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Johnny Blossom dashed homeward over the hill, bounding his swiftest so as to get home soon, for he had thought of something he was eager to carry out. If the master of Kingthorpe were alive Grandmother would ask him for money, she had said. Well, but really—he, Johnny Blossom, was master of Kingthorpe now, so he must, of course, attend to it. And he knew how he could do it. He would sell the fishing rod Uncle Isaac had given him—it cost an awful lot of money, Miss Melling had said—and Grandmother should have all he got for it. And his collection of coins—he would sell that, too. It ought to bring a lot of money—those old two-shilling pieces were so curious; and there was the English coin—my! that was worth ever so much!—and the queer old medal., For a moment or two after he had read the message all Bob could think of was that there was a long procession of boring days to be met. It would have been a lot easier if Jerry King had been more of a chum and less of a grouch. But orders were orders and it was up to him to obey. He stuck the telegram in his pocket and set off to find Jerry, if that was possible. Jerry had a way of disappearing, only to show up at meal times., “Chase up to the dam line. There’s an overflow gate in the spillway there. Break it open!”.