The results of that boating excursion were nothing short of “nuts and honey” to Mrs. Dr. Dryer. Never in all her life had she been blessed with so magnificent an opportunity to say: “I told you so!”

She said it, too, very abundantly, and what puzzled her, as well as took away half the sweetness of her triumph, was the fact that her unsubmissive stepdaughter did not seem to be in the slightest degree cast down about it.

In fact, no sooner had Effie put on dry clothing than she seemed to look back upon her day of danger and disaster as one whose happiness had been absolutely without a cloud.

She praised the drive, the sail, the lunch, the boys; she even expressed a decided liking for a compulsory bath in Skanigo. And then she put on an obstinate fit of silence and refused to say another word about it.The rest of the population of Ogleport required further time and more accurate information.

Their first vague impressions had been to the effect that Zebedee Fuller had swum, five separate times, half the width of Skanigo, each time bringing back with him a half-drowned man or woman, and that then he had gone again and towed home the boat.

There were manifest flaws in that narrative, however, and little by little the truth was presented and accepted; but even then Zeb remained a hero, as usual.

Somewhat different was the state of Mrs. Brayton’s mind after hearing Sibyl’s account of her adventure, and who shall blame her if, right at the supper-table and before they had a chance to sit down, the good motherly, excited lady half-weeping gave to Bar Vernon and Val Manning a dozen grateful kisses?

Hysterical?

Say it for yourself, then!

The boys hardly thought they had deserved so much, but when a mother has come so very near losing her only daughter, she has a right to express her feelings in any way she chooses.Perhaps, if Sibyl had been consulted, she might have remarked that Val came in for an even share with Bar, when the latter was clearly entitled to a majority.

The thought of rectifying the matter did not enter her head, doubtless, but she felt all the more kindly disposed towards her handsome and somewhat mysterious young preserver.

The next day was Sunday, and the only telegraph office of Ogleport was not open, except for an hour or so in the morning, like the post-office.

The churches were, however, and they were all full, especially the one in which Mrs. Wood had her pew, and many were the curious glances directed at her array of remarkable “boarders.”

Even the members of the Dorcas Society were compelled to admit that Mrs. Brayton and her daughter were “nice,” while it was well for her son and his two young pupils that their vanity was spared the golden opinions heaped upon their manly heads.

Very early on Monday, however, there were two telegrams brought by the “messenger” to the house of Mrs. Wood. One was for George Brayton. He, however, had no knowledge of the other.

It found him very busy over a letter that he had taken from that morning’s mail, and which was signed “Ashbel Norton.”

The letter and the telegram were both read to his mother and sister, and the former said:

“Well, George, this is as good a place as any. We will wait here till you return.”

It was likely Mrs. Dryer would have another opportunity to say: “I told you so.”

The first thing that George Brayton had to say to the principal, when he met him in the Academy chapel, was to announce that he had been summoned out of town and might be gone for several days.

“I do not see how I shall be able to spare you at present,” remarked the Doctor, coldly, and Zeb Fuller would have noted the disuse of long words.

“It is imperative,” said Brayton. “I cannot help myself.”

“But what will the trustees say to such a dereliction?” asked the Doctor.

“I don’t know that I care much,” was the somewhat nettled reply; “but as they are fair and right-minded men, they will doubtless approve my going.”

Here was something for Mrs. Dryer; but the Doctor was not the man to face so decided an answer, and he turned the subject with:

“But where is your young friend, Mr. Vernon? Manning is over yonder, in his proper place.”

“Vernon?” said Brayton. “Isn’t he here? That’s strange. Well, he’ll turn up. I’m exceedingly sorry, Dr. Dryer, but this is a matter which may involve a large sum of money. I must take the next stage.”

There was really no help for it, but it might have interested George Brayton if he had known that Bar, with a “traveling bag,” which he had ready packed for days, had waited, his telegram in his pocket, just below Runner’s tavern that morning, and had taken the early stage from the North without losing time in making arrangements with Dr. Dryer.

The driver of the coach had no unnecessary scruples. To him it was only one more passenger, whether he picked him up at the proper place or not, and Bar was miles away from Ogleport by the time his absence was known to any one but the faithful Val.

The latter, indeed, was in every bit as excited a state of mind as when he was bailing out the boat the previous Saturday, and he kept as cool and steady an exterior now as then, like the “trump” that he was.

Now it happened that when George Brayton walked away from the Academy, he caught sight of a female form some distance ahead of him, walking steadily away down the street.

“Ah!” he said to himself, “Mrs. Dryer.”

Precisely. No other.

And yet the young man made no manner of effort to overtake her, but turned his footsteps, instead, directly across the green, towards the home she had left behind her.

It was a safe sort of calculation to make, for Euphemia was there—and no one else besides.

Considering how nearly they had come to being drowned together on Saturday, it was in every way natural and polite that George Brayton should wish to make her a farewell call before hurrying away out of town on Monday.Still, it is likely the doctor’s wife would have given something to have been present at that interview.

It might have been interesting even to good Mrs. Brayton herself.

It certainly was to George and Effie, and the former went on to Mrs. Wood’s afterwards, with a stronger feeling than ever that he cared very little indeed whether school kept or not. Alas, for Effie Dryer’s peace!

No human eyes had noticed George Brayton’s entry of her father’s front door, but a very human pair had seen him go away. After that, it only needed that the cup should be filled with the news the Doctor himself brought home at the noon “recess.”

“Euphemia!” almost frantically exclaimed Mrs. Dryer, “he is going. Do you mean to say that you are going with him?”

“Not now,” calmly responded Effie, but with an extra flush on her face.

“Not now? What do you mean? Why not now?” demanded her stepmother.

“Because he forgot to ask me,” said Effie, demurely.