REUBEN STONE’S DISCOVERY

OR

The Young Miller of Torrent Bend

BY

EDWARD STRATEMEYER

AUTHOR OF “UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA,” “A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA,” “FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS,” “THE LAST CRUISE OF THE SPITFIRE,” “RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE,” “OLIVER BRIGHT’S SEARCH,” ETC., ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

BOSTON LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1895, By THE MERRIAM COMPANY.

Copyright, 1900, by Lee and Shepard.

All Rights Reserved.

Reuben Stone’s Discovery.

Norwood Press J. S. Cushing & Co.—Berwick & Smith Norwood Mass. U.S.A.

[iii]

PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION.

“Reuben Stone’s Discovery” forms the second volume in the “Ship and Shore” Series. It tells, in a matter-of-fact way, of the exploits of a young miller who is left in charge of his father’s property while the parent goes West to seek a more promising field for business. A great number of things happen while the youth is thus left to himself, and he is made to believe several stories concerning his absent parent and the mill property which cause him great uneasiness in mind. Suspicious at last that all is not right, Reuben starts out on a tour of investigation which places him in more than one position of peril. But the lad never falters, knowing he is doing what is right, and his triumph at the end is fairly earned.

Reuben tells his own story, and does it in his own peculiar way. Perhaps this method may not be altogether satisfactory to older heads; but the success of the first edition of the book had demonstrated the fact that it is satisfactory to the boys, and it was for these that the story was set to paper. If Reuben does some[iv] astonishing things throughout the course of the story, it must be remembered that the lad was acting largely in his father’s place, and that the world moves and boys of to-day are full of energy.

EDWARD STRATEMEYER.

Newark, N.J., June 1, 1899.

[5]

CONTENTS.

[7]

REUBEN STONE’S DISCOVERY.

CHAPTER I. THE YOUNG MILLER.

“It ain’t no use to talk, Rube, that bill has got to be paid.” Mr. James Jackson brought his fist down on the little desk in one corner of the mill with such force that everything jumped. “I’ve waited for it till I’m all out of patience, and now I want my money.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jackson,” I replied, “very sorry indeed to keep you waiting; but it cannot be helped. Business has been backward this summer, as you know, and money is tight.”

“It never was tight when your father was here,” growled the principal storekeeper of Torrent Bend, as he strode up and down the whitened floor. “Every bill was paid on the spot.”

“That is true, sir; but father knew the business was getting poorer every day, and that is the reason he[8] left to see if he couldn’t locate in some place in the West.”

“Might better have stayed here and tended to this place, and not let his son run it into the ground.”

“I am not running the business into the ground,” I cried, with some show of spirit, because I thought the assertion an unfair one. “I do all the grinding that comes in, and even go over to Bayport and down to Sander’s Point in the boat to get it.”

“Pooh! don’t tell me! Young men around here don’t amount to much! But that ain’t here or there. I came for that money.”

“I will see if I can pay it to-day. I have a load of middlings to take over to Mr. Carnet this morning, and if he pays me I will come right down to the Bend and settle up.”

“And if he don’t pay?”

“I trust he does.”

“Well, pay or not, I’ve got to have my money, and that’s all there is to it. You can’t have any more goods till you square accounts.”

And having thus delivered himself, Mr. Jackson stamped out of the mill, jumped into his buckboard, and drove off for the village.

He did not leave me in a very happy state of mind. I was in sole charge of the mill, and I was finding it hard work to make everything run smoothly.

[9]

Two months before, my father had departed for the West, with a view to locating a new mill in any spot that might promise well. Affairs in Torrent Bend were nearly at a standstill, with no prospect of improving.

I was but sixteen years old, but I had been born and raised in the mill, and I understood the business fully as well as the average miller.

I ground out all the wheat, corn, rye, and buckwheat that came to hand, took my portion of the same and disposed of it to the best advantage. In addition to this I used up all my spare time in drumming up trade; and what more could any one do?

With the exception of my father, and an uncle whom I had never seen, I was alone in the world. My mother had died four years before, while I was still attending the district school, and two years later my twin sisters had followed her.

These deaths had been a severe blow to both my father and myself. To me my mother had been all that such a kind and loving parent can be, and my sisters had been my only playmates.

