Haste and Waste | Page 6

I'll go up to Mr. Sherwood's,
and see when he wants me."
"You must fix up a little before you go," replied the prudent mother.
"They are very grand people up at Mr. Sherwood's, and you must look
as well as you can."
"I'll put on my best clothes," added Lawry.
In half an hour he had changed his dress, and looked like another boy.

Mrs. Wilford adjusted a few stray locks of his hair, and as he put on his
new straw hat, and left the house, her eye followed him with a feeling
of motherly pride. He was a good boy, and had the reputation of being
a very smart boy, and she may be pardoned for the parental vanity with
which she regarded him. While he visits the house of Mr. Sherwood,
we will follow his father down to the ferry, where the bank director was
impatiently waiting his appearance.
After the shower the sun had come out brightly, and the wind had
abated so that there was hardly breeze enough to ruffle the waters of the
lake. It was intensely warm, and Mr. Randall had taken off his coat
again, but he was careful to keep it on his arm. At the approach of the
ferryman he went into the boat, where he was followed by the vehicle
that had been waiting so long for a passage across the lake.
John Wilford pushed off the boat with a pole, and trimmed the sail,
which was the motive power of the craft when there was any wind. The
ferry-boat was a large bateau, or flatboat, the slope at the ends being so
gradual that a wagon could pass down over it to the bottom of the boat.
This inclined plane was extended by a movable platform about six feet
wide, which swung horizontally up and down, like a great trap-door.
When the ferry-boat touched the shore, this platform was let down
upon the ground, forming a slope on which carriages were driven into
and out of the bateau.
The wind was very light, and the clumsy craft moved very slowly--so
slowly that the passage promised to be a severe trial to the patience of
Mr. Randall, who hoped to reach Shoreham by five o'clock. He was not
in a very amiable frame of mind; he was angry at the delay in starting,
and he was vexed because the wind would not blow. He walked
nervously from the forward platform to the after one, with his coat still
on his arm.
"We shall not get over to-night," said he impatiently, as he stopped by
the side of the ferryman, and threw his coat down upon the platform,
while he wiped the perspiration from his brow.
"Yes, I guess we shall," replied John Wilford.

"I'll give you a dollar if you will land me at Pointville by three o'clock."
"I can't make the wind blow, if you would give me a hundred dollars."
"Can't you use the pole or the oars?" said the bank director petulantly;
"you kept me waiting half an hour before you started."
"I couldn't help that," replied John Wilford.
Mr. Randall walked to the forward platform, fretting with impatience at
the indifference of the ferryman. He stood for a few moments gazing at
the Vermont shore, and appeared to be engaged in estimating the
distance yet to be accomplished. The calculation was not satisfactory,
and the bank director's wrath was on the increase. With hasty step he
walked aft again.
"I think we shall have more wind in a minute," said John Wilford, as he
stepped down from the platform and adjusted the sheet.
"If we don't, I shall go crazy," replied Mr. Randall.
When he had placed one foot on the platform, by some means the drop,
true to its name, went down and splashed in the water. The bank
director stepped back in season to save himself from a cold bath or a
watery grave, as the case might be.
"My coat! save my coat!" shouted Mr. Randall, as the garment rolled
off the platform into the water.
"Why didn't you hold on to it?" said John Wilford.
"Save my coat! There is six thousand dollars in the pocket," groaned
the unhappy bank director.
CHAPTER III
SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS
Within half a mile of the ferryman's cottage, at Port Rock, was the

summer residence of Mr. Sherwood, who, two years before, had
become the husband of Bertha Grant, of Woodville. The scenery in the
vicinity was beautiful, and the mansion commanded a splendid view of
the Adirondack Mountains and of the lake.
Mr. Sherwood was an enthusiastic admirer of the scenery of Lake
Champlain. His constant visits at Woodville had given him a taste for
aquatic sports, in which he was disposed to indulge on a