collection?"

Sam slowed down the car, and looked with interest at the spot to which
Bobby pointed. Then he laughed.

"That's a lump of coal," he announced. "Fell off a heavy load, I
guess, on its way to the foundry. Collecting stones, are you, Bobby?"

"Not exactly," said Bobby. "You see I heard about a boy who went
around cracking pebbles and stones and sometimes he found very
valuable ones. Maybe I will, too. Anyway I like to crack 'em."

"I see," said Sam, looking at his watch. "Well, we'll have to hustle a
little to make it by two o'clock. Hold your hats, youngsters."

Sam delighted to let the car out occasionally, and for the next few
minutes they whirled steadily through a cloud of dust. Then the iron
gates of the foundry, of which Father Blossom was the owner and where
he had his office, loomed up ahead of them, and Sam put on the
brakes.

"Coming right away," called Father Blossom, as the car rolled past the
office window, where he was working at a roll-top desk, and stopped
before the door.

In just a moment he came out, buckling his brief case as he came down
the steps.

"They wanted to come," said Sam apologetically, indicating his
passengers. "I told 'em they'd have to walk home, because you were
going over to Clayton."

"Yes, can't have you along this trip," declared Father Blossom
regretfully. "Where are you going, Sam?"

Sam was driving further into the foundry yard. He turned with a
half-sheepish grin to answer his employer.

"Going to drive in around the pump and make a turn," he said. "Meg
doesn't like to be in the car when it's backing, so I thought I
wouldn't worry her."

So Sam drove carefully around the piles of iron and scraps and, making
a wide detour at the pump, drove out of the yard again. Meg smiled her
thanks. She wished she didn't feel that a car was likely to tip over
when it was backed, but she was sure she couldn't help that
feeling.

"Now I s'pose we'll have to get out," murmured Bobby, as they came to
the sign-post with a finger pointing to "Oak Hill, 2 miles," in one
direction, and another finger reading, "Clayton, 8 miles," pointing
another way.

"Yes, and don't loiter," directed Father Blossom. "Go straight home
and tell Mother if I can I'll be back for supper, but not to wait for
me."

Philip was glad to be out of the car, and he frisked ahead, barking
and trying to tempt some one to run a race with him.

"This looks valuable," said Bobby, picking up a pebb