“Made a fool of yourself? Came to thank me? Why, neighbor Todderley, what do you mean? Some of Zeb’s performances, I suppose. I was just going to have a settlement with him. Dr. Dryer was here an hour ago.”
“Old fool,” exclaimed the miller, with some energy. “Wish he’d tried the board first. Lighter man than I am. Might not have broke with him. Hope it might. Stood there like a post. Never tried to help me. Zeb and the boys fished me out. Came to thank you and him.”
“Oh,” said the deacon, with a greatly relieved sigh, “that’s it, is it? I thought it must all be some of Zeb’s mischief. Come in, brother Todderley, come in.”
“No, thank ye,” replied the miller. “Got an errand up street. Hope I’ll see you at meeting. Solemn thing to be drowned. Good-day.”
And the miller turned on his heel, but Zeb’s father once more bent his inquiring gaze upon his hopeful son.
“Zebedee, that’s all very well, but what’s this about Dr. Dryer?”
“Gersh Todderley’s right about him too,” said Zeb. “I’ve the greatest respect for his opinions, now’s he’s in his right mind. Glad he means to learn to swim. I wouldn’t mind teaching him myself. They say fat men float the easiest kind.”
“Zebedee, I hardly know what course I ought to take.”
The boy’s face was again putting on a grave and serious look.
“Father,” he said, pointing at the apple-tree sprouts, “what are those things for?”