“A what, my son?” exclaimed his mother.

“I didn’t mean to talk slang, mother, I only meant,—­well, you know how dreadfully black he is, but then he can steer a boat tip-top, and he’s splendid for crabs and blue-fish, and Dab says he’s a good scholar, too.”

“Dab’s a very good boy,” said Mrs. Foster, “but your friend Dick will need an outfit, I imagine.  Clothes and almost everything.  I must see Mrs. Kinzer about it.”

Meantime Dick Lee’s part in the matter had been taken for granted all around.  An hour later, however, Mrs. Kinzer’s first reply to her son, after a calculation on his part which made it almost seem as if Dick would make money by going to Grantley, was:  “What if Mrs. Lee says she can’t spare him?”

Dab’s countenance fell.  He knew Mrs. Lee, but he had not thought so far as that.

“Well, Dabney, if we can make the other arrangements, I’ll see her about it.”

Ham Morris had been exchanging remarkable winks with Miranda and Samantha, and now gravely suggested:  “May be the academy authorities will refuse to take him.”

“They had a blacker boy than he is there last year, Ford says.”

“Now, Dab,” exclaimed Ham.

“Well, I know he’s pretty black, but it don’t come off.”

“Mother,” said Samantha, “Mrs. Foster and Annie are coming through the gate.”

Dab just waited long enough, after that, to learn the news concerning the “Richard Lee Education Fund,” and Mr. Foster’s offer, and then he was off toward the shore.  He knew very well in which direction to go, for, half-way to the landing, he met Dick coming up the road with a basket of eels on his arm.

“Dick, I’m going to boarding-school, at an academy.”

“Cad’my?  Whar?”

“Up in New England.  They call it Grantley Academy.  Where Ford and Frank are going.”

“Dat spiles it all,” exclaimed Dick, ruefully.  “Now I’s got to fish wid fellers ’at don’t know nuffin.”

“No you wont.  You’re going with us.  It’s all fixed, money and all.”

Dick would never have thought of questioning a statement made by “Captain Kinzer,” but the rueful expression deepened on his face, the basket of eels dropped heavily on the grass, the tough, black fingers twisted nervously together for a moment, and then he sat mournfully down beside the basket.

“It aint no use, Dab.”

“No use?  Why not?”

“I aint a w’ite boy.”

“What of it?  Don’t you learn well enough over at the school?”

“More dar like me.  Wot’d I do in a place whar all de res’ was w’ite?”

“Well as anybody.”

“Wot’ll my mudder say, w’en she gits de news?  You isn’t a jokin’, is you, Dab Kinzer?”

“Joking?  I guess not.”

“You’s lit on me powerful sudden, ‘bout dis.  Yonder’s Ford an’ Frank a-comin’.  Don’t tell ’em, not jist yet.”

“They know all about it.  They helped raise the money.”