“I’ll get in, though, and I won’t go in through the cat-hole either.  I’ll promise you that, if you’ll sustain me.”

“Oh, I’ll sustain you,” drawled the squire.  “I’ll sustain you in anything you do, except to pizon ’em with slow pizon, and I ain’t altogether sure that wouldn’ be jest manslaughter.”

“All right.”  Keith’s eyes snapped, and presently, as the outer man’s gaze rested on him, his snapped also.

So the compact was struck, and the trustee went on to give further information.

“Your hours will be as usual,” said he:  “from seven to two and fo’ to six in summer, and half-past seven to two and three to five in winter, and you’ll find all the books necessary in the book-chist.  We had to have ’em locked up to keep ’em away from the rats and the dirt-daubers.  Some of ’em’s right smartly de-faced, but I reckon you’ll git on with ’em all right.”

“Well, those are pretty long hours,” said Gordon.  “Seems to me they had better be shortened.  I shall—­”

“Them’s the usual hours,” interrupted the old man, positively.  “I’ve been trustee now for goin’ on twenty-six year, an’ th’ain’t never been any change in ’em.  An’ I ain’t see as they’ve ever been too long—­leastways, I never see as the scholars ever learned too much in ’em.  They ain’t no longer than a man has to work in the field, and the work’s easier.”

Gordon looked at the old man keenly.  It was his first battle, and it had come on at once, as his father had warned him.  The struggle was bitter, if brief, but he conquered—­conquered himself.  The old countryman’s face had hardened.

“If you want to give satisfaction you’d better try to learn them scholars an’ not the trustees,” he said dryly.  “The Dennison boys is hard, but we’re harder.”

Gordon looked at him quickly.  His eyes were resting on him, and had a little twinkle in them.

“We’re a little like the old fellow ’at told the young preacher ’at he’d better stick to abusin’ the sins of Esau and Jacob and David and Peter, an’ let the sins o’ that congregation alone.”

“I’ll try and give you satisfaction,” said Keith.

The squire appeared pleased.  His face relaxed and his tone changed.

“You won’t have no trouble,” he said good-humoredly.  “Not if you’re like your father.  I told ’em you was his son, an’ I’d be responsible for you.”

Gordon Keith looked at him with softened eyes.  A mention of his father always went to his heart.

“I’ll try and give you satisfaction,” he said earnestly.  “Will you do me a favor?”

“Yes.”

“Will you come over to the examination of the school when it opens, and then let me try the experiment of running it my way for, say, two months, and then come to another examination?  Then if I do not satisfy you I’ll do anything you say; I’ll go back to the old way.”

“Done,” said the trustee, cordially.  And so, Gordon Keith won another victory, and started the school under favorable auspices.