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Then Bob told him the news that he had been saving for next Sunday. “Come along to the Quarter-house with me and feed, and then we’ll go hunt Whiskers—I mean Mr. Whitney.” “You will?” The boy was overjoyed. “That’s great! You’d better begin getting your stuff together ’cause I’m going to call for you just as soon as Boss Whitney will let me go.” Every one looked at him as he stood beside the Admiral—such a little boy, with comical, freckled nose and smooth, brown hair. He looked up at his big, stalwart uncle who was reading about him, Johnny Blossom!.

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Finally they agreed to take turns poking at the crab, but it would not budge. It lay as if it were nailed fast to the rocks. Of course there were several boys hanging around there—Aaron, Stephen, and Carl. Otherwise not even a cat was to be seen. Streets and wharf were deserted in the quiet noon hour. Mrs. Lind sat nodding upon the deck. Nils lounged on some bags at the front of the boat, amusing himself making faces. Mr. Lind was probably up in the town doing errands. Fortunately Mother was out when he first got home, and Lisa the maid was very kind in helping him get dry clothes. It was queer, but perhaps his others had not been as dry as tinder, after all. “What’s the row, Bob?” he wanted to know..