Johnny Blossom

TELLEF’S GRANDMOTHER

JOHNNY BLOSSOM

From the Norwegian of

DIKKEN ZWILGMEYER

TRANSLATED BY

EMILIE POULSSON

Illustrations by

F. LILEY YOUNG

THE PILGRIM PRESS

BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO

COPYRIGHT, 1912

BY LUTHER H. CARY

──────

Published, September, 1912

THE·PLIMPTON·PRESS

[W·D·O]

NORWOOD·MASS·U·S·A

Preface

HAVING made acquaintance with Johnny Blossom in his native land of Norway through the stories about him by Miss Dikken Zwilgmeyer, the desire to introduce the amusing, sound-natured boy to American children has resulted in this translation.

Some liberty has been taken with the original text, chiefly to eliminate circumstances or incidents which would not be clear to child readers in a different environment; but I have taken pains to keep the translation faithful to the original in spirit and expression, appreciating that in these lies much of the wholesome power of the book.

Johnny Blossom is not local but universal. Interest in him is not even limited to boys. When the book first appeared, a Norwegian reviewer wrote:

“Our most popular author of books for little girls has this year forsaken them, and apparently gone over to the boys, since her book is about a boy; ... but I have yet to see the little girl who would not be glad to read of such a boy as Johnny Blossom.... Although a genuine boy, he is a right-minded little fellow with earnest childlike spirit; and he can never be thoroughly content until he has had his mother’s full forgiveness when he has been naughty, or, if he has wronged any one, until he has made restitution.”

With confidence that such a child will be a good story-book friend for our children, and a favorite with them as he is among his little compatriots, I send Johnny Blossom forth to meet his welcome.

EMILIE POULSSON

Hopkinton, Mass., 1912

CONTENTS

Illustrations

JOHNNY BLOSSOM

CHAPTER I His Fighting

OH! Everything was so horrid! That stupid Tellef Olsen! Always boasting and bragging about his muscle as if he were the only one in the town who had muscle. Well, anyway, he wouldn’t be coming around here any more to brag about it.

Johnny Blossom thrust his arm out fiercely and drew it slowly in again with his teeth set and his face getting very red. Ha! That was awfully good muscle there, just what muscle ought to be—rounding up in your arm and as hard as iron to feel of. How tired he had been of the other boys’ bragging about Tellef, too. It seemed as if they never talked of anything else. That was why he had been out of patience yesterday. Well, he had shown them, once for all, who was the strongest.

My, oh, my! How he had pounded Tellef! But he would really like to know whether any one wouldn’t be a little angry if, when he was sitting on a fence not thinking of a thing, some one should come and poke him in the back with a long stick?

For that was just the way the trouble began. He had been walking on his tallest stilts the whole afternoon—the stilts that were exactly, to the dot, one yard fifteen inches and a half tall—and then had sat himself on the fence along the back alley. He was facing the yard, with his back toward the alley, and that disgusting Olsen boy came past and gave him a dig in the back with that sharp stick. Just think of it! Wouldn’t anybody say it was unbearable?

Like a flash, John had slid down from the fence and rushed after Tellef; and then came the fight.

Gracious! how that boy had yelled! Well, a good pommeling was just what he deserved. It was rather a pity, though, that there had come a great split in his jacket and that his fishpole had got broken to bits in the fight. Even if it hadn’t ever been a good pole, it was wonderful how much he caught with it. He had to catch fish for his mother every single day. People said that at Tellef’s house they ate fish for breakfast, dinner, and supper, and that they had scarcely anything else to eat. Ugh! That must be tiresome! There was nothing so horrid when one came home from school very hungry, and shouted at the kitchen door “What are we going to have for dinner?” as to have Olea the cook say “Codfish.” And think! That was about all they had to eat down in Tellef’s shanty.

Well, anyway, Tellef had given him an ugly scratch on the cheek. It hurt awfully, for it was a long, deep scratch. Ugh! But the fight had been a great one, and Tellef and everybody knew now who was the strongest, and all that bragging about Tellef’s muscle was done with.

It must be grand to be so strong that one could, well, beat everybody—that is, of course, all the boys,—if one had a mind to do it. Not that he, Johnny Blossom, really wanted to fight everybody; only to have strength enough to do it, if it were necessary. And to be able to hold the heaviest things with your arm stretched out straight!