My father and I were not left long to mourn. There were heavy bills to be met, and we worked night and day to get out of debt.

At length came the time when all was free and clear, and we were nearly two hundred dollars ahead.[10] Then my father got it into his mind that he could do better in some new Western place; and he left to be gone at least three months.

For a time all worked smoothly. I had for a helper a young man named Daniel Ford, a hearty, whole-souled fellow, and we got along splendidly together; but one night an accident happened.

The raceway to the mill was an old one, and a heavy rain-storm increased the volume of water to such an extent that it was partly carried away. I had the damage repaired at once; but the cost was such that it threw us once more into debt, and made it necessary for me to purchase groceries from Mr. Jackson on credit.

This I hated to do, knowing well the mean spirit of the man. But his store was the only one on this side of Rock Island Lake where my father was in the habit of purchasing, and I had to submit.

“Humph! seems to me old Jackson is mighty sharp after his money,” observed Ford, who was at work in the mill, and had overheard our conversation.

“If Mr. Carnet pays up I won’t keep him waiting.” I replied. “I suppose he’s entitled to his money.”

“If I was in your place I’d make him wait. I wouldn’t take any such talk without making him suffer for it. Do you want to load these bags on the boat now?”

[11]

“Yes; sixteen of them.”

Getting out the wheelbarrow, the young fellow piled it high with the bags of middlings, and carted them down to the sloop that was tied to the wharf that jutted out into the lake. It was only a short distance, and the job was soon finished.

“Now I’m off,” I said, as I prepared to leave. “You know what to do if anything comes in while I’m gone.”

“Oh, yes.”

“And in the meanwhile you can get that flour ready for Jerry Moore.”

“I will.”

I jumped aboard the sloop, unfastened the painter, hoisted the mainsail, and stood out for the other shore. A stiff breeze was blowing, and I was soon well underway.

Rock Island Lake was a beautiful sheet of water, four miles wide by twelve long. Near its upper end was a large island covered with rough rocks, bushes, and immense pine-trees. On one side of it was the thriving town of Bayport; and opposite, the village of Bend Center, situated a mile below the Torrent Bend River, which emptied into the lake at the spot where my father had located his mill.

The two resident places were in sharp contrast to each other. Bend Center was a sleepy spot that had not increased in population for twenty years, while[12] Bayport, which had been settled but fifteen years, was all life and activity.

Among the attractions at the latter place were three large summer hotels, now crowded with boarders. The hotels were built upon the edge of the lake, and boats on fishing and pleasure trips were to be seen in all directions.

On this bright morning in midsummer the scene was a pretty one, and had I felt in the humor I could have enjoyed it thoroughly.

But I was out of sorts. As I have said, I was doing my best to pay off what bills were due; and to have Mr. Jackson, or, in fact, any one, insinuate that I didn’t amount to much, and that my father had made a mistake in trusting the business to me, cut me to the heart.

I was but a boy, yet I was doing a man’s work, and doing it as manfully as I knew how. I arose every morning at five o’clock, and sometimes worked until long after sundown.

I kept a strict account of what came in and went out; and looking at the account-book now, I am satisfied that I did as well as any one could have done under the circumstances.

The work around the mill was hard, but I never complained. I did fully as much as Ford, and if at night my back ached as it never had before, no[13] one ever heard me mention it, and I was always ready for work on the following morning.

During the two months that had passed I had received but three letters from my father. He was out in South Dakota, and had not yet been able to locate to his satisfaction. In his last communication he had written that he was about to take a journey to the north, and that I need not expect to hear from him for two weeks or more.

This was somewhat of a disappointment; yet I trusted the trip he was about to undertake would be a fruitful one. The whole West was booming, and why could we not participate in the fortunes to be made?

As the sloop sped on its way I revolved the matter over in my mind. So busy did I become with my thoughts, I did not notice the freshening of the wind until a sudden puff caught the mainsail, and nearly threw the craft over on her side.

Springing up, I lowered the sheet, and then looked to see if the cargo was still safe.

Luckily Ford had placed the bags tight up near the cuddy, and not one had shifted. Seeing this, I ran the sail up again, trimmed it, and stood on my course.

As I did so I saw a large sloop not a great distance ahead of me. It had all sails set, and was bowling along at a lively rate.

