The articles he brought out were a pewter plate and a silver
table-spoon.
"There's a name of some kind written here," said Bolton, as he carefully
scrutinized the spoon. "Look here, Fred, your eyes are better than mine,
see if you can make it out."
Fred took it with a trembling hand, for a strange feeling of dread had
seized possession of his heart, and he could scarcely bring himself to
look upon it. He summoned up courage, however; but at the first glance
his hand fell down by his side, and a dimness came over his eyes, for
the word "_POLE STAR_" was engraven on the handle. He would have fallen
to the ground had not Bolton caught him.
"Don't give way, lad, the ship may be all right. Perhaps this is one o'
the crew that died."
Fred did not answer, but recovering himself with a strong effort, he
said, "Pull down the stones, men."
The men obeyed in silence, and the poor boy sat down on a rock to await
the result in trembling anxiety. A few minutes sufficed to disentomb the
skeleton, for the men sympathized with their young comrade, and worked
with all their energies.
"Cheer up, Fred," said Bolton, coming and laying his hand on the youth's
shoulder; "it's _not_ your father. There is a bit of _black_ hair
sticking to the scalp."
With a fervent expression of thankfulness Fred rose and examined the
skeleton, which had been placed in a sort of sack of skin, but was
destitute of clothing.
Pages:
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244