If the wind had been a steady one there is really no telling what the result might have been, but the lulls were so frequent and so prolonged that the intervals of silence became more difficult to comprehend than even the sudden outbreaks of half-tipsy tolling. “Come, Val,” said Zeb, as he and the boys cut short their watery fun and began to dress themselves. “It’s time we were on hand at the Academy. They’re pretty sure to get at it this time, and I’m almost sorry we set it a-going.” Stronger and stronger blew the western blast, as the boys marched up the street and across the green, and wilder and more protracted were the bell’s expressions of its sorrow for the loss of Bar Vernon. “Quite a crowd of mourners, I declare,” remarked Zeb, as he pointed to the assemblage on the Academy steps and scattered over the green before it. “The bell has done well.” A few minutes later, however, there was indeed a commotion. There were more than a few of the female population of Ogleport whose curiosity had brought them out upon the green, just when they should have been at home getting supper ready; but now, out from the Academy door, followed in dubious silence by her husband, strode the triumphant spouse of Dr. Dryer. “There!” she exclaimed, as she pitched Bar Vernon’s invention down upon the grass, “it was that thing did it. All it needed was a woman to find it out. That’s your ghost. Now, Dr. Dryer, I’d like you to find out who put it up there. Zebedee Fuller, come here!” Zeb promptly responded, with Val at his side, and there were auditors in almost uncomfortable abundance. “There, sir,” demanded Mrs. Dryer, pointing to the wreck of the van, “did you ever see that before?” “That?” responded Zeb. “Everybody knows what that is, I hope.” “What is it, then?” exclaimed the Doctor, incautiously, and Zeb’s face was all aghast with amazement at such a display of ignorance in such a man, as he respectfully replied: “That, Dr. Dryer, is a philosophical apparatus for measuring the strength of the wind.” “Zebedee!” exclaimed Mrs. Dryer. “Strength of the wind?” said her husband. “Yes, Doctor,” continued Zeb; “the harder the wind should blow the louder the bell would toll. I have no doubt of it. Still, I should prefer to have Mr. Brayton explain it to you, as my own information is limited.” “Brayton?” cried the triumphant lady. “I told you so. Don’t you remember? He was up there every time. Of course it was Brayton. He and that Vernon boy knew all about it. No wonder they ran away together. I told you so! Come, Dr. Dryer, we had better go home.” “Hot water for George when he gets back, I’m afraid, if not for Barnaby,” muttered Zeb; “but the bell don’t seem to feel as bad as it did. Come on, Val.” The two were walking rapidly away across the green when they were again halted by a softer voice than that of Mrs. Dryer. “Zeb Fuller, what did you mean by laying that to Mr. Brayton?” “I didn’t do anything of the kind,” replied Zeb; “it was Dorothy.”