mill was no place for them.

And yet, as the days went by, one might have fancied, if he had
observed, that all was not easy in the mind of the new owner of the
mill. They might have noted in his manner a continual restlessness; a
wandering about the mill from room to room; prying into odd corners here
and there; pounding upon the beams and partitions; poking under
stair-ways; rummaging into long unused chutes and bins; for ever
hunting, anxious-eyed; as though the mill had an evil and troublous
influence over his spirits.

And now and then, pausing in the midst of his searching, the new owner
might have been heard to exclaim, "Well, if I can't find them, nobody
else can. That's sure."

But Colonel Witham did not discontinue his searching. And the mill gave
up no secrets.

CHAPTER XII

THE GOLDEN COIN

Mill stream, coming down from afar up the country, on its way to Samoset
river and bay, flowed in many moods. Now it glided deep and smooth,
almost imperceptibly, along steep banks that went up wooded to the sky
line. Again it hurled itself recklessly down rocky inclines, frothing
and foaming and fighting its way by sheer force through barriers of
reefs. Now it went swiftly and pleasantly over sand shallows, rippling
and seeming almost to sing a tune as it ran; again it turned back on its
course in little eddies, backing its waters into shaded, still pools,
where the pickerel loved to hide.

They were lazy fellows, the pickerel. One might, if he were a lucky and
persevering fisherman, take a trout in the swift waters of the brook;
but for the pickerel, theirs was not the joy of such exertion. In the
dark, silent places along Mill stream, where never a ripple disturbed
their seclusion, you might see one, now and then, lying motionless in
the shadow of an overhanging branch, at the surface of the water, as
though asleep.

They were not eager to bite then, in the warmth of the day. You might
troll by the edges of the lily pads for half an hour, and the pickerel
that made his haunt there would scarce wink a sleepy eye, or flicker a
fin. At morn and evening they were ready for you; and a quick, sudden
whirl in the glassy, black water often gave invitation then to cast a
line.

In the early hours of a July morning, a little way up from Ellison's
dam, a youth stood up to his middle among the lily pads, wielding a
long, jointed bamboo pole, and trolling a spoon-hook past the outer
fringe of the flat, green l