“The rain will fill the boat,” said Ned, presently.

“Never mind, we can easily bail her out or turn her over.”

“When do you think this storm will stop?”

“In an hour or two, most likely.  Such storms never last very long.  What time is it, Ned?”

“Half-past two,” answered Ned, after consulting the handsome watch he carried.

“Then, if it clears in two hours, we’ll have plenty of time to get home before dark.”

“I don’t care to stay here two hours,” grumbled Ned.  “It’s not a very inviting place.”

“It’s better than being out under the trees,” answered Joe, cheerfully.  The hermit’s boy was always ready to look on the brighter side of things.

“Oh, of course.”

“And we have a fine string of fish, don’t forget that, Ned.  We were lucky to get so many before the storm came up.”

“Do you want the fish, or are you going to let me take them?”

“I’d like to have one fish.  You may take the others.”

“Not unless you let me pay for them, Joe.”

“Oh, you needn’t mind about paying me.”

“But I insist,” came from Ned.  “I won’t touch them otherwise.”

“All right, you can pay me for what I caught.”

“No, I want to pay for all of them.  Your time is worth something, and I know you have to support your—­the old hermit now.”

“All right, Ned, have your own way.  Yes, I admit, I need all the money I get.”

“Is the old hermit very sick?”

“Not so sick, but his rheumatism keeps him from going out hunting or fishing, so all that work falls to me.”

“It’s a good deal on your shoulders, Joe.”

“I make the best of it, for there is nothing else to do.”

“By the way, Joe, you once spoke to me about—­well, about yourself,” went on Ned, after some hesitation.  “Did you ever learn anything more?  You need not tell me if you don’t care to.”

At these words Joe’s face clouded for an instant.

“No, I haven’t learned a thing more, Ned.”

“Then you don’t really know if you are the hermit’s nephew or not?”

“Oh, I think I am, but I don’t know whatever became of my father.”

“Does the hermit think he is alive?”

“He doesn’t know, and he hasn’t any means of finding out.”

“Well, if I were you, I’d find out, some way or other.”

“I’m going to find out—­some day,” replied Joe.  “But, to tell the truth, I don’t know how to go at it.  Uncle Hiram doesn’t like to talk about it.  He thinks my father did wrong to go away.  I imagine they had a quarrel over it.”

“Has he ever heard from your father since?”

“Not a word.”

“Did he write?”

“He didn’t know where to write to.”

“Humph!  It is certainly a mystery, Joe.”

“You are right, Ned; and as I said before, I am going to solve it some time, even if it takes years of work to do it,” replied the hermit’s boy.