Well, I did not know there were so many kinds of sand in the whole world! Jibby Jones had black sand, and sand as red as blood, and sand as blue as indigo, and sand of almost every color you ever heard of, and then some colors you never did hear of. We were saying, “Oh, boy!” and, “My gimini crickets!” every minute, and, all at once, Skippy said: “Say, Jibby, you haven’t any green sand!” “Yes, I have,” Jibby said, and he showed us a card of green sand. “I don’t mean that kind of green,” Skippy said. “I mean green that the light shows through; not solid green. I know where there is a kind of green you have not got. You know, fellows; that green sand in Murrell’s Run, down below town.” “Sure! I know!” I said, as excited as if somebody had told me where there was a million dollars. “Out back of that old brick house, Skippy.” We all remembered it. We had found it one day when we were wading up the Run, and there was a lot of it. It was right in the bottom of the Run, and we all waded in it and dug our toes in it and said it was a queer kind of sand. Jibby Jones straightened up and looked at me through his spectacles. “Green sand?” he said in a queer way. “Green sand?” “You bet!” I said. “And lots of it. And it’s the only place anybody ever heard of green sand being, around here.” “In a creek?” Jibby asked. “Yes; up in the hills below town,” I said. “Only they don’t call that creek a creek; they call it a ‘run’--Murl’s Run,” I said, pronouncing it the way we always did. “I’d like to have some of that green sand--for my collection,” Jibby drawled. “Well,” I said, “we’ll get you some; we know right where it is.” “I would rather get it myself,” Jibby said. “I like my sand specimens when I get them myself.” So that was how, the first Saturday after school began, Jibby Jones went with us out toward the Run. We all wanted to get green sand for our collections of sand, because we had all four started in collecting sand. As soon as we got through looking at Jibby’s collection, we went over to the sand bar to get some Mississippi River sand to start our collections. Only we didn’t get just one grain apiece; we got about a peck apiece. We thought maybe we could exchange grains of Mississippi River sand with boys in California and other places. We got enough sand to exchange with about a million boys, and there was plenty left in the river, too. Going to Murrell’s Run to get the green sand we went out the road past the cemetery for about five miles, and just before we got to the Run we came to a crossroads, where an old tumbledown brick house stands. We were going right on past when, all at once, Jibby Jones stopped short. “Hello!” he said. “Look at that!”