you," said the visitor, seating himself at the bedside.

"Yes, he has! Sunthin must be done, Cap'n Vincent," replied the old man, trying to rise on the bed, but sinking back with a groan.

"Don't try to git up; keep still, Squire Fairfield, and don't hurt yourself," interposed Dock.

"I can't stand this no longer!" howled the miserable man, the tears starting in his eyes. "Sunthin must be done."

"What shall it be, squire?" asked the comforter, coolly.

"I can't stand it no longer, and I won't, nuther," repeated the sufferer. "Somebody's got my money, and I must git it back, or it'll kill me. That boy must be took up, and sarched till the money's found. I know he's got it. Nobody else couldn't have took it. He must have kerried it off in that little saw-mill. That's what he come arter the saw-mill for—to kerry off the money in."

"Do you want to have Levi arrested?" asked Dock, musing.

"Yes; he must be took up. As soon as he sees I'm in airnest, he'll git scared, and give up the money."

"Musn't be too hasty, squire. If you be, it'll damage you."

"No 'twon't; nothin' can damage me now. I'll resk it. Git a constable; but don't git Gayles."

Dock counselled moderation, and thought it would be better to wait till they had more proof, before taking any decisive steps. He finally quieted the old man by promising to "hunt up the evidence," and have Levi arrested as soon as there was any proof to work with.