Seek and Find Part 1

Seek and Find.

by Oliver Optic.

PREFACE.

"SEEK AND FIND" is the third of the serial stories published in "OUR BOYS AND GIRLS," where it appeared as the sequel of "BREAKING AWAY." The author had no more reason to complain of its reception than of that accorded to its predecessors; and he returns his sincere thanks to all those young friends who have written hundreds of letters to him, containing the most generous commendation, with an occasional criticism, which was by no means unwelcome.

Ernest Thornton is a smart boy--perhaps he is too smart; but his smartness is not worldly cunning; it is made up of those elements of character which const.i.tute a n.o.ble and true man--good judgment, quick perception, and manly decision, mingled with those moral and religious attributes which are the leading springs of the true life. If some of the hero's actions are doubtful, his motives are always good. The greatest crime against the moral law is to be without a high aim; and while a thousand errors and short-comings may be forgiven, the want of a good intention is the capital sin which may not be pardoned. While we cannot ask or expect all young men to accomplish what Ernest Thornton did, we may point to his high aims and good intentions, and say to the reader, "Go thou and do likewise."

HARRISON SQUARE, Ma.s.s., November 29, 1867.

CHAPTER I.

IN WHICH ERNEST THORNTON BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH MISS KATE LORAINE.

"WE are getting a capital breeze over here," said my friend Bob Hale, who was seated at my side in the Splash.

"There is always plenty of wind over here when it comes from the north-west," I replied.

It was one of the last days of May, and the weather, which had been chilly and disagreeable during the preceding week, was warm and pleasant. I had been to school, as usual, in my boat, and was taking Bob out for a sail, intending to land him at Parkville before dark, and return to the cottage of my uncle beyond the town. I had made one long stretch with the wind on the beam, nearly over to Cannondale; in fact, the water was beginning to shoal off the point half a mile to the northward and eastward of that town.

Along the sh.o.r.e of the lake for two or three miles, on each side of Cannondale, were many beautiful residences, occupied by wealthy people, who were attracted to the locality by the pleasant but not picturesque scenery. It was a delightful region for a summer sojourn, though many of the people were permanent residents.

"Well, Bob, we must come about or get aground," I continued. "Where shall we go now?"

"Anywhere you please, Ernest. I enjoy sailing wherever you go, though I like running along the sh.o.r.e, where you can enjoy these fine gardens, and occasionally look in upon a pleasant party, especially if they happen to be singing, or playing a lively game."

"That's just my idea; and we will follow the sh.o.r.e round to Parkville.

The wind will favor us all the way."

I put the Splash about, and with the wind on the quarter, laid a course which kept the boat within a few rods of the sh.o.r.e. From the beach in the rear of many of the houses, little piers, not more than three or four feet wide, were extended into the lake, for the convenience of embarking and landing in the boats, with which nearly every dwelling was supplied. We were approaching one of these piers belonging to the first house beyond the Point, when Bob and myself were startled by a shrill scream, which caused both of us to spring to our feet.

"What does that mean?" demanded Bob.

"I don't know. I can't see anything," I replied.

"Is it somebody overboard?"

"I don't see any one. It came from the garden beyond that first pier."

"There it is again," said Bob, greatly excited, as the scream was repeated.

We were not long left in doubt in regard to the person who had uttered the cry; for a girl immediately emerged from the foliage of the garden, and ran down to the end of the pier, where she paused and looked timorously behind her. We looked anxiously for the cause of her terror, almost expecting to see a bear, a wolf, or at least a savage dog, in pursuit of the hapless maiden. The young lady was nicely dressed, and seemed to be fourteen years of age. Of course Bob and I were both willing "to do or die" in her defence, though we were just then rather too far off to be of instant service to her, even if any savage beast had a.s.sailed her.

"What's the matter with her?" said Bob; "she appears to be frightened out of her wits."

"I don't see anything to alarm her."

"Nor I."

But then the young lady screamed again, and we saw a lady rus.h.i.+ng out to the place where the girl was, at the end of the pier. The latter seemed to be fearfully agitated; and giving one more agonizing cry, she leaped into the lake, just as the lady was on the point of seizing her by the arm.

Bob and I were thrilled to the depths of our being by this exciting scene. I had already put the helm up, and the Splash was headed directly towards the young lady, who was struggling in the water. The wind carried her away from the pier about twenty feet, when the Splash reached the place, and I ran her between the girl and the sh.o.r.e.

"Save her! save her!" cried the lady on the pier.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE EXCITING SCENE ON THE SOUTH Sh.o.r.e.--Page 14.]

"Take the helm, Bob," shouted I, throwing the boat round into the wind, and springing upon the half deck.

I was prepared to jump overboard, if it was necessary; but it was not. I had seized the short boat-hook as I went forward, and with it I hooked on to her dress. Drawing her towards the boat, I seized her by the arm, and lifted her on board. She had been in the water but a few moments, and had not lost her consciousness; indeed, she appeared not to have suffered at all from her bath. I at once concluded that she was one of the young ladies whom I had frequently seen bathing on the beach, and that the water had no terrors to her. I had not seen her swim, though the water was over her head.

I placed her on one of the seats as soon as I had pulled her out of the water, expecting her to faint, or do some other womanish thing. She brushed the water from her eyes, and bending down so that she could look under the foresail, she caught a glimpse of the lady on the pier.

"Take me away from here--O, do!" said she, bestowing a pleading look upon me.

"Where shall I land you?" I asked, in gentle tones.

"Anywhere but here--don't leave me here," she replied, earnestly, and hardly less agitated than when she had leaped into the lake.

"But you are wet through, and you may take cold," I suggested, mildly.

"I don't care if I do. It makes no difference. Take me away from here."

"Where shall I land you?" I asked again, puzzled by her singular conduct.

"I don't care where; but if you land me here I shall jump into the lake again."

Bob Hale had put the helm up, and the Splash had filled away again on her former course, which was bearing us away from the pier on which the lady still stood.

"Shall I come about?" asked he, apparently satisfied that the only thing we could do was to land the young lady on the pier.

"Not just yet, Bob," I replied, fearful that a change of our course would increase her agitation.

"I am very much obliged to you for what you have done for me," said the dripping maiden, who paid not the slightest attention to the condition of her clothing, and was wholly absorbed in her own thoughts, which were painful enough to give her face an expression of agony. "I hope you will not think I am ungrateful, Ernest Thornton."

"I do not think so," I replied, astonished to find she knew my name.

"And I shall be ever so much more grateful to you if you will take me away from this place," she added, with a beseeching look.

"I really don't know what to do. You called me by name, just now, but I do not remember to have seen you before."

"Perhaps you have not; but I have seen your boat so often that I feel acquainted with you."