[14]

I became interested in the large sloop at once. By the manner in which she moved along I was certain those in charge of her did not understand the handling of such a craft. The mainsail and jib were set full, and the boom of the former was sweeping violently in the puffs of wind.

“On board the sloop!” I called out. “Why don’t you take in some sail?”

“We can’t!” came back the answer. “The ropes are all stuck fast.”

By this time I had come up to starboard of them. I saw that there were two men, a woman, and a little boy on board.

The two men were trying in vain to lower the sails. They had evidently knotted the ropes when tying them, and now they were so taut nothing could be undone.

“What shall we do?” called the elder of the two men.

“If you can’t untie the knots, cut the rope,” I called back, “and don’t lose any time about it.”

One of the men immediately started to follow out my suggestion. I saw him draw out his pocket-knife, open the blade, and begin to saw on the rope.

The next instant another puff of wind, stronger than any of the others, came sweeping down the lake. I was prepared for it, and sheered off to windward.

[15]

But the puff caught the large sloop directly broadside. The mainsheet and the jib filled, then the craft careened, and before I could realize what was happening, the four occupants were sent tumbling out into the waters of the lake.

[16]

CHAPTER II. AT THE BANK.

I was both astonished and dismayed to see the large sloop go over and precipitate its passengers into the water. The catastrophe happened so quickly that for a moment I knew not what to do.

Then my presence of mind came back, and I set promptly to work to rescue those who had gone overboard. In a moment I had the woman on board of my own craft. She was insensible.

“Save my boy!” cried one of the men. “Don’t mind us; we can both swim.”

“All right; I’ll do what I can,” was my reply.

Looking about, I discovered the body of the little fellow some distance back. I tried to tack, but it could not be done, the wind being too strong from the opposite direction.

“He is going down!” went on the father in agonized tones that pierced my heart. “Oh, save him! save him!” And he made a strong effort to reach the spot himself; but the weight of his clothes was against him, and I knew he could not cover the distance before[17] it would be too late. I was a first-class swimmer, and in a second had decided what to do.

With a bang I allowed the mainsail to drop, and threw over the anchor, which I knew would catch on the rocky bottom twelve or fifteen feet below.

Then I kicked off my boots, ripped off my vest and coat, and sprang to the stern. A single glance showed me where the boy had just gone down, and for this spot I dived head first.

I passed under the water some ten or a dozen feet. When I came to the surface I found the little fellow close beside me. He was kicking at a terrible rate, and I could see he had swallowed considerable of the fresh liquid of which the lake was constituted.

“Don’t kick any more,” I said; “I will save you. Here, put your arms around my neck.”

“I want papa and mamma,” he cried, spitting out some of the water.

“I’ll take you to them if you’ll do as I tell you.”

Thus reassured, the little fellow put his arms around my neck. I at once struck out for the sloop, and reaching it, clambered on deck. As I did so the woman I had saved seemed to come to her senses, and rising to her feet she clasped the boy in her arms.

“My Willie! my darling Willie!” she cried. “Thank God you are saved!”

[18]

“Yes, mamma; that big boy saved me. Wasn’t it good of him?”

“Yes, indeed, my child!”

Looking around, I discovered that the two men were clinging to the keel of the large sloop, which had now turned bottom upwards. I pulled up the anchor, hoisted the sail again, and was soon alongside.

“Here you are!” I called out, throwing them a rope by which they might come on board.

“Did you save my son?” demanded the elder one anxiously.

“Yes, William; he is safe,” returned the woman.

“All right; then we’ll come aboard too,” said the man. “Here, Brown, you go first. This accident is entirely my fault.”

“No more yours than mine,” returned the man addressed, as he hauled himself up over the stern. “It was I who wanted to go out without a man to manage the boat, Mr. Markham.”

“Yes; but I tied the knots in the ropes,” was the reply, as the elder man also came on board.

They were all well-dressed people, and I rightly guessed that they were boarders at one of the hotels at Bayport.

“Well, young man, it was lucky you came along,” said Mr. Markham, turning to me. “You have saved at least two lives.”

[19]

He was still excited, and put the case rather strongly.

“Oh, no, I didn’t!” I protested. “I only picked you up. Any one would have done that.”

“Didn’t you jump overboard and rescue my son?”

