much, he can't talk."

"I'm not just comfortable about Dick," said Dabney.

"Oh! he'll come out all right: the corn's mostly shelled, and the
woodpile can't last forever. He doesn't know how to run a
sewing-machine. She tried making him read aloud to her and Almira, last
night; but Dick thinks she won't ask him to do it again. Don't be
troubled about Richard: his future is safe."

Part of it undoubtedly; and the boys had "settled" more things for
themselves and him than those they mentioned.

They had settled their own position among the boys of the academy and
the village, old and young; for every soul of them had heard about "the
big fight on the green" before he went to bed that night. They had
secured Dick Lee's position for him: not that they had given him a false
one, but that he would be safe to enjoy, almost unmolested, whatever
position his own conduct might earn for him. That was all any boy ought
to have, black or white.

They had done much, as Ford said, to settle their own position at their
boarding-house; but that was nothing of importance compared to the
impression they had made upon the large heart and brain of the stately
academy principal. They had made a firm friend of him, and of others
whose friendship was worth having.

All that was a great deal to have accomplished in one short week, but
there was much more that would require their immediate attention.

Books, fishing, lectures, base-ball, French, pigeon-shooting, elocution,
kites, composition, nutting, and the academy debating society; and the
list of the future demands upon their time grew as they talked, until
Ford exclaimed,--

"Hold on, boys: my brains won't stand any more till after I've eaten a
supply of fish."

They ought all to have been able to think harder, after the next day's
breakfast and dinner; but the "corned beef" came on Monday, and with it,
as usual, came corn in other forms. "The farm" had done well that year,
with that particular crop; but so had all the other farms, east and
west, and Mrs. Myers found her best market for her maize harvest at her
own table. It would take a good while to dispose of what Dick had
already shelled, and all she could do was to be liberal as to quantity.
There was no fault to be found with her on that score, but Dabney did
not ask for any more recipes to send home to his mother.

The second week was much longer than the first. Saturday came around
very nearly in its own turn this time;