“There’s no way to get there tonight over this road,” said the man; “but you might see if Middy Burnes could take you down the lake.  He’s got a tug, and for a little money he’ll run you right there.”

Horace quickly left the station, and, making his way to the street, found the house to which he had been directed.  At his knock Middy Burnes poked a bald head out of the door and asked his business.  In a few words Shellington made known his wants.  The tugman threw the door wider and scratched his head as he cogitated: 

“Mister, it’ll take me a plumb hour to get the fire goin’ good in that tug.  If ye can wait that long, till I get steam up, I’ll be glad to take ye.”  So, presently the two walked together toward the inlet where the boat was tied.

“Who do you want to see down the lake this time of the year?” asked Burnes, with a sidelong look at his tall companion.

“Lon Cronk.”

“Ho! ho!” laughed Middy.  “I jest brought him and Lem Crabbe up from Tarrytown, with one of Lon’s kids.  She’s a pretty little ’un.  I pity her, ‘cause she didn’t do nothin’ but cry all the way up, and once she jumped into the lake.”

“Did what?”

The sharpness of Shellington’s voice told Middy that this news was of moment.

“Well, ye see, ’tain’t none of my business, ’cause the gal belongs to Lon; but, if she was mine, I wouldn’t give her to no Lem Crabbe.  Lem said she jumped in the lake after a pup; but I ‘low he was monkeyin’ with her.  Her pappy hopped in the water after her like a frog and pulled her out quicker’n scat.”

With fear in his heart, Horace waited on deck for Burnes to get up steam, and it seemed an interminable time before the tug at last drew lazily from the inlet bridge, and, swinging round under Middy’s experienced hand, started slowly down the black stream.

* * * * *

Ann closed the shanty door after seeing the governor and his two companions disappear up the hill, and smiled at Fledra with shining eyes.  The wonderful events of the evening had taken place in such rapid order that she had no time to express her happiness to the girl.  She opened her arms, and Fledra darted into them.

“It’s all because you prayed, Sister Ann,” she sobbed, “and because you taught me how to pray.  Does—­does Horace know about my new father and mother?”

“No, Dear; he left Tarrytown before we ourselves knew.  We received a telegram from Horace saying he had come on to Ithaca.  We must wait here; for he’ll arrive sometime tonight.  We couldn’t go and allow him to find this place empty.”

“Of course not,” the girl sighed impatiently.  “Oh, I hope he comes soon!”

Her soul burned for a sight of him.  He had been the first to fly to her rescue, even when he had thought her but a squatter girl.  He had not shrunk from the dangers of the settlement, and, in spite of the peril of Lem and Lon, he had been willing to drag her away from harm for the love of her.  The thought was infinitely sweet.