A Present from Uncle Isaac
THE unexpected certainly happened to Johnny Blossom that day. He had
just swung round on the road leading toward Kingthorpe, with no thought
of going the whole way, for Uncle Isaac was ill and had gone to a
sanitarium, and there wasn’t the least bit of fun to be had just in
Kingthorpe itself with all its elegance. So early in the summer as this
there were no ripe berries in the garden; and he must not go into the
stables, for Carlstrom the coachman was a regular crosspatch.
“Be off with yourself, boy!” he would always say if Johnny Blossom but
put his nose in at the stable door.
Carlstrom was a Swede, with a big black moustache whose ends stuck
straight out in the air. He looked exactly like a stylish colonel to say
the least—a very cross colonel though! No, there was no use going to the
stable.
The cow-barn was under the rule of a Swiss who was almost as cross as
Carlstrom. He always said that the cows ought to be sleeping; so Johnny
Blossom got the idea that the cows at Kingthorpe never did anything but
lie and sleep.
Inside the big fine house there couldn’t be any fun either. Only those
stately halls and magnificent rooms, one after another, with handsome
furniture upholstered in silk damask, with great gold-framed mirrors,
but with the shades always drawn down. The rooms were so immense that
every footstep echoed in them. And oh! how careful one had to be for the
sake of that miserable china that Uncle Isaac had collected so much of.
In the cabinets it was no trouble, but when it stood on tiny little
tables, Johnny Blossom did not like it at all. He scarcely dared to
breathe when he went anywhere near the tables lest he should knock
something off. Uncle Isaac had once shown him all the china and
explained how old and rare and precious it was.
“This cup Marie Antoinette drank from, and this vase belonged to the
Bonapartes. This flagon is from an English royal palace of the sixteenth
century.”
Johnny Blossom stood and stared. For his part he would rather have his
own mug at home with “For a Good Boy” upon it than all these fine
antiques that so many old mouths had drunk from!
Poor Uncle Isaac! He was sick now again—worse, in fact. He had heart
disease, Mother said. Jeremias the wood-cutter also talked of a pain in
his heart, but since he had begun to rub himself all over with kerosene,
he had become much better. It smelled dreadfully in Jeremias’s little
hut, but he _was_ better. Johnny Blossom would certainly write to Uncle
Isaac and tell him that all he had to do to cure himself of the pain was
to rub himself with kerosene.
To this point in his meditations had Johnny Blossom come just as he
reached the telephone pole whence he could see the big entrance gates to
Kingthorpe Park; and there was the handsome new carriage rolling out
through the gates that very moment! Carlstrom sat on the box. My! How
stylish he looked today! His moustache ends stood out in the air more
stiffly than usual, and he never once glanced at Johnny Blossom standing
below in the dusty road. Back in the carriage sat Miss Melling, Uncle
Isaac’s housekeeper, with a white feather in her hat waving up and down.
At her side lay a queer package of many yellow sticks tied together.
What in the world could that be?
Johnny Blossom took off his hat and bowed. Carlstrom looked straight
ahead; but when Miss Melling caught sight of Johnny, there was a great
to-do.
“Why, there he is! Stop, Carlstrom, stop! Johnny Blossom! Johnny
Blossom!” she called, twisting herself round in the carriage. “You are
just the person I was going to town to see,” she continued. “I had a
letter from your Uncle Isaac saying that you were to have this fishing
rod at once.”
Johnny Blossom looked very small standing in the road beside the big
carriage. The crown and brim of his hat gaped widely apart on one side,
and out of the opening stuck a lock of dark brown hair. His blue and
white striped blouse had a daub of pitch in the middle of the front; and
since Johnny Blossom knew it was there, he held a little brown hand over
it, while he gazed up at the double chin of the imposing Miss Melling.
“See here! Why shouldn’t you take it right now? To tell the truth, I
can’t imagine what a little boy like you should be doing with such a
handsome fishing rod as this. I won’t say how much it cost—it was very
expensive, you may be sure. Well, perhaps you had better ride with us
back to town again, although you are so dirty, you are scarcely fit for
the carriage.”
Johnny Blossom looked up wistfully but dubiously. Probably he was too
dirty.
“Oh, well! you may get in,” said Miss Melling, not ungraciously.
Seldom, indeed, did he have the honor of riding in the Kingthorpe
carriage, because Carlstrom and Miss Melling were both so fussy, and
poor Uncle Isaac never went to drive. As they rode along Miss Melling
showed Johnny how to put the rod together. My, oh, my! How amazingly
long it was! Johnny stood it up like a flagstaff and his face was
radiant.
“Has Uncle Isaac trouble with his heart?” asked Johnny, thinking he
would tell about the kerosene cure.
“Rich people have trouble everywhere,” said Miss Melling curtly. “Sit
still or you’ll fall out of the carriage.”
Johnny Blossom sat as still as a stone for about two minutes; but then
they drove past a great linden tree and he absolutely had to stand up to
see how near the top of the tree he could reach with his fishpole.
[Illustration:
A PRESENT FROM UNCLE ISAAC
]
“Dear, dear!” said Miss Melling. “I think you had better get out before
we have an accident.”
The carriage was stopped and Johnny Blossom with his long fishing rod
was helped out unceremoniously.
“Thank you for the drive and for the rod,” said he, bowing.
Then Johnny Blossom sprang into a run and dashed homeward. My, oh, my!
How astonished the family would be over such a magnificent fishing rod!
