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Bob followed and was led to a little clump of bushes that grew on the edge some distance from the hotel. Mr. Whitney pushed them aside and disclosed a little ledge a few feet down from the rim, which afforded a comfortable seat. It was the cunningest goat you ever saw, lively but good, and so pretty—light gray, with a little beard. Mother had bought it early in the spring. On Sundays it had a blue ribbon around its neck, and other days a red worsted collar with a white button. It was a great pet. Once more a gesture of assent..
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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.” Johnny Blossom bowed himself out and Madame Bakke watched him as long as he was in sight. Strangely enough, Mother could not understand what studying had to do with everything being scattered over the floor; but at any rate, to make space for the fishing rod in the little room was plainly impossible. Of course he could not think of taking the rod apart. Well, it would have to be left on the veranda tonight. What if some one should take it? Haunted by this dreadful thought, Johnny Blossom was very wakeful. He tossed and turned for a long time before he finally fell asleep. “That must be it,” he said. “Look, Jerry!”.
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