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The work on the dam had gone smoothly since Mr. Whitney had taken the job over. Except for minor accidents, nothing really bothersome had happened to delay the work in any way, yet Bob, who was now constantly with the Chief, realized that something was bothering the man he was so fond of. Gone was the half chummy, half paternal air of Mr. Whitney. He was irritable and not at all himself. 'If,' resumed the marchioness, 'you prefer imprisonment with your mother, to a marriage with the duke, you may still secret yourself in the passage we have just quitted, and partake of the provision which is brought me.' The cow-barn was under the rule of a Swiss who was almost as cross as Carlstrom. He always said that the cows ought to be sleeping; so Johnny Blossom got the idea that the cows at Kingthorpe never did anything but lie and sleep..

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“All right,” was all he said. “But let’s find the mouth of the tunnel. Hustle up with the grub.” “Where’s the Boss?” he demanded of the Chinaman who served Mr. Whitney. “Gone to bed?” Father said it was best he should not ride in the town, but only out near Kingthorpe. Naturally, however, it was not long before the boys knew that Johnny Blossom, every single day, trotted around Kingthorpe on a beautiful horse; and of course the boys flocked out to Kingthorpe. They sat by the big pine tree and waited until Johnny Blossom came riding along. It was great fun for him when they thronged around him, exclaiming over everything, while he sat erect in the saddle, whip in hand. “Yes. Isn’t it interesting, Aunt Grenertsen? Isn’t it a beauty?”.