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“You’d have done the same thing for me,” returned Bob, anxious to get off the subject. “Let’s talk about the dam site.” “Not a bit,” said John. “It was the fault of the postmaster’s boys entirely. See what I’ve got.” And Johnny Blossom took his English boatswain’s whistle out and blew it, with beaming face. “Aren’t you glad that you can see?” said Grandmother to the boys one day. “Don’t you thank God every day for your good eyes?”.

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Suppose he had been drowned. It would have been pleasant, wouldn’t it, for him, the heir of Kingthorpe, to meet Uncle Isaac at the heavenly gate, after being so disobedient? “Traitor!” repeated Bob and then pulled his horse’s head around and struck hard with his quirt. In a flash his little horse was flying in the direction of home. It was a desperate chance he was taking, for he had read in the faces of the two men as he turned that they were determined that he should not get back to the dam with his suspicions confirmed. He knew that in running he braved possible death, for he had noticed that both men were armed. The sound of his horse’s hoofs and the rushing wind drowned the noise that would have told him whether he was being pursued or not. He was bending low in the saddle and it was hard to turn and see what had become of Jerry and his companions. But he managed it. At last the great day came and the weather could not have been finer. The gates to Kingthorpe stood wide open and people thronged inside. The flags waved, the sunbeams danced, and under the old trees there was a continual buzz of gay talk and laughter. "All the better to run with, child.".