"It's about a mile across the river, isn't it?" asked the stranger.
"About that here. Where do you want to go?"
"Straight across. There's an old man named Nichols lives on the other side, isn't there?"
"Somebody told me so. He's rich, isn't he?" asked the stranger, carelessly.
"So people say; but he doesn't show it in his dress or way of living."
"That he is afraid to trust banks, and hides his money in the earth."
"That kind of bank don't pay very good interest," said the stranger, laughing.
"Here? boy, give me one of the oars. I'm used to rowing, and I'll help you a little."
Robert yielded one of the oars to his companion, who evidently understood rowing quite as well as he professed to. Our hero, though strong-armed, had hard work to keep up with him.
"Look out, boy, or I'll turn you round," he said.
"And more used to rowing; but I'll suit myself to you."
A few minutes brought them to the other shore. The passenger jumped ashore, first handing a silver half-dollar to our hero, who was well satisfied with his fee.
Robert sat idly in his boat, and watched his late fare as with rapid steps he left the river bank behind him.
"He's going to the old man's house," decided Robert. "I wonder whether he has any business with him?"
The stranger walked, with hasty strides, in the direction of an old farmhouse, which could be seen a quarter of a mile away. Whether it had ever been painted, was a question not easily solved. At present it was dark and weather-beaten, and in a general state of neglect.
The owner, Paul Nichols, was a man advanced in years, living quite alone, and himself providing for his simple wants. Robert was right in calling him a miser, but he had not always deserved the name. The time was when he had been happily married to a good wife, and was blessed with two young children. But they were all taken from him in one week by an epidemic, and his life was made solitary and cheerless. This bereavement completely revolutionized his life. Up to this time he had been a good and respected citizen, with an interest in public affairs. Now he became morose and misanthropic, and his heart, bereaved of its legitimate objects of affection, henceforth was fixed upon gold, which he began to love with a passionate energy. He repulsed the advances of neighbors, and became what Robert called him--a miser.