"Oh, I think I am, but I don't know whatever became of my father." "Does the hermit think he is alive?" "He doesn't know, and he hasn't any means of finding out." "Well, if I were you, I'd find out, some way or other." "I'm going to find out--some day," replied Joe. "But, to tell the truth, I don't know how to go at it. Uncle Hiram doesn't like to talk about it. He thinks my father did wrong to go away. I imagine they had a quarrel over it." "Has he ever heard from your father since?" "Not a word." "Did he write?" "He didn't know where to write to." "Humph! It is certainly a mystery, Joe." "You are right, Ned; and as I said before, I am going to solve it some time, even if it takes years of work to do it," replied the hermit's boy. CHAPTER II. A MYSTERIOUS CONVERSATION. The old hunting lodge where the two boys had sought shelter was a rambling affair, consisting of a square building built of logs, and half a dozen wings, running to the rear and to one side. There were also two piazzas, and a shed, where wood had been kept for winter use. "In another year or two this old lodge will fall down," remarked Ned, as he gazed around him. "It must have been a nice place in its day," returned Joe. "What a pity to let it run down in this fashion." "The rain is coming around on this side now, Joe; let us shift to the other." The hermit's boy was willing, and watching their chance, between the downpours, they ran around to another portion of the old lodge.