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What a clear light green the water was under the wharf! You could see every single snail shell, every starfish, and every tiniest stone on the smooth, light-colored bottom. Whole schools of small fish darted, quick as lightning, between the slimy old piles. Once in a while a lazy eel glided under the wharf, wound slowly in and out, lay still a moment as if to sun itself, then slowly, curve after curve, took itself out again.,

Suddenly he had a brilliant idea. That beautiful frame that he had carved in the autumn, he would give that to Uncle Isaac, with a pretty card on which he would write: “A hearty Christmas greeting from an affectionate boy. Johnny Blossom.”,

Oh! there it hung by the boiler closet. But what a forlorn, miserable thing! He had not remembered that it was so worn out. Why, it scarcely held together! It was almost a disgrace to have such shabby fishing tackle, especially now when William Holm had that brand-new pole and Philip Krag was going to get one tomorrow. No, this old thing would not do. He positively needed a new outfit, and that meant that he simply must have some money.,

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.

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First he went to Miss Jorgensen’s, for she lived nearest, in her own tiny white house. She was in the kitchen washing dishes when Johnny Blossom’s little nose showed itself at the kitchen door.,

“I am not a specimen. I am Johnny Blossom.”,

The Abate during this discourse preserved a sullen silence; his eyes were bent to the ground, and his aspect was thoughful and solemn. When madame ceased to speak, a pause of profound silence ensued, and she sat in anxious expectation. She endeavoured to anticipate in his countenance the answer preparing, but she derived no comfort from thence. At length raising his head, and awakening from his deep reverie, he told her that her request required deliberation, and that the protection she solicited for Julia, might involve him in serious consequences, since, from a character so determined as the marquis's, much violence might reasonably be expected. 'Should his daughter be refused him,' concluded the Abate, 'he may even dare to violate the sanctuary.',

“Such rough shaking, I don’t like. You must pick the apples.”