That was quite enough, under the circumstances. The people of Ogleport retired to slumber as usual that night, only to be awakened a little after eleven by a most unusual, irregular, spasmodic chaos of sound from the one bell in the village which they had last dreamed of hearing from. Bar and Val were both awakened by it, and dressed themselves with a truly boyish instinct that there was some kind of fun abroad. “What can it be?” asked Bar. “Zeb Fuller, of course,” said Val; “only there isn’t the least chance in the world of his being caught at it. We must get out on the green and see what we can see.” They were joined on the stairs by George Brayton, but he at once understood their entire innocence in the matter of the bell. A hideous, intermittent clamor was that which was now pouring down from the old belfry, and various half-dressed figures were beginning to flit through the moonlight that was pouring over the wide and shadowy green. One of these figures, full of extraordinary wisdom, made its way straight to the front gate of Deacon Fuller’s residence. Hardly had a hand been laid upon the gate-latch, however, before the door of the house swung open and the agile form of Zebedee Fuller, busily tugging at his half-donned trousers, stood on the threshold, with his father close behind him. “Ah!” exclaimed Zeb. “The Rev. Dr. Dryer? Isn’t there something the matter with the Academy bell, doctor?” “Matter?” repeated the astonished principal. “Are you really here? I freely confess that the occurrence exceeds the moderate capacity of my comprehension. Just listen to that bell!” “Something the matter with it, beyond a doubt,” said Zeb. “It don’t toll as if it was meant for a funeral. If it is, I should say that funeral had been drinking too much.” Dr. Dryer could not wait for any more of Zeb Fuller’s moralizing, but pulled his cotton night-cap closer over his ears as he hurried away towards the Academy. Others, less thoughtful than himself of the probable source of all Ogleport mischief, had directed their steps and energies to what seemed the sure capture of the untimely bell-ringer, whoever he might be. There came in the puzzle. Not a door was open, front or rear. Every window was closed. There was not a sign of human entrance about the entire exterior of the Academy building. George Brayton had the key of the rear entrance, but even while some of the rest had gone for lights, the doctor arrived, and with him the means of throwing open the great front doors. Then, indeed, a flood of splendid moonlight was poured in upon the mystery--only moonshine leaves every mystery as badly off as it finds it.