“Sure of that?” exclaimed Zeb. “Then there’s hope for the future of Ogleport yet. There comes old Sol.”
That was a dismal day for the principal, however, and his several male and female subordinates had the “teaching” pretty much in their own hands, such as they were.
“Effie,” said Sibyl Brayton to her friend, as they met on the green, a little before the close of school, “can you keep a secret?”
“Perfectly,” said Effie. “Is it anything comical?”
“It isn’t comical at all,” said Sibyl. “We’ve just had a telegram from my brother George. He and Bar Vernon will be here to-morrow.”
“He’s caught him?” said Effie, hastily.
“Why, Effie!” exclaimed Sibyl, “Bar didn’t go after George.”
“But didn’t George—I mean Mr. Brayton,” said the blushing Effie, “go after Bar?”
“No,” said Sibyl, “and it’s all a puzzle to me. I don’t understand a bit of it.”
No more did Euphemia, but there were sharp eyes prepared to watch for the early stage from the South next day. They were duly rewarded, too, and George Brayton had plenty of time to tell his mother and sister the news, so that the latter could carry it over to Dr. Dryer’s for Effie’s benefit as soon as she had a good chance that afternoon.