Every day at home he had a great gymnastic performance, holding a dining-room chair at arm’s length. He could do it splendidly now, so lately he had thought he would practise holding his sisters up that way. If he began with the littlest sister he might by degrees work up to the biggest. Perhaps even so he might not be able to manage Asta—she was so fat. But they were all tiresome. They screamed if he merely touched them. Just think what happened in the dining room only yesterday?

Without meaning the least harm, and as nicely as possible, he had taken Dagny up to see whether he could hold her two minutes with his arm out straight and stiff. And that big child, who was a whole year old, had roared so that they had come rushing in from every corner of the house, even Father, from his midday nap, with rumpled hair and angry looks. Oh, dear! It was horrid. That stupid child! People might have understood that he was just trying his strength.

Everything had been disagreeable all the afternoon, until by and by he happened to think of trying to dance a mazurka on his highest stilts. Doing that he had fortunately forgotten his troubles.

Then came Tellef’s hitting him in the back and their fighting, with Tellef, for all his muscle, getting the worst of it. Of course Mrs. Dahl, who had seen them fighting, would come and tell Mother. Awfully pleasant that would be! Oh, well, he didn’t mind.

Johnny Blossom put his hands in his pockets and whistled, “Yes, we love our grand old Norway,” loudly and shrilly.

Still, it was perfectly horrid that Tellef’s fishpole had got smashed. That was awfully bad luck. And his jacket torn, too. But how could he expect anything else when he was so horrid with his boasting and everything?

“Yes, we love our grand old Norway,” Johnny Blossom whistled again with great vigor.

Perhaps he ought to be looking after his own fishing tackle. Every one was talking about going fishing nowadays and he’d better see whether his tackle was hanging where it should be, on the wall of the wash-house. William Holm had done nothing at school today but brag of that new fishing tackle of his.

Not a sign of Johnny’s was to be seen. Who could have been so mean as to take it away? Of course he had put it in its place. (A great stirring up of things and searching everywhere.) Dear! How meddlesome people were! Here they had gone and hidden away his fishing rod. Really, wouldn’t any one be angry?

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.

“Yes, we love”—Why, of course! He would go over to Kingthorpe. It was a long time since he had been there, certainly as much as two weeks. What a comfort it was to have such an uncle as Uncle Isaac of Kingthorpe! For one thing, it sometimes happened that he made you a present of a quarter, and a person was so likely to need a quarter—need it badly, dreadfully, as he, Johnny Blossom himself, did today.

Without further delay off he started on the road to Kingthorpe, but his thoughts were still busy.

Uncle Isaac had not given him anything the last time he was there, nor the time before either, so very likely—Pshaw! Even if you got nothing at all from Uncle Isaac, it was always more than pleasant to go to Kingthorpe. He wasn’t going there to beg—far from it; he wasn’t quite so mean as that.

Here his steps lingered a little, but he walked on nevertheless.

Some things about these visits were rather tiresome. Not exactly with Uncle Isaac, though you had to be a bit careful with him, too; but there was that fussy housekeeper of his, Miss Melling. One was never sure which door she would poke her nose out of and call: “Walk quietly, Johnny. Shut the door softly. Have you wiped your feet thoroughly, Johnny boy?”

The idea of her calling him Johnny boy! That was perfectly outrageous! What right had she to call him by that name? He had outgrown it long ago, and no one used it now except just herself. Here he would be ten years old in a fortnight, no, in twelve days—or, to be exact, twelve days and a half, and so surely he was too old for that baby name.

Perhaps Miss Melling could fly through the air, but he couldn’t; and yet she seemed to think that he could come all the way over here without getting his shoes muddy! He would surely ask her today whether she could fly. She did not look so very light!

All the floors at Kingthorpe were as shining as a mirror. Mother said they were waxed. It was a good thing the floors at home were not waxed, for it would be an awful job to take care of them. When he and Asta played tag around the dining-room table for instance—my, oh my! but there would be a good many scratches on the floor! Queer, that rich people must have every thing so fine! For his part, he thought such elegance was only a bother.

How disgusting about Tellef’s old fishing tackle! And that his jacket should get that great split in it, too! The pity about the jacket was that Tellef hadn’t any other. But all the same, it was mean of Tellef to hit him in the back.

