"You _do_ surprise us," admitted Bess Lavine, cuttingly. "All right. But just wait and listen. We wanted to get away early and come over here after you," said Ferd. "And the professor began to give us one of his talks. This time it was on literature. By and by he says: "'We are told that it took, Gray, author of 'An Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard,' seven years to write that famous poem." "'Gee!' exclaimed Tubby. 'If he'd only known stenography how much better off he'd been.' "'Ahem! how do you prove that, Mr. Blaisdell?' inquired the professor, quite amazed. "'Why, we took that as a lesson in the shorthand class of the Commercial Department last spring,' said Tubby, 'and some of the real good ones could do Gray's Elegy, from dictation, in seven minutes. See what Gray would have saved if he'd known shorthand!' "And that completely shut up the professor," said Ferd, as the laughter broke out. "He hasn't recovered from the shock yet." The _Happy Day_ was turned toward the Forge first, skirting the shore all the way. That brought them, of course, close to Jarley's Landing. Polly was just pushing out in a little skiff. Wyn and Frank waved to her; but the other girls did not know her, of course, and only watched the boatman's daughter curiously. "How well she rows!" exclaimed Percy. "Say! but she's a fine looking girl," said Dave, earnestly. "What handsome arms she's got." "Handsome is as handsome does," remarked Bess, snappishly. "She's as brown as an Indian," observed Mina. "That doesn't hurt her," declared Dave, stoutly. "Is _she_ the girl you were speaking about, Wyn?" "She is Polly Jarley, and she is my friend," responded Wynifred, quietly. "And I believe her to be as good as she is beautiful." "Then there are wings sprouting under her blouse," laughed Frank; "for there's no girl _I_ ever saw who could hold a candle to Polly for right down beauty." "She looks so sad," said Mina, softly. "Why shouldn't she be sad?" Wyn demanded, "with everybody talking about her father the way they do?" "Come, girls!" commanded Mrs. Havel. "Don't gossip. Find some other topic of conversation." "Ha! quite so," cried Frank, with a grimace upon her own homely face. "A girl may be as pretty as a picture and spoil it all by an ugly frame of mind. How's _that_ for a spark thrown from the wheel?" "Stand back, audience!" exclaimed Dave. "Something like that is likely to happen any minute." "I don't really see how the old professor gets on with you boys at all," remarked Bessie Lavine, with a sigh. "You'd worry the life out of an angel." "But Professor Skillings is _not_ an angel--thanks be!" exclaimed Dave. "He's a good old scout!" drawled Tubby. "He just hasn't forgotten what it is to be a boy," began Ferd. "But, goodness me!" cried Frankie. "He's forgotten about everything else, at some time or other; hasn't he?"