“Now, Dr. Dryer,” exclaimed Zeb, “we’re only waiting for you. You needn’t stop to strip. Neither Pat nor old Todderley did. Come right in. Water’s nice and cool.” “Young man,” solemnly remarked the doctor, “your levity is most reprehensible. I hope for an opportunity of inspiring you with a greater degree of reverence.” “Boys,” said Zeb, “we’ll let Pat and old Todderley go. They’ve had a good ducking. But we must drown the doctor. It’s our last chance.” Whether or not the man of learning had any fears of their carrying out the proposition, it was received with such a yell of what he deemed irreclaimable ferocity, that he immediately turned his stately steppings away from the unhallowed margin of the mill-pond, and the boys were left to finish their work of rescue alone. It was easy enough to pull the boat into shallow water, where Pat and the miller could find footing and wade ashore, but Zeb Fuller had got a new idea in his head. The miller had been obstinately silent ever since his bald head rose above the water, and now Zeb turned upon him reproachfully, with: “I saw you, Mr. Todderley, or I’d never have believed it. Who’d have thought such a thing of you, a deacon in the church! And old Sol Dryer, too! Setting such a trap as that to drown poor boys, just for swimming in your pond. What do you think the village will say to it? What’ll the church say! You’re a poor, miserable sinner, but you haven’t the heart to drown boys, like so many puppies. You fell into your own trap, Gershom Todderley, and we’ve returned good for evil by saving your life. Go home and dry yourself.” “Hark to him! Listen to him, the now!” exclaimed Pat, in open admiration. “Ownly eighteen! Ownly two winters in a debatin’ society, and he can lie like that. What a lawyer he’ll make one of these days!” And the fat old miller stood dripping on the grassy margin for a moment before he could gather his wits or breath for anything, but then he said: “Pat Murphy, set the boys a new board. A good strong one. Must have been an awful knot in that other.” “Is it another trap?” sternly inquired Zeb Fuller. “Zeb, my boy,” returned the miller, “I don’t exactly understand it, but I am thankful I wasn’t drowned. I think I’ll go to meeting to-night. You need it, too, Zeb. You and the boys may swim all over the pond, all day, summer or winter.” “Thank you, Gershom,” replied the incorrigible Zeb, “and if you meet old Sol Dryer, tell him to go to meeting, too. He’s had a very narrow escape from drowning.” “The young pirate!” exclaimed Pat. “Indade, Mr. Todderley, it’s home ye’d betther be goin’, an’ I’d loike a dhry rag or two on me own silf.” The miller turned very soberly away, the worst puzzled man in Ogleport that day, but Zeb was right when he turned to his companions, and said: “Boys, I reckon it won’t hurt him. He didn’t know it was Pat’s work, and we must keep the secret.”