nd so will Nat."

Though Captain Marshall was a little sorry to lose Nat, yet, on the
whole, he was not ill-pleased that the boy to whom, in a measure, he
had had to admit himself in the wrong was going to leave. He would
have been better pleased to get some one else besides Sam in his
place, but he could do nothing, as he had given the mate a promise.

As for Nat, he was delighted at the prospect of a change. He had
always wanted a place on a passenger steamer, for though he might be
kept busier, the work was of a pleasanter character. The wages, too,
were higher, and there was a better chance for advancement.

Several days went by, and the freighter made a number of stops of
small importance.

"Well, Nat," said Mr. Weatherby in the evening, after the boy had
spent nearly all day in the pilot-house perfecting himself along the
lines of his chosen calling, "we'll be at Detroit to-morrow morning,
and then we'll bid farewell to the _Jessie Drew_. I suppose you'll be
glad of it?"

"Partly, yes, though it was very nice before Sam showed up."

"I, too, will be a little sorry to go," added the pilot. "I have been
on her a number of years now, and it seems like home to me. But I
think a change will be best."

"Is the passenger steamer at Detroit?"

"No, but it is expected there in a few days. We'll lay off on shore
until she arrives. I have been in communication with the owners, and
the boat is to pick you and me up at that port. You'll have a chance
to make a few excursions on shore."

"Oh, I'm not tired of work so soon."

"No, I should hope not. But I have a little business to attend to in
Detroit. I may say it affects you."

"Affects me? How is that?"

"You remember I told you I was going to write to a man who was on the
lumber barge with your father?"

"Yes."

"Well, I did so, and I have an answer from him."

"Who is he? What does he say?"

"His name is George Clayton."

"Why, I have often heard my father speak of him."

"Yes; well, I had a letter from him the other day. It was forwarded to
me from Chicago."

"What does he say? Does he recall anything out of the ordinary
concerning my father?"

"That's what I can't tell. He doesn't say anything, except that he
will meet me in Detroit. So he may know something, and, again, he may
not. I suppose you haven't learned anything more from Mr. Bumstead?"

"No. He hasn't said much to me since the trouble over the cigarettes."

"Did you ask him any more