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?”