Thad’s startled exclamation was not in the least surprising, considering what had happened.

As he idly opened the book there was disclosed a little collection of genuine government yellowback bills, not one of which was less than ten dollars in its denomination.  No wonder both boys stared, their eyes seemingly “as big as saucers,” as Thad afterwards described it.

Mechanically Thad began to count the money that had come into their possession so miraculously.

“Three hundred and thirty dollars!  Did you ever hear of such luck in all your born days?” he said, his face lighting up with delight.

“But it isn’t ours, you know, Thad.  He gave you the boat, but how do we know he ever meant you to have this money?  Can’t you just remember something that would explain it all?  Didn’t he say just a little to you at some time about it?”

Maurice looked anxiously from the pile of bills to Thad’s sober face, as though urging him to exert himself to the limit to bring back to his mind some clue that would unravel the mystery.

And Thad suddenly became anxious himself; he cast a quick look toward the little window of the shanty-boat cabin, just as if oppressed with a fear that hostile eyes might even then fee fastened upon them.

So quickly does the possession of riches bring new troubles; up to that moment such a thing as a possible intruder had been far from occurring to Thad; but circumstances alter cases, and now they had something worth stealing—­and he grew afraid.

So his first act was to push the money out of sight under an old magazine that Maurice had been reading, one they had secured from Bob Archiable, the itinerant clock mender, when aboard his floating home.

“I remember now that when I went to see poor old The at the hospital, when they sent for me, he told me that he wanted me to have the Tramp for my own.  Then he started to say something more, but began to choke so he could hardly breathe.  The nurse tried to ease him, but he died right there before me.  I’ve never forgot how mournful like he looked at me.  I always thought the old man was trying to tell me something more.  And now I believe it was this!”

“That’s right, old fellow.  But let’s look into the book.  I see it has lots of writing in it, and perhaps we’ll get a clue that way.”

The book proved to be a rude sort of a diary, in which the river fisherman kept an account of the various little matters which concerned his rather monotonous life.

Now and then, however, there were references to his expectation of realizing some long anticipated pleasure; and the name of “Bunny” began to appear frequently.

“What do you make of it?” asked Thad, after they had read for half an hour; he relied upon the sagacity of his companion to solve what was proving a puzzle to him.

“Why, it seems to me that Bunny must have been some one dear to the old man.  I kind of think it was a daughter who married and went down the river some time or other; for his thoughts seem to have always been bent on that coming trip away down in Dixie, when he grew too old to fish alone.  But go on and read some more.  I reckon we’ll catch on sure before the end.”