"If I thought that Joe of our'n would be mean enough to carry tales on me and have me 'rested, I'd larrup him 'till his own mother wouldn't know him," declared Silas, who grew so angry at the mere mention of such a thing, that he wanted to catch up a stick and fall upon the boy at once.

"And make the biggest kind of a fool of yourself by doing of it," said Hobson, calmly. "Look a-here, Silas, you want to keep away from old man Warren's woods this winter."

"With them six hundred dollars' worth of birds running around loose and no law to pertect 'em?" cried the ferryman. "I'll show you whether I will or not. I tell you I'll have the last one of them before the winter's over. It is true that I don't care for such trifling things as the ferry any more, 'cause I've got a plan in my head that'll—hum! But I want to get even with old man Warren for breaking up my business, don't I?"

"Of course you do; and the best way to do it is to make him give something toward your support. Joe ain't of age yet, and you can compel him to hand over every cent he earns."

"That's so!" exclaimed the ferryman, who now began to see what his friend Hobson was aiming at. "That Joe of our'n makes right smart by acting as guide and pack-horse to the strangers who come here to shoot and fish; but I never thought to ask him for any of it. He always gives it to his mother."

"Why don't you make him give it to you, and then you can spend it as you please?" said Hobson, hoping that the ferryman would act upon his advice, and so increase his wealth by the addition of Joe's hard earnings that he could squander more at the bar of the Halfway House than he was in the habit of doing. "The head of the family ought to have the handling of all the money that comes into the house—that's my creed."

"And a very good creed it is, too," replied Silas, who told himself that he must be very stupid indeed not to have seen the matter in its true light long ago. "I'll turn over a new leaf this very day. Joe shall give me every cent of them hundred and twenty dollars, and I'll have what I can make out of them birds besides."

"There you go again," said Hobson, in a tone of disgust. "You mustn't go to work the first thing and kill the goose that lays the golden egg. If you begin on the first day of September, when the pa'tridge season opens, and shoot all them birds, there won't be none left for Joe to watch; and then old man Warren will tell Joe that he don't need him any longer. See the point?"

"I'd be stone blind if I couldn't see it," answered Silas, "and it makes me madder than I was before. Don't you understand that old Warren means to perfect them birds till they have increased to as many as a million, mebbe, and then he'll bring in a lot of his city friends and shoot 'em for fun—for fun, mind you—while poor folks like me and you, who need the money we could make out of 'em to buy grub and clothes—we'll be took up if we so much as set foot on t'other side his fences. Dog-gone such doings! 'Tain't right nor justice that it should be so, and I ain't going to stand it no longer. Thank goodness, I won't have to! I've got a plan in my head that'll—hum!"

Hobson made no response. Indeed, he did not seem to hear what Silas said to him, for he was straining his ears to catch the conversation that was-carried on by Mr. Warren and the surveyor, who were now coming up the bank.

He must have heard more than he wanted to, for, with an oath and a threat that made the ferryman's hair stand on end, Hobson hurried toward the place where he had left his horse. He mounted and rode away.

Mr. Warren and the surveying party left a few minutes later, followed by the commissioner and his jury; and Silas turned about and walked slowly toward his cabin.

He had not made many steps before he found himself confronted by his hopeful son Dan.

"Well," said Silas, cheerfully, "we won't have to pull that heavy flat across the river many more days, and the next time you go over you can take your gun with you and put a charge of shot into that horn, if you feel like it. Hallo! What's the matter of you?"

Dan's clenched hands were held close by his side, his black eyes were flashing dangerously, and he stood before his father, looking the very picture of rage and excitement.

"Can't you speak, and tell me what's the matter of you?" demanded Silas, who could not remember when he had seen Dan in such a towering passion before. "I know it's mighty hard to give up the ferry just 'cause them rich folks down to the Beach have took it into their heads that they don't want one here, but we can make enough out of them birds of old man Warren's to—"

Dan interrupted his father with a gesture of impatience, and snapped his fingers in the air.

"I don't care that for the ferry," he sputtered. "I am glad to see it go, for it has brung me more backaches than dimes, I tell you."

"Well, then, what's the matter of you?" Silas once more inquired. "You'd best make that tongue of your'n more lively, if you want me to listen to you, 'cause I ain't got no time to waste. I'm going in to talk to that Joe of our'n about the job that old man Warren offered to give him."

These words had a most surprising effect upon Dan. He bounded into the air like a rubber ball, knocked his heels together, and yelled loudly for somebody to hold him on the ground.

