"What!" exclaimed Bob, in great excitement. "Not the receipt for the money?"

 

"That's just what it is," answered Sam, nodding emphatically.

 

"Let me see it."

 

Sam put the paper in Bob's hand.

 

There it was in regular form, a receipt for one hundred and fifty dollars, being the semi-annual interest on a mortgage on Burton's Ranch¹, dated on the day of Richard Burton's death, and signed by Aaron Wolverton.

 

"Hurrah²!" shouted Bob, waving it aloft. "Then father did pay it, after all, and that mean scoundrel—excuse my speaking of your uncle in such terms, Sam—"

 

"I don't mind," said Sam, philosophically³.

 

"That mean scoundrel wanted us to pay[Pg 78] the money a second time. I'm ever so much obliged to you, Sam. But where on earth did you find it?"

 

"I'll tell you, Bob," answered Sam, perching himself on the fence. "This forenoon Uncle Aaron started out on business—I don't know where he went."

 

"I know," said Clip, giving way to a burst of merriment.

 

"How do you know?"

 

"I rowed him across de creek⁴. I was out in de boat when old Massa Wolverton come along and axed me to take him across. I made him pay me a nickel, and he got into de boat," and Clip began to laugh once more.

 

"I don't see anything to laugh at, Clip."

 

"You would, massa Bob, ef you'd been dar. We was almost across when de old boat upset, yah! yah! and old Massa Wolverton—it makes me laugh like to split—tumbled into de water, and got wet as a drownded rat."

 

"Clip, you bad boy, you did it on purpose," said Bob, trying to look stern.

 

"Wish I may die!" asseverated⁵ Clip, [Pg 79]stoutly, for he was not an imitator of George Washington. "Didn't de old man look mad,

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