I'd had the planning of that house, I'd have set it back farther. Too
much room all round it. Not enough trees either."

Dab came stoutly to the defence of not only that house, but of
Long-Island architecture generally, and was fairly overwhelmed, for the
first time in his life, by a flood of big words from a boy of his own
age.

He could have eaten up Ford Foster, if properly cooked. He felt sure of
that. But he was no match for him on the building question. On his way
back to his new home, however, after the discussion had lasted long
enough, he found himself inquiring,--

"That's all very nice, but what can he teach me about crabs? We'll see
about that to-morrow."

Beyond a doubt, the crab question was of special importance; but one of
far greater consequence to Dab Kinzer's future was undergoing
discussion, at that very hour, hundreds of miles away.

Quite a little knot of people there was, in a hotel parlor; and while
the blooming Miranda, now Mrs. Morris, was taking her share of talk very
well with the ladies, Ham was every bit as busy with a couple of elderly
gentlemen.

"It's just as I say, Mr. Morris," said one of the latter, with a
superfluous show of energy: "there's no better institution of its kind
in the country than Grantley Academy. I send my own boys there; and I've
just written about it to my brother-in-law, Foster, the New-York lawyer.
He'll have his boy there this fall. No better place in the country,