Mr. Jones, in his anger at Robert, regretted that he must wait four weeks before he could turn him and his aunt out of the house. It would be a great satisfaction to him to see the boy without a roof to shelter him, reduced to becoming a tramp or to take refuge in the poorhouse.

"By George, I'll humble the young beggar's pride!" exclaimed Mr. Jones as he hastened homeward from his unsatisfactory interview.

It must be admitted that Robert had not been exactly respectful, but, on the other hand, it is quite certain that the landlord had been rude and rough in manner and speech.

Why, then, did not Mr. Jones foreclose the mortgage instantly and gratify his resentment? Because in the instrument there was a proviso requiring a notice of four weeks.

However, he felt that it would make little difference.

"They can't raise the money in four weeks," he reflected. "There's nobody round here who will lend them the money, and they don't know anybody anywhere else."

So, on the whole, he was satisfied. Four weeks would soon pass, and then his thirst for revenge would be sated.

"What makes you so sober, my boy?" asked the hermit when Robert made his regular call upon him the next day.

"I feel anxious," answered the boy.

"But why need you? You told me your uncle did very little for the family. I think you will be able to take care of your aunt. If not, I will help you more."

"Thank you, sir; you are very kind. But we thought when you called the other day that we owned the house and would have no rent to pay."

"Were you mistaken about this?" asked the hermit quickly.

"It seems so. Mr. Jones, the tavern keeper, has a mortgage on the property and threatens to foreclose in four weeks unless the money is paid. Of course, we can't pay him, and I suppose we shall be turned out."

"How large is this mortgage?"

"Two hundred dollars."

"That is not a very great sum."

"It is very large to us. You know how poor we are."

"But have you no friend who will lend you the money?"

"No, sir."

"Are you sure of that?" asked the hermit with a peculiar smile, which inspired new hope in Robert. Then, without waiting for a reply, the man continued:

"If you are willing, I will pay this mortgage when the time comes, and I will be your creditor instead of Mr. Jones."

"How can I thank you?" exclaimed Robert joyfully. "My aunt will be delighted."

"Tell her then, but no one else. It will give Mr. Jones a surprise."

"It won't be a pleasant one. He was very rude and impolite and said he hoped to see us in the poorhouse."

"I don't believe you will ever go there, Robert," said the hermit, looking earnestly at the strong, energetic face of the boy before him.

"No, sir, I don't believe we will. But you are doing a great deal for us, sir. How can I ever repay you? If there was anything I could do for you I should be glad."

"Perhaps you can," said the hermit in a musing tone.

"Let me know what it is, sir, and I'll be glad to do it."

"Have you ever wondered," asked the hermit abruptly, "why I have left the haunts of men and retired to this out-of-the-way spot?"

"Yes, sir. I have thought of that often."

"Your curiosity is natural. I am not a poor man—in fact I should be called rich. Poverty and pecuniary troubles, therefore, have nothing to do with my strange act—as the world considers it. In my life there have been two tragedies. I was married, at the age of thirty, to a very beautiful young lady, whom I tenderly loved. I made my home in a city of considerable size and lived as my means warranted. One evening, as my wife stood before the open grate, dressed for a party, her dress caught fire, and before help could arrive she was fatally injured. Of course the blow was a terrible one. But I had a child—a boy of five—on whom my affections centered. A year later he mysteriously disappeared, and from that day I have never heard a word of him. When search proved unavailing, I became moody and a settled melancholy took possession of me. I could not endure the sight of other parents happy in the possession of children, and I doomed myself to a solitary life, wandering here and there till, two years since, I chanced to find this cave and made my home here."

"How old would your son be now?" asked Robert with interest.

"About your own age—perhaps a little older. It was this and a fancied resemblance which attracted me toward you."

"Had you any suspicion that your son was stolen?" asked Robert.

"Yes. In particular I suspected a cousin who would be my probable heir in case my boy died. But I could never prove anything, and the man expressed so much sympathy that I was ashamed to avow any suspicions. But Charles Waldo was a covetous man, insatiable in his greed of money and absolutely cold and unsympathetic, though his manner was plausible. He hoped that this second blow would kill me, but he has been disappointed."

"If the boy is living, perhaps he knows where he is," said Robert.

"If he abducted him—yes. He would not kill him, for he is too cautious a man and has too great fear of the law."

"Where is Mr. Waldo now living?"

"In Ohio. He has a large farm and a moderate amount of money invested—some twenty thousand dollars perhaps—so that he is able to live at ease. He was disappointed because I would not give him the charge of my property, but with the lingering suspicion in my mind I could not make up my mind to do it. He also sought a loan of ten thousand dollars, which I refused."

"How then does he expect to be your heir?" asked Robert.

"Two-thirds of my property is entailed and must be left to him if my boy is dead."

"If he really stole your son, he must be a wicked man," said Robert with boyish indignation at the thought.

"Yes, for he has wrecked two lives—mine and my boy's."

"Have you no hope of ever again seeing your son?"

"Only a slight one. I have thought of a plan in which I need your help."

"If I can help you, sir," said Robert heartily, "I will do so gladly."

"I do not doubt it, Robert," said the hermit kindly. "I will explain my meaning. If Charles Waldo knows anything of my lost boy, he must, from time to time, hold communication with him, and if he is watched he may some day reveal his hiding place."

"Why do you not go out to where he lives and watch him?"

"It would do no good. It would only put him on his guard. I intend this office for you."

"For me?" exclaimed Robert in amazement.

"Yes, you are young, but you have natural ability, and shrewdness. At any rate, you are the only one I have to send. It is a desperate chance, but I shall feel better satisfied when I have tried it."

"I will follow your instructions whenever you wish," said Robert, his heart beating at the prospect of seeing something of that world of which he had seen so little and heard so much.

"My instructions will be few. I must trust much to your shrewdness. You will need to visit the town where my cousin lives to observe his habits and any unusual visitors he may have—in fact, try to arrive at the knowledge of the secret, if there is one, connected with my boy's disappearance."

"What was your son's name?"

"Julian Huet. My own name is Gilbert Huet, but this information is for your ear alone."

"I will not mention it, sir."

"You need not feel anxious about leaving your aunt. I will see that her wants are provided for during your absence."

"Thank you, sir."

"And the mortgage shall be paid when it comes due."

"I wish I could be here to see Mr. Jones disappointed."

"You can hardly be back so soon. It may take you six months. The task is one that will require time. By the way, I do not wish you to mention to your aunt the nature of your errand. Merely tell her that you are traveling on business for me."

"Very well, sir. How soon do you wish me to start?"

"At the beginning of next week."

"I am afraid, sir, I have no clothes that are fit to wear," said Robert with hesitation.

"You will provide yourself in Boston with a suitable outfit. You will be supplied with an ample sum of money, and I will instruct my bankers to honor any drafts you may make."

"You will be spending a great deal of money for me, Mr. Huet."

"I am rich, and living as I have each year this made me richer. I will not grudge ten, twenty, fifty thousand dollars if you find my boy or bring me a clew which will lead to his discovery."

Robert was dazzled. It was evident that the hermit must be very rich. He walked home in high spirits. He was on the eve of an exciting journey and he enjoyed the prospect.