HAROLD BRIMBECOMB,
TARRYTOWN-ON-THE-HUDSON,
NEW YORK.

The yacht shot away up the river, and was lost to the dull eyes that
continued peering for a last glimpse of the phantom-like boat that had
snatched her dying treasure from her. Then, at last, the stricken woman
turned, alone, to meet Lem Crabbe.

"Where's that brat?" he demanded in a thick voice.

"I throwed him in the river," declared the mother. "He were dead. Yer
hook killed him, Lem. He's gone!"

"I'll kill his mammy, too!" muttered Crabbe. "Git ye here--here--down
here--on the floor!"

His throat worked painfully as he threw the threatening words at her;
they mingled harshly with the snarling of the wind and the sonorous
rumble of the river. So great was Scraggy's fright that she sped round
the wooden table to escape the frenzied man. Taking the steps in two
bounds, she sprang to the deck like a cat, thence to the bank, and sped
away into the rain, with Lem's cries and curses ringing in her ears.




CHAPTER TWO