" I
replied, stoutly.

"But what does my aunt say?"

"My mother has not yet heard the story. My father wrote to my
grandfather several times, but he took no notice of the letters."

"Aunt Louise has been in Europe several years."

"I have never seen my mother since I was a child; I do not remember
her. Do you know where she is?"

"She was in Italy last winter; but I don't know where she is now."

"Will you ascertain for me?" I asked, with more interest than I cared
to manifest.

"I will."

"I have her portrait in St. Louis. It was in a locket attached to a
coral chain which I wore when I was saved from the river. I will show
it to you some time."

"If it is really her portrait, I shall believe the story, whether
anybody else does or not."

"My father says it is her portrait, and he ought to know. He is sure I
am the lost son."

"You are so honest and brave, Philip, that I can't help believing you.
I hope you are my cousin, at any rate, for I shall be proud of the
relationship."

"Thank you, Marian--may I call you so?"

"Certainly you may, if you are my cousin."

"You are very kind."

"Indeed, you have already placed me under a debt of obligation to you
which I can never repay."

"I am more glad to serve you than you can be to be served. Steady!"

"What's the matter?"

"The Florina has hauled her wind," I replied, watching the chase.

"What does that mean?"

"She has turned her head more to the north."

I hauled in the main sheet, and stood after the other yacht. It was
sundown now, and we were within two or three miles of the Michigan
shore. Half an hour later the Florina ran in at the mouth of a river.
When we reached the opening, we found she had anchored half a mile up
the stream. I did not deem it prudent to follow her, and I dropped the
Marian's anchor at once.

CHAPTER XXI.

IN WHICH PHIL ANSWERS SOME INQUIRIES ABOUT THE FAWN, AND OTHER MATTERS.

I hauled down the jib, and left the mainsail standing when I anchored
the Marian at the mouth of the river, for I did not know what Mr.
Whippleton intended to do, and his movements were to govern mine.
Though the mouth of the river was rather narrow, it opened, like the
creek where we had anchored at noon, into a broad lagoon. There were
hundreds of just such small lakes near the large one, in some cases
with a narrow outlet, and in others with none at all. Among the effects
of Mr. Ben Waterford which I found in the cabin, were se