“Yes, we love our grand old Norway!” This time he whistled almost the whole tune in his loud, shrill whistle; then he took to his heels and was soon at the big gate that led into the Kingthorpe grounds.

It was queer, but the minute you were inside that gate you felt quiet, almost solemn, and like behaving your very best. Everything was orderly and stately and peaceful. The trees were very old and very tall, with wonderfully broad, full crowns. The lawns were very spacious, with not a single twig on the grass anywhere, and the paths were always smooth, as if freshly raked.

Every one said that Uncle Isaac was awfully rich. Well, then, why did he look so sad and why was he always thinking and thinking so hard? What in the world could he be puzzling about when he was so rich? Why, he had everything, even to a saddle horse and a pleasure yacht; and the horse was a thoroughbred, according to Carlstrom the coachman.

It was different with Father. When he looked troubled, Mother said he was worried about money matters, and that we had to be very careful with our money. Pshaw! Why must some people be so careful about money, and some ride on fine saddle horses, and some have nothing but fish to eat, morning, noon, and night?

If he only hadn’t smashed Tellef’s fishing rod yesterday!

“Yes, we love our grand old Norway!” Suddenly he stopped short. Think of his whistling in Kingthorpe Park! It was to be hoped that no one had heard. Of course you should be nice and quiet here. It was to be hoped, too, that that ill-tempered watchdog would not come growling along. Not that Johnny Blossom was afraid of him. Far from it! But that dog was so cross, you couldn’t like him.

Johnny stood still, unconsciously kicking a big hole in the path as he meditated. Perhaps it would be just as well to go straight back home again without seeing Uncle Isaac; but no—he really needed a quarter terribly today; and on he ran through the grounds and burst in at the big entrance door of Kingthorpe.

The front hall was very grand. It was two stories high and the floor was of checkered black and white marble. Here you need not be so careful about footmarks as on the other floors, which were all highly polished.

Pshaw! There stood Miss Melling, Uncle Isaac’s housekeeper. “Why! Is it you, John? Is there anything particular wanted?”

There! Any one could see by that how horrid she was—asking if he wanted anything in particular!

“Oh, I just came to see Uncle Isaac, it is so long since I was here.”

“Long? It seems to me you were here only last week.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Well, I don’t know whether your uncle is well enough to see you today. I will find out.”

How tiresome Miss Melling was! Well, if she offered him cookies and jelly today, as she sometimes did, she would find out that he wouldn’t take anything from her. Never in the world.

Here she was again.

“Yes, you may go in; but you must wipe your feet well and shut the door softly and not stay so long as to tire him.”

Wouldn’t any one suppose that Uncle Isaac was her uncle and not his, Johnny Blossom’s, the way she behaved?

Johnny Blossom, cap in hand, tiptoed with unusual care over the highly polished floor. First a gentle knock on Uncle’s door, then a louder one.

“Come right in, my boy.”

Johnny Blossom bowed low as he entered.

Gray-haired, delicate, with sorrowful eyes and long, white hands, Uncle Isaac sat in his big, carved, oaken chair.

“Good day, John! Now this is very kind of you to come to me, away out here.”

“Yes. I thought it was an awfully long time since you had seen me.”

“True, so it is. I suppose you are very busy nowadays?”

“Awfully busy. Tonight we are going out fishing.”

“I meant particularly at school.”

“Oh! Of course I go to school.”

“You are a good scholar?”

“Oh, well, I am not the worst. I’m not one of the best either, but I’m not the worst, really.”

“But you should be among the best, Johnny Blossom.”

There was a short silence.

“It is awfully hard to be among the best, Uncle Isaac,” with an apologetic smile.

“Not if a person is industrious, John.”

Johnny Blossom suddenly found something the matter with his shoestring. His face was very red when he straightened up again, saying, “How provoking shoestrings are!”

“How are your sisters?”

“Oh, very well.”

“My god-daughter, Dagny—she is getting big now?”

“My, oh, my! She is so heavy! You would hardly believe how heavy she is; but I almost know that I could lift her and hold her at arm’s length with my arm out like this, perfectly straight!”

“My dear John! You do not try lifting the child at arm’s length, as you say?”

“Yes, I tried once. I could do it well enough, too; but you should just see how cross that child is. She roars at nothing.”

“But there might be a bad accident if you dropped her.”

Johnny smiled condescendingly. “You don’t know how strong I am, Uncle Isaac. Look at my muscle here.”

