THERE ARE DIFFERENT KINDS OF BOYS.
Ham Morris was a thoughtful and kind-hearted fellow, beyond a doubt; and
he was likely to be 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 pretty a New-England village as
Grantley, and inquire into questions of board and lodging and schooling.
That was precisely what Ham did, however; and Miranda went with him of
course.
Mrs. Myers, to the hospitalities of whose cool and roomy-looking house
he had been commended by Mr. Hart, was so "crowded full with summer
boarders," liberally advertised for in the great city, that she had
hardly a corner left in which to stow away Ham and his bride, for even
one night. She was glad enough, however, that she had made the effort,
and found one, after she discovered the nature of the stranger's errand
in Grantley, and that it included "winter board" for a whole boy.
There was a look of undisguised astonishment on the faces of the regular
guests when they gathered for the next meal. It happened to be supper,
but they all looked at the table and then at one another. It was a pity
Ham and Miranda did not understand the meaning of those glances, or else
that they did not make a longer stay with Mrs. Myers. They might have
learned more about her and her boarding-house, if not about the academy.
As it was, they only gathered 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 be permitted to 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 as
the Hart boys."
"Of course, Ham. And then, too, we'll feel sure of his 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 with his
appetite. Mrs. Myers is evidently accustomed to provide for them, I
should say."
So she was; and Ham and Miranda left Grantley next morning, after a very
early breakfast; and, when the regular boarders came to theirs, they
might have guessed at once that the "transient guests" had gone. They
even guessed it out loud at dinner and at supper.
Mrs. Myers had given Ham and his bride a world of interesting
information about Grantley, and the things and people in it; but there
was one thing she had forgotten or neglected to mention. She had failed
to tell them that the house she lived in, and the outlying farm
belonging to it, and nearly all the house-hold effects it contained,
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 a time he had given her to pay him his price for it. All that was
her own private affair, and none of Ham's business, or Miranda's. Still,
it might have had its importance in their minds, if they had been
informed of it.
Perhaps, too, some of their rosy impressions might have been a little
modified if they could have been at the breakfast-table of the Hart
homestead the morning after Annie Foster's sudden departure.
The table, truly, was there, as usual, with the breakfast-things on it,
and there were husband and wife at either end; but the two side seats
were vacant.
"Where are Joe and Foster, Maria?" asked Mr. Hart.
"I'm sure they're up, father. I heard them come down stairs an hour
ago."
"I can't wait for them"--
"You came home late last night, and they haven't seen you since Annie
went away." There had been a suppressed sound of whispers in the entry,
and the door had been held open about half an inch by some hand on the
other side. It is possible, therefore, that Mr. Hart's reply was heard
outside.
"Oh, I see! it's about Annie. Look here, Maria: they may have gone a
little too far, but if Annie can't take a joke"--
"So I tried to say to her," began his wife; but at that instant the
whispers in the entry swelled suddenly to loud voices, and two boys came
noisily in, and filled the side chairs at the table.
"Sit down, my dears," said Mrs. Hart, with an admiring glance from one
to the other. "I have told your father about the sad trick you played
upon your cousin."
"Yes, you young rogues," added Mr. Hart, with affected sternness: "you
have driven her out of the house."
"Joe," said the boy on the left, to his brother across the table, "ain't
you glad she's gone?"
"You bet I am. She's too stiff and steep for me. Spoiled all the fun we
had."
"And so you spoiled her cuffs and collars for her. It was too bad
altogether. I'm afraid there won't be much comfort for anybody in this
house till you two get back to Grantley."
"Fuz," said Joe, "do you hear that? They're going to give us another
term at Grantley."
"I don't care how soon we go, so we haven't got to board at old mother
Myers's."
"I can't say about that," said Mr. Hart. "I half made her a promise"--
"That we'd board there?" exclaimed Fuz rebelliously.
"Now, boys," said their mother, in a gentle voice, that sounded a little
like good Mrs. Foster's; but Joe sustained his brother with,--
"Prison-fare, and not half enough of it. I just won't stand it another
winter!"
