In she went, but more than the Kinzer family were gathered in the sitting-room.

Mrs. Foster and Annie had brought Jenny Walters with them, and Ham was there, and all the rest; and they all sat still as mice while Glorianna listened to Dab’s account, and Ford’s, of the journey to Grantley, and the arrival, and the examination, and their boarding-house.

There was not a word of complaint anywhere; and it did seem as if Ham Morris was right when he said,—­

“We’ve hit it this time, Mrs. Foster.  I think I ought to write to Mr. Hart, and thank him for his recommendation.”

“Just as you please, Hamilton,” said Mrs. Kinzer; “but this is their very first week, you know.”

“Guess dey won’t fool Dick much, anyhow,” said the radiant Glorianna.  “But wot’s dat ’bout de corn-shellin’?”

“That’s all right,” said Ham.  “Shelling corn won’t hurt him.  Glad there’s plenty of it.  Mother Kinzer, you and Miranda must try that recipe Dab sent for the new pudding.”

“New pudding, indeed!  Why, she doesn’t put in half eggs enough.  But I’m glad she’s a good cook.  We’ll have that pudding for dinner this very day.”

“So will we,” said Mrs. Foster.

“Miss Kinzer,” said Dick’s mother, “jes’ won’t you show me how to make dat puddin’?  I’s like to know jes’ wot dey eat at de ’cad’my.”

It was a great comfort to know that the boys were so well satisfied; but there was her usual good sense in Mrs. Kinzer’s suggestion about its being the very first week.

There are never any more such letters as “first letters,” nor any other weeks like the first.  The fact that there were so many boys together, all old acquaintances, shut out any such thing as loneliness, and it was not time to be homesick.  All that week was really spent in “getting settled,” and there did not seem to be more than a day or so of it.  Saturday came around again somewhere in the place commonly taken by Wednesday, and surprised them all.

They had all been busy enough, but Dick Lee had never in all his life found so little spare time on his hands.

“It’s no use, Cap’n Dab,” he remarked on Friday:  “we can’t eat up all de corn I’ve shelled, not if we has johnnycake from now till nex’ summer.”

Dab was looking a little thoughtful at that moment.

“Ford,” he said slowly, “has she missed a day yet?”

“A corn day?  No.”

“Or a meal?”

“No, I said I’d cut a notch on my slate first time she did, and it’s all smooth yet.”

He held it up as he spoke; and Frank remarked,—­

“Yes, smooth enough on that side; but you’ve nicked it all down on the other, end to end.  What’s that for?”

“That?  Oh! that’s quite another thing.  I’m keeping tally of Joe and Fuz.  Every time one of ’em asks a question about our boarding-house, or Mrs. Myers, or Almira, or’ little Dr. Brandegee, I nick it down.  Got to quit pretty soon, or buy another slate.”