Quick as a flash, Johnny’s jacket was off and he was displaying his little shirt sleeve. “Look here! Look! Isn’t that good muscle?”

Suddenly he glanced around the room. “Isn’t there something here I can lift?”

“My dear Johnny! No, no!”

“Yes, that fire-screen will be just the thing.”

“No, no, thank you, John. I am willing to believe that you are very strong.”

“There! This lamp will do.”

A little firm brown hand had already seized upon the big lamp.

Uncle Isaac roused up. “No, no, my boy! Let go the lamp! Let go instantly!”

“Well, if you don’t want me to show you. But really, if my little finger were only big enough, I could lift the lamp just with that.”

Johnny shook the brown little finger almost in Uncle Isaac’s face.

“Why, what have you done to your face, John? You have a big scratch there.”

“Oh, that? Well, that’s—that’s nothing.”

“But how did you get it?”

“Why—it—it came so.”

“Came so? What do you mean?”

“Oh, we were fighting.”

“Why were you fighting?”

“It was just that stupid Tellef Olsen. He bragged so much about being the strongest of all the boys”—

“And then?”

“The whole school said he was the strongest, and that was disgusting, for it wasn’t true. I’m a great deal stronger than Tellef. I am really awfully strong, I am.”

“And so you fought?”

“Yes. I was up on the fence yesterday, and Tellef Olsen went past in the alley and hit me in the back with a long switch”—

“And then?”

“Why, yes. Then we fought each other, you know.”

A silence followed this remark. Since Uncle Isaac said nothing, Johnny continued:

“I beat, too! My, what a thrashing I gave him! Now they’ll know I am the strongest. I’d rather be strong than anything else.”

Again it was very still.

“You say that, do you, John? You think that to be strong is the greatest thing? Possibly it was, in past ages; but in the future, the man with the most love in his heart, the best man, will be the greatest. Remember that, little John Blossom.”

The boy looked at his uncle in astonishment. The man with the most love in his heart the best man? He the greatest of all?

“Yes,” continued Uncle Isaac. “He who heals instead of wounds, he who does good and helps the needy, he is the greatest, John Blossom.”

Heals and not wounds; does good; helps the needy. Johnny sat staring at his Uncle Isaac. Deep within his heart there lay a weight, a sadness. It was the thought of Tellef Olsen’s fishing rod that he had broken to smithereens—Tellef’s, who had to go fishing every day or his mother and the children would have nothing to eat; and of the jacket all split, too,—the only one Tellef had.

Uncle Isaac was gazing far away, up toward the sky. “That is being great; the greatest any one in the world can be.”

All at once it had become very impressive in there with Uncle Isaac, who seemed to have forgotten him and continued gazing up into the sky. Johnny Blossom turned and fidgeted in his seat. “I’ve got to go,” he said suddenly.

“Well, well. Wait a minute.” Uncle Isaac took out his pocket-book and gave John two bright half-dollars. “There is always something you would like to buy for yourself, little John, so take this; but don’t fight any more, and remember what it is that makes a man great.”

“Thank you, Uncle Isaac. Good-by.” With this Johnny Blossom bowed and vanished.

Out in the front hall stood Miss Melling, holding in her hand a plate on which was a big piece of cake with thick frosting on it.

“Johnny boy, see here! Here is something for you.”

He had bitten into the cake before he remembered that he never in the world was going to take any more goodies from Miss Melling. “Thank you.” He bowed low, with his mouth crammed full of cake. “Thank you.” Of course he couldn’t possibly say that he wouldn’t have the cake when she put it right under his nose that way. He had thought of her asking him to go into her room to be treated to cookies and jelly. That was what he had meant he would not do.

Soon he was in the grounds again, but he did not hurry, nor did he give one thought to the cross mastiff. Every now and then he opened his hand to look at the two silver pieces. To think that he really had two half-dollars! He could get himself extra good fishing tackle for that much money—far better than William Holm’s even. Yes, as Uncle Isaac had said, there was always something you wanted to buy for yourself. What was that other thing Uncle Isaac had said? The man with the most love in his heart was the greatest? He who was kind was greater than he who was strong?

How hard he had hit Tellef in the face! How the blood had spurted out from his nose! It was too bad. Tellef had not been out to play last night or today either. How that jacket of his looked, torn that way! Really, it was a perfect shame.