"I'm not so sure it will be necessary, after all," said their father,
who seemed to have dismissed Annie's grievance from his mind for the
present. "Your cousin Ford is sure to go; and I'm almost certain of
another boy, besides the missionary's son. If she gets a few others
herself, her house'll be full enough, and you can board somewhere else."
"Hurrah for that!" shouted Fuz. "And, if the new house doesn't feed us
well, we'll tear it down."
"If you don't tear ours down before you go, I'll be satisfied. Maria,
you must write to your sister, and smooth the matter over. Boys will be
boys, and I wouldn't like to have any coolness spring up. Mr. Foster'll
understand it."
That was very nearly all that was said about it, and the two boys
evidently had had no need for any hesitation in coming in to breakfast.
They were not so bad-looking a pair, as boys go; although it may be few
other people would have seen so much to admire in them as their mother
did.
Joe, the elder, was a loud, hoarse-voiced, black-eyed boy, of seventeen
or thereabouts, with a perpetual grin on his face, as if he had
discovered in this world nothing but a long procession of things to be
laughed at. Foster, so named after his lawyer relative, was a year and a
half younger, but nearly as tall as Joe. He was paler, but with hair and
eyes as dark, and he wore a sort of habitual side-look, as if his mind
were all the while inquiring if anybody within sight happened to have
any thing he wanted.
They both bore a strong likeness to their father, only they missed
something bluff and hearty in his accustomed manner; and they each had
also a little suggestion of their mother, that did not, however go so
far as to put anybody in mind of their aunt Foster.
Nobody need have failed to see, at all events, after watching one or two
of their glances at each other, that they were the very boys to play the
meanest kind of practical jokes when they could do it safely. There is
really no accounting for boys; and Joe and Fuz, therefore, might fairly
be set down among the "unaccountables."
There was no sort of wonder that their easy-going mother and their
joke-admiring father should be quite willing to have them spend
three-quarters of the year at boarding-school, and as much as possible
of the remainder somewhere else than "at home."
After Mr. Hart went out to his business that morning, and Mrs. Hart set
herself about her usual duties, Joe and Fuz took with them into the
street the whole Grantley question.
"We'll have to go, Fuz."
"Of course. But we must have more to eat, and more fun, than we had last
time."
"Ford's coming, is he? The little prig! We'll roast him."
"So we will that young missionary."
"Look out about him, Joe, while he's at our house. He's coming right
here, you know."
"Don't you be afraid. His folks are old friends of mother's. We'll let
up on him till we get him safe to Grantley."
"Then we'll fix him."
They had plots and plans enough to talk about; but neither they, nor any
of the boys they named, nor any of the other boys they did not name, had
the least idea of what the future really had in store for them. Dab
Kinzer and Ford Foster, in particular, had no idea that the world
contained such a place as Grantley, or such a landlady as Mrs. Myers.
They had as little suspicion of them as they had had of finding Annie
Foster in the sitting-room that day, when they walked in with their
famous strings of fish.
Ford kissed his sister, but that operation hardly checked him for an
instant in his voluble narrative of the stirring events of his first
morning on the bay. There was really little for anybody else to do but
to listen, and it was worth hearing.
There was no sort of interruption on the part of the audience; but the
moment Ford paused for breath his mother said,--
"Are you sure the black boy was not hurt, Ford?"
"Hurt, mother? Why, he seems to be a kind of black-fish. The rest all
know him, and they 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."
"Won't you shake hands with me, Mr. Kinzer?" said 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 broke 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 me, 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 by so very
pretty a young lady, and yet it seemed to bring up something curious
into Dabney Kinzer's throat.
"She considers me a mere boy, and she means I'd better take my fish
right home," was the next thought that 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 these fish at arm's-length, to save my life."
He knew, for he had been trying his best with his own.
It was quite likely that Dab Kinzer's rowing, and all that sort of
thing, had developed in him greater 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? About him?
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 indignantly.
"In ink," added Annie. "Just as they drowned my poor cuffs and collars."