“Bar, is that so? Hurrah for that! Won’t we have larks up in Ogleport, and everywhere else? Let’s go home now. You’re just the sort of chum I’d have asked for. Why, we’ll have some fun at the house this very evening. Come on.” CHAPTER IX ZEB’S FAME PRECEDES HIM The stage-driver was getting somewhat impatient, although the delay had not been a long one, but the stranger turned for one more word with Zeb Fuller before he climbed back to his seat in front of the two old ladies. “Are you a son of Dr. Dryer?” “Son?” exclaimed Zeb, as he held in the bay colt. “Oh, no. Solomon’s a good boy, and I’ve done what I could to bring him up right, but he’s no son of mine.” “Bring him up!” exclaimed the stranger. “Yes,” said Zeb, “I’ve had him under my care for several years now, at the Academy, but there’s some things he won’t learn. The boys get away from him, and so do the cows. I wish I had some one to help me with him.” A ringing laugh responded to Zeb’s last remark, and: “Well, I’ll try, then. I’m Mr. George Brayton, and I’m on my way to join Dr. Dryer. I’ll tell him how hard a fight you had for his cows.” Zeb’s face lengthened a little, but he answered, quickly: “And don’t forget Bob. Solomon doesn’t understand dogs much better than he does boys.” “Likely as not,” exclaimed Brayton to himself, as he sprang into the stage. “Go on, driver. Now, there’s a boy worth somebody’s while to understand. Hullo! you didn’t tell me your name, after all.” And, as the stage rolled on, Brayton heard something that sounded very much like: “Rev. Zebedee Fuller, D. D., LL. D., etc.,” for Zeb remained behind at his duty. The latter had no more difficulty in it. The cows had been milked, all three of them, and Zeb was glad of it, but they were in a worried and disconsolate frame of mind, and glad enough to find their peaceful heads turned homeward. Bob had suffered very little in his combat with the yellow dog, and was now evidently conscious that he and his master had gained a very substantial kind of victory. You could see the sense of triumph expressing itself in the rigid erectness of his remaining ear, and in the unyielding pride of his stump of a tail. A very intelligent sort of dog was Bob. As for Zeb, that young gentleman had hardly come off so well as his canine ally, for the vagabonds had been hard hitters, and every bone of his body bore witness to that fact. His face, too, was even less of a beauty than usual, and the cast in his left eye was by no means robbed of its effect by the deep tinge of blue which was beginning to show under the right. Zeb had chaffed bravely enough with Mr. Brayton, but his mind was by no means easy, after all.