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“That’s the story, Mr. Whitney,” he finished. “And as the dam is safe, everything seems to be all right only, only—” Here the boy’s voice broke—“the part about Jerry. I—I can’t understand how he could do it—how—how he could be a traitor to the Service—” “That’s only an excuse, John. You remembered it all the time. Look me right in the eye and say whether you didn’t remember it.” “No, I was just thinking about that,” replied John. “I was thinking that perhaps I had better say, ‘Now I lay me’ and ‘Our Father’ both tonight, on account of the finger tip and the five cents and everything else today, Mother.” And John looked inquiringly up at his mother to see whether she approved..

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“Uncle Isaac has no further need of anything,” said Mother. “He died last night, little John.” “Do you ask why? Because it means work and responsibility. For what is all this that you see, house and garden, park and farm, but a loan to be accounted for? It is only a loan. That is why it brings to Johnny Blossom work and responsibility. He must remember that Uncle Isaac did not give him all this to use simply for his own benefit and pleasure—far from it—but for the good of others. He must remember that riches bring duties. He must remember that God will some time say to him, ‘Johnny Blossom, how have you dealt with what you received as a loan upon the earth?’” Wasn’t there something else he could sell so that Grandmother should see the ocean and everything again? Oh, of course—all those books about Indians; they must be worth a good deal and he had at least twelve of them. And his collection of eggs! Why, yes! They were perfectly beautiful eggs, and rare, many of them. To be sure almost every one was broken a little on one side. That didn’t matter a bit when they were placed nicely in a box, but perhaps people who bought eggs would rather have them whole. Well, the fishing rod was valuable, anyway. Johnny’s face was swollen with crying, and the tears had made streaks down his dirty cheeks..