“You see,” explained Zeb, “we village boys all pull together, and sometimes the rest don’t know enough to agree with us. That’s where they get into trouble, you know, and old Sol--the Rev. Dr. Dryer, I mean--he used to side with them generally.” “And then he got into trouble, eh?” laughed Brayton. “Well, now I think our goods are safe enough for to-night. We’ll get better acquainted with them and with each other one of these days.” Brayton was preparing to close and lock the door behind them all, as he spoke, and in a moment more he was striding away across the green towards the house of Dr. Dryer. Zeb Fuller stood at the foot of the steps, looking after Brayton till he was out of hearing, and then he turned to his friends with: “Boys, that’s the kind of teacher I like. Not the slightest sign of insubordination.” “He’s a trump!” exclaimed Hy. To this declaration, which expressed more clearly than Zeb had done the popular verdict, there was an audible hum of assent, and Bill Jones added: “Safe! Why, Zeb Fuller, them gimcracks in there are as safe as if they were in a church. Nobody will dream of touching them unless ’twas us.” “I’ve my doubts,” said Zeb, profoundly. “No village is safe where there’s such a raft of ministers and deacons and doctors and trustees and such. We must do our duty, boys. Oh, but wouldn’t I like to try a chemical experiment on old Sol!” The conclave broke up amid a storm of suggestions, but Zeb was probably thinking of something which could be done with a retort. As for Mr. George Brayton, that vigorous young gentleman had remarked to himself, as he walked away: “They’re rather above the average, take the whole lot, through, and that Zeb Fuller is no ordinary boy. Now that I have him the rest will follow like a flock of sheep. I must do what I can to make a man of Zeb, but I hope I’m not such a fool as to try to cork him up. He’d burst the whole Academy. No wonder Dr. Dryer’s afraid of him.” Brayton did not look as if he were likely to be very much afraid of anything in particular, and he had just won the only complete victory that had ever been gained over the boys of Ogleport. Even then, however, he would not have been astonished if he had overheard Zeb’s last remarks to Hy and Bill. “You see, boys, that’s Brayton’s end of the Academy. Now, we must go to work on old Sol and the main building. There’s plenty of room for improvement there.” Very likely, but scarcely of the kind contemplated by Zebedee Fuller. Thenceforward, for several days, the tide of human events rolled onward peacefully enough for the people of Ogleport. George Brayton learned, without a tremor of dissatisfaction, the adverse decision of Mrs. Dr. Dryer. She had never smiled so sweetly or exhibited her false teeth to such entire perfection as when she recommended him to Mrs. Wood’s.