“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.