Again and again Johnny Blossom opened his hand and looked at the silver pieces. Suddenly, speaking aloud in his determination, he said: “I am going to give these to Tellef. It was an awful shame for me to fight him like that, even if he did hit me in the back.”

Johnny dashed off at a run. What if they hadn’t had even fish to eat at Tellef’s house today on account of the broken pole?

The road was very steep and he almost slid down, landing right near the shanty where Tellef lived. Oh, dear! What was to be done next? It would be very embarrassing to say to Tellef that he felt ashamed of himself. How could he do it?

Aha! there was Christina, Tellef’s little sister.

“Here, Christina. Will you give these to Tellef?”

Johnny Blossom handed her the two half-dollars, speaking fast and feeling in a great hurry to get away. Christina looked at him in amazement.

“What for?” she asked.

“Oh, because I fought him; because his fishpole got smashed.”

He was off, leaping up the steep road. Christina looked at the money and then at the disappearing boy and said, “How queer he was!”

For several days Johnny Blossom avoided meeting Tellef, but he saw that Tellef had bought a handsome strong fishing rod, and that he had had fish to take home every single day.

“That’s fine new tackle you have,” said William Holm to Tellef one afternoon.

“Yes.” Tellef cast a smiling glance at Johnny Blossom.

With that it was as if the old score between them was wiped out once for all. That same afternoon they went fishing together and talked much about the new fishing rod’s wonderful catching powers; but not a word did Johnny Blossom say as to why he had given the money to Tellef, nor did Tellef ever mention it. And there was no more talk between them as to who was the stronger.

CHAPTER II
Crab Fishing

NOW there was going to be fun in plenty! Hadn’t they come out to Oxen Bay for the whole summer, Mother and the three sisters and himself? And wasn’t Father coming every Saturday to spend Sunday? They were living in Pilot Taraldsen’s small yellow house, and he and his boy Eric had moved out into a sort of woodshed for the summer. Johnny Blossom had turned somersaults all over the field near the house for pure joy, on his first arrival at Oxen Bay.

One hot noontide he and Eric lay on the wharf in the baking sunshine. It was not Pilot Taraldsen’s wharf near the house, but the old wharf beyond the woods.

Really it was a delightful old wharf. Near the shore it was built on rocks and stones, but farther out there were thick piles on which the great heavy boards were laid. There was no railing, and at the extreme end a single board to which boats could be fastened projected far out over the water. The boards shone white and hot in the sun. The piles down in the water were covered with tiny shells, seaweed, and greenish slime.

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.

The path leading down from the woods was so rough and steep that people never liked to walk on it; and no boats were kept at this wharf except the sail-boat belonging to a merchant from the city. The merchant’s boat was an unusually beautiful one. It was painted a dazzling white and had “Sea Mew” in golden letters on one side of it.

Johnny Blossom and Eric, the pilot’s son, lay on the wharf with their heads stretched out over the edge, gazing down into the water. “Shall we fish for crabs?” asked Eric. Of course Johnny thought this was just the thing to do. Eric took a long string from his pocket and tied a stone at the end.

“See that thundering big one away over there? I’m going to get her,” said Eric, pointing to a venerable looking crab that had been lying for a long time squeezed in between two rocks. The boys dangled the string with the stone on it temptingly near the big crab. Crabs usually get excited over a stone swinging above them that way. They reach up for it, grip it tightly, and—a jerk and up they come! But this crab had seen too many such stones in its long life, and lay stock still without moving a claw.

“Come, old lady,” encouraged Eric.

“She’s dead,” said Johnny.

“Not a bit of it, Bub, she’s only sly.”

“Perhaps I can poke her out with a stick,” suggested Johnny. But not a stick could they find, though they looked all around. In the sail-boat, however, there was the finest kind of a boat-hook.

“I’ll get that boat-hook,” said Johnny, jumping on board the “Sea Mew.”

“Well, I’ll poke her out,” said Eric.

“No, I will,” said Johnny.

They disputed over this a long time.

“You must remember I got the boat-hook,” urged Johnny.

Finally they agreed to take turns poking at the crab, but it would not budge. It lay as if it were nailed fast to the rocks.

“Get out of that, you old grandmother!”

Johnny Blossom grew more and more excited. He stood on the tip end of the plank that extended out over the water.