The moment he arrived, the whole household was called on to admire
it—Father, Mother, three sisters, and the maids—but no one must touch it
or even go very near it but himself. Dagny put one little wet finger out
toward it, but at this Johnny Blossom became red with fury.
“Are you crazy? You’ll ruin it completely!” he shouted. The little wet
finger was drawn hastily back.
Where the precious rod should be put was a momentous question.
Unfortunately it was too long to be accommodated in his own room, where
he could guard it best.
Johnny Blossom’s room was a very tiny one, under the slope of the roof,
but small as it was, he could never keep it in order. The rug before the
bed was always in a heap; and papers, skates, bows and arrows, and boots
and shoes were strewn over the floor. There was a little space on the
table and the commode, but on the floor you could scarcely find a bare
spot.
“How this room does look!” Mother was continually saying.
“Well, that is because I study here,” said Johnny Blossom.
Strangely enough, Mother could not understand what studying had to do
with everything being scattered over the floor; but at any rate, to make
space for the fishing rod in the little room was plainly impossible. Of
course he could not think of taking the rod apart. Well, it would have
to be left on the veranda tonight. What if some one should take it?
Haunted by this dreadful thought, Johnny Blossom was very wakeful. He
tossed and turned for a long time before he finally fell asleep.
The next morning Johnny awoke early and was wide awake at once. That
fishing rod from Uncle Isaac—out on the veranda—suppose some one had
taken it! He put on his clothes in the greatest haste. Later he would
wash himself and dress properly, but the only thing now was to see
whether the fishing rod was safe. Yes, wonderfully enough, there it was.
No one had touched it, so far as he could see.
How still, how still the world was! How fresh and cool! The sun was
shining now on the big pine trees back of the house and their trunks
were deep red in the strong light. What a fragrance came from the
garden—the rich scent of roses, particularly—and how very damp the
garden path was! My, oh, my! The dew was certainly like pearls,
scattered over the grass—shining white pearls. Johnny Blossom looked at
the clock on the church tower. _Two minutes before five._ Pshaw! so
early! Oh, well! Never mind. It was all right. He could do what he liked
until the rest of the family got up.
First, he would try fishing far out over the flower beds with his rod.
There! he had caught and broken off a big, dark red rose. The well was
naturally a better place to fish. Johnny Blossom fished up the most
incredible things from that well. He first threw them in, of course, and
then it was a tremendous piece of work to get them out again—leaves,
flowers, his own straw hat—yes, it was certainly an extra fine fishing
rod. He would write at once to Uncle Isaac and thank him for it.
How pleasant that no one was up yet, and that he could settle himself
cosily at Mother’s writing desk! Uncle Isaac had been his godfather at
baptism, so Johnny Blossom wrote:
“_Dear Godfather_: A thousand thanks for the fishing rod. I am so happy.
It catches everything splendidly. This afternoon I am going to fish in
the bay. If you have a pain in your heart, just rub yourself with
kerosene, Jeremias the wood-cutter says. He smells like a lamp, but he
is well now and walks out with a stick. It’s nothing if you _do_ smell
if you can only be well.”
Johnny Blossom could think of nothing more to write about, though he
stared long and hard at the walls. His examination report? No, he would
not write about that, for there were some 9’s for conduct and some marks
for lessons that were not as high as one might wish. No, there was not
an atom more to write. So the letter was signed:
“Your affectionate JOHNNY BLOSSOM.”
After his writing, he went to the wharf and fished for a while. As it
happened he caught nothing, but it was fun enough just to put out the
rod and draw it in again.
Suddenly the maid Lisa appeared.
“You are to hurry right home, John.”
Father and Mother sat in the study, Mother with her handkerchief in her
hand and with red eyes.
“We have something to tell you, my boy,” said Father. “Uncle Isaac has
been very sick.”
“Yes, but I have just written to him that if he will rub himself with
kerosene he will get well.”
“Uncle Isaac has no further need of anything,” said Mother. “He died
last night, little John.”
Mother began to cry again, and there came a lump in Johnny Blossom’s
throat. No, he would _not_ cry. Big boys ought never to cry.
“If any one goes straight into the Kingdom of God, Uncle Isaac will,”
said Mother.
It was of no use; he must cry. With his head in his mother’s lap he
cried hard. Mother stroked his head gently. “Uncle Isaac wished it so
much himself, my boy. He was eager to go to God,” she whispered.
“Yes, but it is so sad.”
That afternoon Johnny Blossom sat crouched on the stone steps leading to
the road. The fishing rod lay beside him, but he did not feel like going
fishing. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands,
thinking of Uncle Isaac. It might easily be that just now, this minute,
Uncle Isaac stood outside that great golden gate—the gate that leads
into Paradise—and knocked on it. To think that God can hear a man’s
little knock. Why, that gate is surely as big as—yes, as the tallest
pine tree over there, and all of gleaming gold; and God looks and throws
the gate wide open of course, for he sees it is Uncle Isaac. And so
Uncle Isaac goes into the Kingdom of Heaven.
If there had only been a chance to thank him for the fishing rod! Johnny
Blossom had some thought of asking God to thank Uncle Isaac for him, but
he put it hastily aside. No, he was sure that would not do.
Kingthorpe. Oh! he should like less than ever to go there now. Never,
never in the world would he enter that grand place again! Miss Melling
and Carlstrom might have it all to themselves, for anything he cared.
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[Illustration]