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C. M. F. How trying it was that Aunt Grenertsen should be so particularly fond of apples! Poor thing! And besides, she was lonely, Mother had said, and had very little money. It was too bad. “You’ve got a hunch?” cried Ted. “Out West here we always play hunches. Go to it; you’re probably right. By the way, don’t he go up the river a lot?”.
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Gray-haired, delicate, with sorrowful eyes and long, white hands, Uncle Isaac sat in his big, carved, oaken chair. They had covered quite a lot of ground while talking and now Ted spoke. “Thank you very much.” He bowed low to Carlstrom when at last he must go home. CHAPTER V The Red Buoy.
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