“There! Now!” Eric cheered him on. “Reach farther out, Bub! She’s stirring a little. Farther out, I say.”

Splash! There lay Johnny Blossom and the boat-hook in the water. Oh, how angry he was! “Ugh—Ugh!” he sputtered.

Dropping the boat-hook, he swam the couple of strokes that would bring him to the wharf, and climbed up.

“Ugh, how wet I am!” said Johnny, and then,

“Catch that boat-hook there!” he shouted, as it floated almost to the edge of the wharf.

No—Eric could not catch the boat-hook—and there was no boat for them to go after it in; so Johnny Blossom had to jump into the water again, catch the boat-hook, and swim to shore with it. Ugh! how sopping wet he was!

“Take your clothes off and dry them then,” said Eric.

Johnny wriggled himself out of his wet blouse and shirt and everything, wrung them out, and spread them to dry upon the sun-warmed boards. In the meantime Eric had possessed himself of the boat-hook and was poking at the crab.

“Ha! I’ll get her out!”

No—Johnny Blossom claimed that it was still his turn. They had a tussle over it and Johnny won; and there he stood, stark naked in the sunshine on the projecting plank, poking and thrusting with the boat-hook.

Suddenly they heard voices. Who in the world was coming? The boys looked toward the forest.

Yes, there was a lady and a gentleman on the path—that rough path full of tree roots and stones; and another lady and gentleman—and following them two ladies—more ladies—in light dresses and with baskets.

My, oh, my! Here he stood without any clothes on and with the boat-hook from the “Sea Mew” in his hand! And here came the merchant who owned the sail-boat.

Eric took to his heels and sped like an arrow across the beach and up to the forest. Johnny Blossom sprang after him, throwing the boat-hook on the wharf as he went. He never thought of his clothes until he was in the woods.

My! how he ran! He was in such a fright that he did not once glance back. My, oh, my! Here he was running along in his bare skin; while his clothes, wet as wet could be, were lying down there among all those elegant ladies!

And home was a good way off; first through the forest, then along the stone wall, and all across the Karine place, where everybody could see him. How disgusting! Where Eric was, or even which way he had gone in the woods, Johnny had no idea.

From the wharf below came the sound of laughter. How those ladies were laughing and shouting! He could not see them because of the trees, but the talk and laughter was incessant.

He threw himself down behind a wild rosebush. They would probably sail away soon and then he could go down after his clothes. Pretty lucky to have got away from that cross merchant! Eric had always said he was an awfully cross man.

A long time Johnny lay there and all the while the sound of talk and laughter floated up to him, so he knew that the picnic party must still be on the wharf. The wind began to blow harder; it blew colder, too, horridly cold in fact, and he felt almost frozen. Shivering and with his teeth chattering, he crept back a little way toward the wharf and gazed down from behind a tree trunk.

Just think! There they sat, in the sunshine on the wharf, eating from their baskets and having such a good time; and here was he, alone, naked, and so frightfully cold. Boo-hoo-hoo! He wanted to go home to Mother. He might crawl home through the gutters—but what would Mother say if he went home without any clothes? Boo-hoo-hoo!

“What’s the matter? What ye cryin’ fer?” It was Nils the fisherman who spoke and whose coming over the soft grass Johnny had not noticed.

“Land’s sakes! Layin’ here naked, boy?”

Then Johnny Blossom cried in earnest.

“Yes”—sob, sob—“my clothes are down on the wharf and the ladies are sitting there eating and laughing and—boo-hoo-hoo!”

“Hev ye ben doin’ suthin’ bad? Dassn’t ye go git yer things?”

“I tumbled into the water”—sob—“and we took the boat-hook from ‘Sea Mew’—and then the people came and I ran”—

“Oh, well! See here. I’ll lend ye my blouse. Put it on and run down fer yer clo’es.”

How kind Nils was! The blouse came almost to Johnny’s knees, but now that he had something on there was no reason for not going to the wharf. Still, it was horrid to go among all those strangers, rigged out in this fashion.

He took his way slowly down, hiding behind trees, looking out and then sneaking forward again, until he reached the open beach. The picnic party was still feasting merrily, making speeches and drinking one another’s health. Johnny stole along, dodging from rock to rock. Suddenly one of the ladies called out: “Mercy! there he is!” Then they all clapped their hands and shouted to him and clapped their hands again.

