ne
so.

Dory felt rich enough to buy out the New York Central Railroad, or to
become the proprietor of half the land that bordered on Lake Champlain.
He had an idea of buying out the steamer on which Major Billcord had
caused his discharge. At any rate, he must buy out something that would
float on the lake, for he was about half boy and half boat.

He put the money into the old wallet he carried; and he doubted if all
the money it had ever contained, even before it came into his
possession, would equal the amount he had just deposited in one of its
compartments. He had scarcely returned the treasure to his pocket,
before he thought of the use to which he would apply the whole or a part
of the money. It was a brilliant scheme. He had nursed it in his
imagination as an unattainable enterprise, but now the money in his
pocket rendered it possible.

"I feel better now, Dory," said Mr. Hawlinshed. "I have given you a
feather's weight where I owe you a ton, but I hope the time will come
when I can do better. I am going to write a letter now, and I want you
to deliver it for me to-morrow. Will you do so?"

"To be sure I will," replied Dory warmly.

"I shall leave by the boat going south in the morning; and I want this
letter delivered after I am gone," added Mr. Hawlinshed, as he began to
write on a sheet of paper on the table.

Dory considered his brilliant scheme.

CHAPTER IV.

IN THE CABIN OF THE GOLDWING.

"Here is the letter, Dory," said Mr. Hawlinshed when he had sealed and
directed the envelope. "You will have to go about a mile beyond the
place where we met last night. Mr. Pearl Hawlinshed," he added, reading
the address upon the letter.

"Pearl!" repeated Dory, as he took the letter and read the name for
himself.

"That is the name; and the person to whom it is addressed is my son,"
replied the writer of the missive.

"Your son!" exclaimed Dory, looking intently into the face of his new
friend.

"Yes: is there any thing very strange about that? He is my only son, my
only child; and his mother has been dead many years."

"Your son!" repeated Dory, as though he was unable to comprehend the
relation.

"Pearl Hawlinshed; and he is my son. Is there any thing very strange
about it?" asked the father, looking anxiously at Dory.

"But he is the man who fired the gun at you, and then pitched into you,"
added Dory.

Mr. Hawlinshed manifested a great deal of emotion. He dropped into his
chair, f