Chapter IX

Ham Morris was a thoughtful and kind-hearted fellow, beyond a doubt, and a valuable friend for a growing boy like Dab Kinzer. It is not everybody's brother-in-law who would find time, during his wedding trip, to hunt up even so very pretty a New England village as Grantley, and inquire into questions of board and lodging and schooling.

Mrs. Myers, to the hospitalities of whose cool and roomy-looking boarding-house Ham had been commended by Mr. Hart, was so crowded with "summer boarders," liberally advertised for in the great city, that she hardly had a corner for Ham and his bride. She was glad enough that she had made the effort to find one, however, when she learned what was the nature of the stranger's business. There was a look of undisguised astonishment on the faces of the regular guests, all around, when they gathered for the next meal. It happened to be supper, but they all looked at the table and then at one another; and it was a pity Ham and Miranda did not understand those glances, or make a longer visit. They might have learned more about Mrs. Myers if not the Academy. As it was, they only gained a very high opinion of her cookery and hospitality, as well as an increase of respect for the "institution of learning," and for that excellent gentleman, Mr. Hart, with a dim hope that Dabney Kinzer might enjoy the inestimable advantages offered by Grantley and Mrs. Myers, and the society of Mr. Hart's two wonderful boys.

Miranda was inclined to stand up for her brother, somewhat, but finally agreed with Ham that--

"What Dabney needs is schooling and polish, my dear. It'll be good for him to board in the same house with two such complete young gentlemen."

"Of course, Ham. And then he'll be sure of having plenty to eat. There was almost too much on the table."

"Not if the boarders had all been boys of Dab's age and appetite. Mrs. Myers is evidently accustomed to them, I should say."

So she was, indeed, as all the summer boarders were ready to testify at the next morning's breakfast-table. There was one thing, among others, that Mrs. Myers failed to tell Mr. and Mrs. Morris. She forgot to say that the house she lived in, with the outlying farm belonging to it and nearly all the things in it, were the property of Mr. Joseph Hart, having cost that gentleman very little more than a sharp lawsuit. Neither did she say a word about how long or short a time Mr. Hart had given her to pay him his price for it. All that would have been none of Ham's business or Miranda's. Still, it might have had its importance.

So it might, if either or both of them could have been at the breakfast-table of the Hart homestead the morning after Annie Foster's sudden departure. The table was there with the breakfast things on it, and husband and wife, one at either end, as usual; but the side-seats were vacant.

"Where are Joe and Foster, Maria?" asked Mr. Hart.

"Gone on some errand of their own, I think. Something about Annie."

"About Annie! Look here, Maria, if Annie can't take a joke----"

"So I say," began his wife; but just then a loud voice sounded in the entry, and the two boys came in and took their places at the table. In a moment more "Fuz" whispered to his brother:

"I'm glad Annie's gone, for one. She was too stiff and steep for any kind of comfort."

"Boys," said Mr. Hart, observing them, "what have you been up to now? I'm afraid there wont be much comfort for anybody till you fellows get back to Grantley."

"Well," replied Joe, "so we didn't have to board at Mother Myers', I wouldn't care how soon we go."

"Well, your cousin is sure to go, and I'm almost certain of another boy besides the missionary's son. That'll fill up Mrs. Myers' house, and you can board somewhere else."

"Hurrah for that!" exclaimed the young gentleman whose name, from that of his lawyer relative, had been shortened to mere "Fuz." And yet they were not so bad-looking a pair, as boys go. The elder, Joe,--a loud, hoarse-voiced, black-eyed boy of seventeen,--was, nevertheless, not much taller than his younger brother. The latter was as dark in eyes and hair as Joe, but paler, and with a sidewise glance of his unpleasant eyes, which suggested a perpetual state of inquiry whether anybody else had anything he wanted. The two boys were the very sort to play the meanest kind of practical jokes, and yet there was something of a resemblance between their mother and her sister, the mother of Ford and Annie Foster. There's really no accounting for some things, and the two Hart boys were, as yet, among the unaccountables.

Not one of that whole list of boys, however, inland or on the sea-shore, had any notion whatever of what things the future was getting ready for them. Dab Kinzer and Ford Foster, particularly, had no idea that the world contained such a place as Grantley, or such a landlady as Mrs. Myers.

As for Dabney, it would hardly be fair to leave him standing there any longer, with his two strings of fish in his hands, while Ford Foster volubly narrated the stirring events of the day.

"Are you sure the black boy was not hurt, Ford?" asked his kind-hearted mother.

"Hurt, mother? Why, he seems to be a kind of fish. They all know him, and went right past my hook to his all the while."

"Dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Foster, "I forgot. Annie, this is Ford's friend, Dabney Kinzer, our neighbor."

"Wont you shake hands with me, Mr. Kinzer?" asked Annie, with a malicious twinkle of fun in her merry blue eyes.

Poor Dabney! He had been in quite a "state of mind" for at least three minutes; but he would hardly have been his own mother's son if he had let himself be entirely "posed." Up rose his long right arm with the heavy string of fish at the end of it, and Annie's fun burst out into a musical laugh, just as her brother exclaimed:

"There, now, I'd like to see the other boy of your size can do that. Look here, Dab, where'd you get your training?"

"I mustn't drop the fish, you see," began Dab, but Ford interrupted him with:

"No, indeed. You've given me half I've got, as it is. Annie, have you looked at the crabs? You ought to have seen Dick Lee with a lot of 'em gripping in his hair."

"In his hair?"

"When he was down through the bottom of his boat. They'd have eaten him up if they'd had a chance. You see he's no shell on him."

"Exactly," said Annie, as Dab lowered his fish. "Well, Dabney, I wish you would thank your mother for sending my trunk over. Your sisters, too. I've no doubt we shall be very neighborly."

It was wonderfully pleasant to be called by his first name, and yet it seemed to bring something into Dabney Kinzer's throat.

"She considers me a boy, and she means I'd better take my fish home," was the thought which came to him, and he was right to a fraction. So the great lump in his throat took a very wayward and boyish form, and came out as a reply, accompanied by a low bow.

"I will, thank you. Good afternoon, Mrs. Foster. I'll see you to-night, Ford, about Monday and the yacht. Good afternoon, Annie."

And then he marched out with his fish.

"Mother, did you hear him call me 'Annie?'"

"Yes; and I heard you call him 'Dabney.'"

"But he's only a boy----"

"I don't care!" exclaimed Ford, "he's an odd fellow, but he's a good one. Did you see how wonderfully strong he is in his arms? I couldn't lift those fish at arm's length to save my life."

It was quite likely that Dab Kinzer's rowing, and all that sort of thing, had developed more strength of muscle than even he himself was aware of; but, for all that, he went home with his very ears tingling, "Could she have thought me ill-bred or impertinent?" he muttered to himself.

Thought?

Poor Dab Kinzer! Annie Foster had so much else to think of, just then, for she was compelled to go over, for Ford's benefit, the whole story of her tribulations at her uncle's, and the many rudenesses of Joe Hart and his brother Fuz.

"They ought to be drowned," said Ford.

"In ink," added Annie; "just as they drowned my poor cuffs and collars."