“Come here, boy,” called a very stout gentleman, the cross merchant who owned the “Sea Mew.”

Oh, dear! How embarrassing it was—perfectly horrid! And how they roared again as he came on to the wharf!

“What kind of a specimen are you?” asked the stout gentleman.

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

“No—are you really?”

Johnny did not see anything to laugh at, yet they laughed harder than ever.

“May I ask whether it was you that took the boat-hook out of my sail-boat?”

The stout gentleman had a tight grip on Johnny’s little red ear.

“Please excuse me about the boat-hook,” and a small brown hand was stretched out and laid in the merchant’s hand.

“Come now. He shall have a cake,” said one of the ladies. “Here, take more; take these, and these.”

“Why don’t you eat them?” asked another lady.

“Oh, I’m going to give them to Nils the fisherman.”

“Why is that?”

“Because he lent me his blouse.” Johnny Blossom was exceedingly serious throughout the whole conversation.

“Good-by.” He bowed, his little naked heels put together in most formal manner.

“Good-by, little Johnny Blossom, and thanks for the pleasure you have given us.”

Just what the pleasure was Johnny Blossom could not exactly understand.

“You mustn’t put those wet clothes on,” said one lady.

“Oh, they’re dry,” said Johnny, feeling of the clothes. “They’re as dry as tinder.”

At this they all laughed again. There was a very wet place on the wharf where the clothes had lain.

Fortunately Mother was out when he first got home, and Lisa the maid was very kind in helping him get dry clothes. It was queer, but perhaps his others had not been as dry as tinder, after all.

Johnny deliberated all the afternoon as to whether he should tell his mother what had happened or not. She was so everlastingly anxious about such things. But when she came to his room to say good night, he burst out with it.

“Mother, I fell in the water today.”

“Oh, my boy!”

“Yes, I just tumbled right in.” He got up in bed, eager to show how he fell. “But it was horrid afterward, because some fine ladies and gentlemen came, who ate and drank there on the wharf a long time; and then Nils the fisherman lent me his blouse, and they gave me some cream cakes”—

“Why in the world should Nils lend you his blouse?”

“Oh, because I was all naked and had been lying behind a bush ever so long”—

“But, John dear!”

“Nils was so happy over the cakes. He took them home to that sick boy of his.”

“Didn’t you eat any of them yourself?”

“No—I gave them all to Nils; but that stout man pinched my ear pretty hard, I can tell you.”

“Had you done something wrong, John?”

“Well—that was because of the boat-hook, you see; but I asked him to excuse me and we shook hands.”

“Rather an involved story,” thought Mother. But she said: “Well, now you must say your prayers and go to sleep.”

So Johnny Blossom repeated the little prayers he had said every night since he was two years old, and was soon sleeping peacefully.

CHAPTER III
A Credit to the School

JOHNNY BLOSSOM was walking home from school. He carried his head high; his turned-up, freckled nose was held proudly in the air; his cap hung on the back of his head. Both hands were in his pockets, and his loud whistling waked the echoes as he strode through Jensen Alley. Perfectly splendid monthly report! Of course he knew it, word for word, and he said it over to himself again, as he had many times.

“John has lately been more industrious. With his excellent ability he is now a credit to the school.”

This was signed with nothing less than the Principal’s name. Not just a teacher’s—no, thank you! A credit to the school. The whistling grew louder and more piercing. A credit to the school. He was going straight to Father with this report, and would lay it right under Father’s nose.

Well, he had been industrious. He had gone over every lesson five times, and he could rattle off all the exceptions in his German grammar and all the mountains in Asia, even those with the awfully hard names.

Really, it was rather pleasant to know your lessons well and rank with the good scholars. Now he should be able to crow over Asta. She often had to sit the whole afternoon with her fingers in her ears, mumbling and studying, and even then couldn’t get her lessons sometimes, and would cry; but, of course, she was only a girl.

He would take this report to Uncle Isaac of Kingthorpe, too. Uncle Isaac was always questioning and probing to find out how he got on at school. Now he should see! Sharp whistling again pierced the air.

Another wonderfully interesting thing was that “Goodwill of Luckton” had arrived. He had seen it at Forsberg’s wharf when he was going to school. At this thought Johnny Blossom broke into a run. Darting through the little gate to their own back yard, he burst into the entry and, in the same headlong fashion, into the dining room. The family was already at the table.

