“Of course,” replied Zeb, “the dun heifer, though a brute, is far more trustworthy than any human being.”
Every breakfast-table in Ogleport was busy with the bell mystery that morning, and the unanimity with which all minds seemed in search of a clue which would guide them in the direction of Deacon Fuller’s house was a high testimonial to the well-earned fame of the deacon’s heir.
It was only, however, at the coffee-urn of the Academy principal that anything like gloom interfered with the pervading cheerfulness of tone which the common difficulty seemed to be met.
Euphemia would have been as smiling as a June sunrise about it, and even the doctor would speedily have recovered from his temporary depression, but Mrs. Dryer failed to discern any ray of comfort.
“It’s a piece of outrageous and unparalleled defiance,” she assured her husband and stepdaughter, for the three-and-thirtieth time. “Your influence and authority in this community will be permanently compromised unless you succeed in probing this matter to the very bottom and bringing the lawless perpetrators to condign justice. Why, Dr. Dryer, that unfortunate heifer might have pulled down the bell.”
“I am compelled to admit the possibility of such a termination of her efforts to liberate herself,” moodily responded the doctor, unmindful of Effie’s suggestion:
“Or to get at the apples.”
“The entire operation,” he continued, “is enveloped in impenetrable mystery. I am anxious to ascertain if Mr. Brayton has evolved any probable solution. He afterwards ascended to the belfry to remove the rope from its attachments.”
“Brayton!” scornfully exclaimed Mrs. Dryer. “If you don’t learn anything till you get it from him! Why, I’m expecting every day to hear that the boys have begun to call him George.”
“Dorothy Jane——”