“Well, yes; but that wasn’t much to do.”

“I think it was a good deal. If my son had gone down I would never have wanted to go back. All of us owe you a deep debt of gratitude.”

“Yes, indeed!” burst out Mrs. Markham. “What would I have done without my precious Willie?” And she strained the little fellow to her breast.

The situation was both novel and uncomfortable for me. I had but done my duty, and I didn’t see the use of making such a fuss over it.

“Where are you bound?” I asked, by way of changing the subject.

“We started for a trip down the lake about an hour ago,” replied Mr. Markham. “Will you take us back to Bayport?”

“Certainly; that is just where I am bound. But what do you intend to do with your sloop?”

“Leave her adrift. I never want to see the craft again.” And Mr. Markham shuddered.

“She can easily be righted,” I went on.

“If you want her, you may have her. I will pay the present owner what she is worth.”

[20]

“Thank you; I’ll accept her gladly,” I cried; “but it won’t cost much to bring her around, and hadn’t you better pay her owner for the damage done, and let him keep her?”

“No; I’ve given her to you, and that’s settled.”

“Then let me thank you again, sir,” I said warmly, greatly pleased at his generosity.

“Humph! it isn’t much. May I ask who you are?”

“I am Reuben Stone. I run my father’s mill over at Torrent Bend River.”

“Indeed! Rather young to run a mill alone.”

“I have a man to help me. I was brought up about the place.”

“I see. My name is William Markham. I am in the dry-goods trade in New York. This is my wife and my son Willie, and this is Mr. Brown, an intimate friend.”

I acknowledged the various introductions as best I could. Every one was wet, and scarcely presentable; but in that particular we were all on a level, and I did not feel abashed.

We were now approaching the Bayport shore, and Mr. Markham asked me to stop at the hotel’s private wharf, which I did.

“Will you come up to the hotel with us?” he asked.

[21]

“I’m not in condition,” I laughed. “I had better be about my business.”

“No, no; I want you to stay here,” he returned quickly. “I want to see you just as soon as I can change my clothes.”

“Suppose I come back in half an hour?”

“That will suit me very well.”

After the party had landed I skirted the shore until I came to the business portion of the town. Here I tied up, and made my way at once to Mr. Carnet’s flour and feed store.

“Well, Rube, got that middlings for me?” he exclaimed as I entered.

“Yes, sir; sixteen bags.”

“All right. Just pile them up in the shed on the wharf. I’ll go down with you. How much?”

“I would rather you would see them before I set a price,” I returned. “I am afraid some of the bags are pretty wet.”

“I don’t want wet bags. How did it happen?”

I related what had occurred. By the time I had finished we had reached the wharf.

“My! my!” exclaimed the flour-dealer. “Mr. Markham! I know him. He is one of the richest men at the Grand. So he said you could have the boat. She is worth a couple of hundred dollars.”

“Yes, and a hundred added. He is more than generous.”

[22]

“He can afford it, I suppose.”

“Here are the bags,” I went on. “Ten of them are dry.”

“Those I’ll give you regular price for,—dollar and a half.” Mr. Carnet examined the others. “Suppose we make the six a dollar each?”

“Can’t you make it a dollar and a quarter?”

“No; a dollar is all they are worth to me.”

“Very well. When do you want more?”

“Any time next week,” replied the flour-merchant, handing over the twenty-one dollars that were due me.

“All right. I’ll be over Tuesday. Want anything else?”

“Not for the present. Trade is rather slow.”

Putting the money in my pocket-book, I entered my sloop again, and steered for the hotel wharf. I found Mr. Markham already awaiting me.

“Just tie up here and come with me,” he said.

I did so, and we walked along the principal street of Bayport, which at this hour of the day was nearly deserted.

“I am going to the bank on business,” he went on with a twinkle in his eye. “This is my last day here, and I want to draw out the deposit I made for convenience’s sake when I came.”

I did not see what this had to do with me, but said nothing.

[23]

We soon reached the bank, which, in contrast with the many fine buildings in the place, was a dilapidated structure. We entered the main office; and here Mr. Markham asked me to wait while he held a brief consultation with the president.

I waited for half an hour. During that time many people came and went; but I knew none of them. The janitor eyed me sharply, and finally asked me what I wanted.