“Here is my monthly report and ‘Goodwill of Luckton’ has come,” exclaimed Johnny.

Father and Mother looked at the report. “Very good, John,” said Father; and Johnny felt Mother’s gentle hand stroking his hair.

“But what is it that has come?”

“‘Goodwill of Luckton,’ of course.”

Johnny was gulping his soup with great haste.

“Express yourself clearly and eat properly.”

Everything had to be so proper to suit Father.

“The apple boat, the one Mr. Lind and Mrs. Lind own, you know—that comes every autumn.”

Yes, the apple boat. It was painted green as it had been last year; the sails were patched; the poorest apples lay in heaps on the deck, the medium sort were in bags, and the best apples were in baskets. In the midst of this tempting abundance Mrs. Lind, who was uncommonly stout, usually sat, knitting. When her husband was up in town delivering apples Mrs. Lind took care of the boat, the apples, and Nils and everything. Nils, their son, was more to look after than all the rest put together, for he was the worst scalawag to be found along the whole coast.

John kept on eating and talking. “Nils is a bad boy, Mother. When he talks to his mother, he keeps the side of his face toward her perfectly sober; but he makes faces with the side toward us. It is awfully funny and we laugh; and Mrs. Lind thinks we are laughing at her, and then she scolds, and oh! her scolding is so funny!”

Shortly after dinner Johnny Blossom was out in the woodshed whittling a boat. How delightful and how queer that he should be “a credit to the school!” He would be awfully industrious now every single day; go over every lesson six times, at least.

This boat that he was making was going to be a fine one—Johnny Blossom held it out and peered sharply at it, first lengthwise, then sidewise—the finest boat any one had ever whittled. Every one who saw it would say, “Who made that beautiful, graceful boat?” Well, here was the boy who could do it!

One of these days he must carve out a big ship about half a yard long and make it an exact copy of a real ship.

Johnny Blossom lost himself in wondering whether, when it was finished, he shouldn’t take the ship to school to show to the Principal. If he did, the Principal would, of course, praise him very much, for it would be an extraordinarily well-shaped, handsome ship.

Yes, Johnny Blossom decided that he would take it to school for the Principal to see. It should be painted and have real sails. Oh, dear! Then he should have to ask Asta to hem the sails! Horrid tease as she was, she sewed remarkably well. Girls weren’t good for much else.

How would it be to make a sloop next—one exactly like the “Goodwill of Luckton?”

At this he threw down the boat which was to be so wonderfully graceful and rushed off toward the wharf. How stupid of him to stay at home whittling when the “Goodwill of Luckton” had come!

Of course there were several boys hanging around there—Aaron, Stephen, and Carl. Otherwise not even a cat was to be seen. Streets and wharf were deserted in the quiet noon hour. Mrs. Lind sat nodding upon the deck. Nils lounged on some bags at the front of the boat, amusing himself making faces. Mr. Lind was probably up in the town doing errands.

“Give us an apple,” whispered Stephen to Nils. Nils did not answer, but gave Stephen a sly look and then made a hideous face.

“Throw some ashore,” suggested Johnny Blossom.

“Just one apiece,” whispered Carl.

“Well, don’t then, you miser!” said Aaron.

Suddenly Nils, with a slyer look than usual on his sly face, went down into the cabin. A minute after he came stamping up again.

“Mother, Mother! The coffee is boiling over. Hurry!”

Mrs. Lind waddled hastily across the deck and squeezed herself down the narrow stairway.

“Come now!” called Nils guardedly to the boys on shore. “Come now! Hurry up and take some apples.”

The boys on the wharf did not wait to be called again but jumped upon the deck and rushed at the bags of fruit.

“Mother, Mother!” roared Nils. “Hurry! There are thieves at the apples! Oh, hurry!”

In an incredibly short time Mrs. Lind had come upstairs, and there stood Mr. Lind also, exactly as if he had shot up out of the ground.

Nils declared loudly: “Before I knew a thing about it, these boys rushed on board and began grabbing some of the best apples.”

Oh, how Mr. Lind and his wife scolded as they seized the astounded boys! Mr. Lind held two of them and Mrs. Lind two—she had a remarkably strong grip—while Nils flew after a policeman. The frightened boys cried and begged to be set free. A crowd gathered on the wharf in no time.