“Young aristocrat,” growled Zeb. “Thinks he’s a mile and a half above us Ogleport boys. And this new chap that’s come along with him, he’s ten times worse than Val. They’re boarding at Ma’am Wood’s, you know, and so’s Brayton. He’ll take ’em right in charge, and they’ll get in on everything ahead of us. Tell you what, boys, those fellows have got to have a setting down. Here they’ve bought the best boat on all Skanigo first day they got here.” Perhaps, if the truth were told, Zeb’s jealousy was very much less on account of the boat, or good clothes, or even “citified ways,” after all, than because the objects of his dislikes were domiciled with George Brayton. Somehow or other, Zeb had acquired a feeling of “ownership” for the new teacher, and was very much disposed to resent what looked like an invasion of his vested rights. “There’s only two of ’em,” vaguely suggested Bill Jones. “Don’t know how many are coming,” replied Zeb. “I move we take proper measures for the subjugation of these two before the rest get here.” “I’m in for that!” exclaimed Hy Allen, whose somewhat pugnacious cast of features indicated very faithfully the character of their owner. Hy was half a head taller than Zeb Fuller, and decidedly his superior, physically, only such a thing as a quarrel, or even a test of strength with his “chieftain” had probably never occurred to him. The subject of the “new boys” had been coming up again and again all day, and had gone far towards neutralizing the happiness which the bell and heifer mystery might otherwise have supplied. It was now, however, becoming threadbare and distasteful, for the time, and the council at the mill-dam slowly broke up and dispersed, even Zeb Fuller’s nearest friends finding some other errand, so that he was all alone when he met the Rev. Dr. Dryer as he walked up the street towards his father’s house. “Looks as if the indelicate conduct of the dun heifer weighed on his spirits,” soliloquized Zeb. “No, I’ll not give Solomon an excuse for saying I avoid him. Good-evening, Dr. Dryer.” Zeb’s face had nearly recovered from the effects of his combat with the Rodney vagabonds, but it was not at any time specially adapted to the look of dignified benevolence he now tried to make it assume. Dr. Dryer, at sight of Zeb Fuller, had been taken possession of by one idea, however, and he failed to appreciate the effort. “Zebedee,” he exclaimed, with deep solemnity of manner, “how did that cow get into the Academy?” “Not a single long word,” thought Zeb, “and that’s bad for Solomon.” He, however, answered promptly: “Dr. Dryer, that matter troubles me. There’s something supernatural about it.” “Supernatural?” “Ghostly!” said Zeb. “This village is going to the bad.” “Zebedee!” exclaimed the Doctor. “Are you so lost as that? Do you believe in ghosts?” “Firmly,” responded Zeb. “Ogleport is getting full of them. I don’t know what we shall do when Mrs. Wood’s lot get back again for the winter.”