"That night there came a violent thunderstorm and our house was
struck by lightning. The only damage done was to one corner in
which was located Uncle Pierre's writing desk. The desk was ripped
apart by the lightning bolt and some of his precious manuscripts
were burnt.

"When my uncle discovered that part of his great historical work
had been destroyed he acted as if he was insane. He was almost
on the point of committing suicide, but my mother stopped him.
She told him to remember about his good fortune in having all
that money left to him, but he only shook his head and said he
would rather have his manuscripts back. At last she got him to
bed, but in the morning he had disappeared."

"Disappeared?" came from the others.

"Yes. He had put on the oldest suit of clothes he had and gone away.
Of course my mother sent out an alarm, and men hunted all over for
him. But he was not to be found."

"But you found him later," ventured Snap.

"No, he was never found. When folks learned how queerly he had acted
all came to the conclusion that he had gone to the river and drowned
himself, and after awhile my mother thought so too."

"And what of the fortune?" questioned Shep.

"My mother tried to find the letter Uncle Pierre had received,