"Of all the mean fellers in the world that I ever see, that Joe of our'n is the beatenest," said he, as soon as he could speak. "Now, pap, wait till I tell you, and see if you don't say so yourself."

The ferryman, recalling some words that Dan let fall during their hurried interview in the cabin, told himself that he knew right where the trouble was; but he listened attentively to the story, which the angry boy related substantially as follows:

While Dan was taking his ease on the bank, and Joe was hauling in the sweeps and making the flat secure, Mr. Warren came up, arriving on the ground five or ten minutes before the commissioner and the surveying party got there.

He hitched his horse to the nearest tree, walked down the bank, and greeted Joe with a hearty good-morning, paying no attention to Dan, who was so highly enraged at this oversight or willful neglect on the part of the wealthy visitor, that he shook his fist at him as soon as he turned his back.

He was not long in finding out what brought Mr. Warren there, for he distinctly overheard every word that passed between him and Joe.

As he listened, the expression of rage that had settled on his face gradually gave place to a look of surprise and delight; and finally Dan became wonderfully good-natured, and showed it by rubbing his hands together, grinning broadly, and winking at the trees on the opposite bank of the river.

"Well, Joseph," said Mr. Warren, cheerfully, "going to school next term?"

"I am afraid I can't," replied Joe, sadly. "I don't see how I can afford it. Mother needs every cent I can give her. I must work every day, and shall be glad to cut some wood for you, if you will give me the chance."

"Then you can cut it by yourself, I bet you," muttered Dan. "I won't help you; I'd rather hunt and trap."

"I shall need a good supply of wood," said Mr. Warren, "but I thought of giving your father and Dan a chance at that."

"Thank-ee for nothing," said Dan, under his breath. "Pap can take the job if he wants to, but I won't tech it. I am getting tired of doing such hard work, and am on the lookout for something easy."

"I think I have better work for you, Joe," continued the visitor; whereupon Dan, who had thrown himself at full length on the bank, straightened up and began listening with more eagerness. "It is something that will take up every moment of your time during the day, and if you do your duty faithfully, you will find the work quite as hard and wearisome as chopping wood, and more confining; but you will have your evenings to yourself, and abundant opportunity to do as much reading and studying as you please. You know that one of our greatest men, Martin Van Buren, laid the foundation of his knowledge by studying by the light of a pine-knot on the hearth after his day's work was over. But you will not have to do that. I will give you a warm, comfortable house to live in, supply your table from my own, lend you books from my library, and furnish you with a lamp to read and study by. If you lay up a little information on some useful subject every day, you will have quite a store on hand by the time winter is over."

"What sort of a job is that, do you reckon?" said Dan to himself. "It's a soft thing, so far as the perviding goes, but what's the work? that's the p'int."

It must have been the very question Joe was revolving in his mind, for when Mr. Warren ceased speaking, he asked:

"What will you expect me to do in return for all this?"

"I am coming to that," answered the visitor, moving a step or two nearer to Joe, while Dan leaned as far forward as he could, stretched out his long neck and placed one hand behind his ear, so that he might catch every word. "You know that I have about six thousand acres of woodland, which is so utterly worthless that no man, who had his senses about him, would take it as a gift if he had to clear and cultivate it. It isn't even good enough for pasture; but it was a tolerably fair shooting-ground until I was foolish enough to build that hotel down there at the Beach. That brought in a crowd of city sportsmen, and between them and the resident market-shooters, the game, both large and small, has been pretty well cleaned out."

"Well, what of it," muttered Dan. "If I know anything about such matters, them deer and birds and rabbits belonged to us poor folks as much as they did to you."

"I like to shoot occasionally," Mr. Warren went on, "but the last time I went up there with a party of friends, we did not get enough to pay us for the tramp we took; so two years ago I went to considerable expense to restock those woods, and even offered to pay the market-shooters if they would let the birds alone until they had time to increase. But they wouldn't do it, and the consequence was that the English partridges and quails that cost me six dollars a pair were served up on somebody's dinner-table."

"Six dollars a pair!" whispered Dan, who could hardly believe that he had heard aright. "Pap didn't by no means get that much for them he shot. It's nice to be rich."

"My experience with those birds," continued Mr. Warren, "proved to my satisfaction that they are hardy and able to endure our severe winters. So I determined to try it again, and day before yesterday I turned down a hundred pairs of English partridges and quails—six hundred dollars' worth."

Dan was almost ready to jump from the ground when he heard this, and it was all he could do to refrain from giving audible expression to his delight.