“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.”
Not a bit of hurt had come to the miller externally, and more than a little good internally, but there were altogether too many boys in that “secret” for it to keep any length of time.