“Is that you, Dannie?” asked the latter.

“You’re just a shoutin’,” was the reply.

“Nobody ain’t thar with you, I reckon,” said Godfrey.

“No, I’m all by myself.  But be you sartin that’s you, pap?”

“In course I am, an’ I’ve been a waitin’ an’ a watchin’ fur yer.  I’ll bring you over.  You’re an ongrateful an’ ondutiful boy to leave your poor ole pap, what’s fit the Yankees an’ worked so hard to bring you up like a gentleman’s son had oughter be brung up, out here in the cane so long all by hisself.”

“Why, pap, I didn’t know you was here,” said Dan.

Godfrey walked briskly along the shore until he reached a little thicket of bushes into which he plunged out of sight.  He appeared again almost immediately, dragging behind him a small lead-colored canoe which Dan recognized the moment he saw it.  It was Don Gordon’s canoe, the one he used to pick up his dead and wounded ducks when he was shooting over his decoys.  It was a beautiful little craft, and Dan had often wished that he could call it his own.  It was one thing that made him hate Don and Bert so cordially, and he had often told himself that when he was ready to carry out the threats he had so often made, that canoe should be one of the first things to suffer.  The brothers took altogether too much pleasure in it, and he wouldn’t have them rowing about the lake enjoying themselves while he was obliged to stay ashore.  The sight of it satisfied him that the man on the opposite bank was his father, and nobody else.  If he had been a “haunt” he would not have needed a canoe to carry him across the bayou.

Having placed the canoe in the water Godfrey went back into the cane after the oars—­the little craft was provided with rowlocks and propelled by oars instead of paddles—­and in a few seconds more he was on Dan’s side of the bayou.  The moment the canoe touched the bank he sprang out, and if one might judge by the cordial manner in which father and son greeted each other, they were glad to meet again.

“I didn’t never expect to feel your grip no more, pap,” said Dan, who was the first to speak, “an’ I’m ridikilis proud to see you with this yere dug-out.  How came you by it, and whar did you git it?”

“I jest took it an’ welcome,” answered Godfrey.  “I wasn’t goin’ to swim over to the island every time I wanted to go there, was I?”

“In course not.  I’m scandalous glad you tuk it; an’ now I’ll have a ride in it, an’ no thanks to Don Gordon nuther.  Been a livin’ here ever since you’ve been gone?” added Dan, as he stepped into the boat and picked up the oars.

“Yes, an’ I’ve been a lookin’ fur you every day.  Seems to me you might a knowed where to find me, kase here’s whar I hung out when the Yanks was in the country.  Hear anything about me, in the settlement?”

“Yes, lots.  Silas Jones has done been to Dave fur them eight dollars you owe him.”

“Much good may they do him, when he gets ’em,” said Godfrey, snapping his fingers in the air.