“Cousins are better than sisters,” said Sibyl. “Don’t you think so, Bar?” “Perhaps,” replied Bar. “I never had either, and so I don’t know.” “You shall call me either one then, just as you please,” exclaimed Sibyl; “but I can’t give you my mother.” “She is to be my aunt, then!” said Bar. “Well, that’ll do splendidly.” When Bar and Val reached their room at last that night, there was nothing for it but to go over the whole ground. “It’s grand,” was Val’s enthusiastic commentary. “You’re a regular hero of romance. But I’m ever so glad you’re not to leave Ogleport this year. Won’t we have good times! You’ll have loads of pocket-money, of course, and I always get plenty. Oh, won’t we have fun, that’s all!” There did indeed seem to be a very fair prospect of it, and Bar Vernon’s “old time” seemed to be drifting further and further away from him, while the present and the future, the “new time” concerning which he had hoped so much, and for which he had struck out so boldly, grew brighter and more real to him every hour. George Brayton must have required a good deal of advice that evening, but his mother reproved him very gently indeed for his prolonged call at the Doctor’s. It may, or may not be, that George deemed it his duty to report as to the absence of the Doctor and his wife, but it’s just as likely he did not. Zebedee Fuller and his dog Bob were out by the side of the little river that night, for another raid on the eels; but, although their usual good fortune attended them, the brow of the young village-leader was clouded. “He’s back again, Bob,” remarked Zebedee, as a larger eel than common tangled himself up with the line on the grass. “That young man I told you of is back again, and he’s brought back George with him. Now, George’ll have enough to do looking out for Dorothy while he courts Euphemia, but what are Gershom Todderley and you and I to do with Bar Vernon? We can’t afford to let him be idle. No, Bob, he must improve his time. Oh! how I wish Dorothy Jane had all those eels in her lap, or, say, in her pocket, and was reaching down for her spectacles just now. There are many comforts we can’t have in this world, Bob, and that’s one of ’em. But between me and you and old Sol, we’ll find work for Barnaby Vernon this term, sure!” THE END TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: Text in italics is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standarized. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Village Champion, by W. O. Stoddard