"I"m going to find Mr. Randall, and give it back to him, as quick as I can."
"What"s the use of doing that?"
"Because it"s the right way to do."
"That isn"t the way to get rich."
"But it"s the way to keep honest."
"Give it to me, Lawry."
"What are you going to do with it, father?"
"That"s my business."
"I shall give it back to the owner."
"No, you won"t, Lawry. Do you want to get me into trouble--to have me sent to jail?"
"If I give it back to Mr. Randall, there will be no trouble."
"Lawry, I"ve been poor and honest long enough. I"m going to do as other men do. I"m going to get rich."
"By keeping this money?" exclaimed the son.
"You needn"t talk any more about it; I put the money where you found it."
"I know you did."
"Give it to me."
"I will not, father, if you mean to keep it."
"I do mean to keep it. Do you think I have run all this risk for nothing? Give me the pocketbook."
"Don"t think of such a thing as keeping it, father," pleaded Lawry.
"I"m going to be rich," replied the father doggedly.
"You know what mother said about making haste to be rich: "Haste makes waste.""
"It will make waste if you don"t give me the pocket-book."
"Mr. Randall will not be satisfied till he gets his money, and you will certainly be found out."
"No, I shall not be found out. I"ll go to New York and change off the money this very night."
"But only think of it, father. You will be a thief. You never will have a moment"s peace as long as you live."
"I never did have, and I shall not be any worse off," said Mr.
Wilford coldly. "There comes your steamer. She hasn"t got any pilot on board; I know by the way she steers. You had better go and see to her, for she is running right for the Goblins."
Lawry glanced at the _Woodville_, as she appeared rounding a point, two miles distant.
"If you will go and find Mr. Randall, I will give you the pocketbook, father," replied Lawry.
"Well, I guess you are right, Lawry, and I"ll do it."
"He has gone up to the village," added Lawry, as he handed the money to his father.
CHAPTER V
HASTE AND WASTE
Lawry, satisfied that his father had come to his senses, and would restore the pocketbook to Mr. Randall, hastened into the boat, and pulled toward the _Woodville_. He was afraid Mr. Sherwood had been too venturesome in attempting to pilot the little steamer in waters with which he was entirely unfamiliar; but he hoped for the best, and rowed as hard as he could, in order to give him timely warning of the perils which lay in the path of the beautiful craft.
About half a mile above the landing at Port Rock there was a dangerous ledge, called the Goblins, some of whose sharp points were within a foot of the surface of the water when the lake was low. They were some distance from the usual track of steamers, and there was no buoy, or other mark, on them. The _Woodville_ was headed toward the rocks, as the ferryman had said, and it was impossible for Lawry to get within hailing distance of her before she reached them. He pulled with all his strength, and had hoped to overhaul her in season to avert a catastrophe.
Occasionally, as he rowed, he looked behind him to observe the course of the steamer. She was almost up to the Goblins, while he was too far off to make himself heard in her wheel-house. He was appalled at her danger, and the cold sweat stood on his brow, as he saw her hastening to certain destruction. He could no longer hope to reach her, and he ceased rowing.
Standing up in his boat, he waved his hat, and made other signs to warn the imprudent pilot of his danger. With one of the oars he tried to signify to him that he must keep off; but no notice was taken of his warning. On the forward deck of the little craft stood three ladies, who, taking the boatman"s energetic gestures for friendly salutations, were waving their handkerchiefs to him.
"Hard aport your helm!" shouted Lawry.
Mr. Sherwood sounded the whistle, evidently taking the shout as a cheer of congratulation at his safe arrival.
"Keep off!" roared Lawry.
Again the whistle sounded, and the ladies waved their handkerchiefs more vigorously than before. The young pilot was in despair. The _Woodville_ was going at full speed directly upon the rocks, whose sharp points would grind her to powder if she struck upon them.
"Hard aport!" repeated Lawry desperately.
Once more the supposed cheer was answered by the whistle and the waving of the ladies" handkerchiefs, and still the fairy craft dashed on toward the rocks.
"By gracious! she"s on them, as sure as the world!" exclaimed Lawry to himself, hardly able to breathe.
He had hardly uttered the words before he heard the crash which announced the doom of the _Woodville_. Her sharp bow slid upon the ledge, and she suddenly stopped in her mad flight.
Lawry bent on his oars again, horrified by the accident. He pulled as he had never pulled before. A moment or two after the steamer struck, he was startled by a succession of shrill shrieks from the ladies, and he turned to see what had happened. The _Woodville_ had filled, rolled off the rock, and sank in deep water, leaving her pa.s.sengers floating helplessly on the lake. The upper half of her smokestack was all that remained in sight of the beautiful craft which three minutes before had been a thing of beauty.
The young pilot did not pause an instant to contemplate the scene of destruction. He saw only the helpless persons struggling for life in the water, and he renewed his labors with a vigor and skill which soon brought him to the sufferers. Mr. Sherwood was supporting his wife; but both of them were nearly exhausted. Lawry helped Bertha into the boat, and told her husband to hold on at the rail.
Ethan French, with his arm around the waist of f.a.n.n.y Jane, was holding on at the smokestack, where also the fireman of the boat was supporting himself.
"Where is f.a.n.n.y?" gasped Mr. Sherwood.