Uncle Isaac’s Will
JOHNNY BLOSSOM was the only child present among all the people who had
assembled to hear the reading of Uncle Isaac’s will. He had wished that
he might go home instead of roaming aimlessly, as he had been doing for
a long time, about the grounds which seemed today more solemnly quiet
than ever.
Perhaps he might find Lars Berget, who worked in the stable under
Carlstrom, but who was always pleasant and had a great deal to tell
about the different horses. Why, there was Lars now. Johnny scarcely
recognized him in his new black clothes.
“They are asking for you, John,” said Lars. “The will is going to be
read now, and we must all be in the library together, they say, to
hear—right and proper—who shall be master of Kingthorpe after this.”
“Can’t you and I go to the stable instead?” ventured Johnny. “It will be
so tiresome in the house.”
No. Lars was firm. Johnny must go to the library.
Assembled there were the family and those who were connected with the
estate in any way—the people from the Works and the wharf, the servants
of the house and from about the place. The great room was packed so full
that it was barely possible for Johnny and Lars to get inside the door.
John’s uncle, the Admiral, stood at the end of the table reading from
big sheets of paper. He read something about money, but Johnny Blossom
could not understand a bit of what was meant, and found himself very
uncomfortable standing squeezed in among all these grown-up people.
Suddenly he heard his own name. “John Christopher Winkel Blossom,” read
the Admiral. That was Johnny’s own name exactly. Uncle Isaac had often
said that there was no one among all the relatives who had the whole of
the old name now except Johnny Blossom.
“It is therefore my last wish that my grand-nephew, John Christopher
Winkel Blossom, inherit after me my estate of Kingthorpe, whole and
undivided, including the mansion and park, the Works, the Bay Point
wharves, the Holmen sawmill”—
The Admiral read on and on.
Lars poked Johnny in the side. “Just listen to that, boy!”
From the farther end of the hall came the query: “Is he here? Is Johnny
Blossom here?”
“Yes, here he is,” piped a shrill, boyish voice from the doorway.
“You are to come forward,” said the Admiral. It was so still that the
rustle of papers in the Admiral’s shaking hand could be heard throughout
the immense room. Johnny Blossom squeezed himself through the throng.
Every one looked at him as he stood beside the Admiral—such a little
boy, with comical, freckled nose and smooth, brown hair. He looked up at
his big, stalwart uncle who was reading about him, Johnny Blossom!
“I believe that this boy has the qualities that will enable him to meet
rightly the serious responsibilities imposed by a large property and
great wealth. His character is sound through and through, and he seems
to have been endowed in his cradle with a fine understanding of the
needs and sufferings of his fellowmen. If this grows, he will
understand, when he himself has become a man, why Uncle Isaac of
Kingthorpe chose him of all others to carry forward the family
traditions in this prominent station of life. God be with you, Johnny
Blossom!”
The stillness of the crowded room had grown more impressive. “Do you
understand?” asked the Admiral.
“No,” answered Johnny frankly, looking up at his uncle and shaking his
head energetically.
“Uncle Isaac has made you his chief heir. You are the owner of
Kingthorpe, my boy.”
Johnny Blossom took instant alarm. Should he be obliged to live at
Kingthorpe in these big, solemn rooms?
“No,” said he hastily—and his clear young voice, though emphatic, had a
note of childish fear—“no, I don’t want to, Uncle; I don’t want to stay
here now that Uncle Isaac is dead”—
“How old are you?” broke in the Admiral.
“Eleven years old in four months and”—he began to reckon exactly how
many days over there were before he should be eleven years old, but he
did not have time because the Admiral lifted him suddenly and stood him
on the table. Right up on the top of the handsome library table!
“Here he is, friends,” said the Admiral, “for any of you to see who have
not known him before, though I think you all do know him well.”
A subdued murmur of assent ran through the room. Yes, indeed. Of course
they all knew Johnny Blossom.
“And we must hope,” continued the Admiral, “that this boy will fulfil
all the expectations that are centered in him”—
Johnny Blossom thought that the room had become stiller than ever. A
strange, wonderful feeling swept over him. There was something serious,
something that he alone was to be responsible for, something expected of
him that no one, no other person, could help him with.
“And with honor to his family fill that responsible position in life
which great wealth will oblige him to occupy.”
“We hope, too,” went on the Admiral, “that he may have inherited also
that noble spirit which was so marked a characteristic of our dear Uncle
Isaac.”
There was again a moment of utter silence, through which broke suddenly
Johnny Blossom’s clear little voice:
“I can _never_ be as kind as Uncle Isaac!”
A smile went round, but Mother was crying and Father, with arms folded,
was looking up earnestly at Johnny. From amidst the group of workmen,
old Rolfsen, foreman at the wharf, elbowed his way to the table.
“Well,” said he, pausing after each word of his speech, as was his
custom, “well, the old gentleman was a good man, as we all know—we who
worked for him. He was always good to us, never anything but good. But
now there is only this to say: we wish to bid this boy welcome. We know
him, and it will surprise me if he does not prove the same sort as the
old gentleman. And that is the reason we welcome you, Johnny Blossom.”
Old Rolfsen reached out a gnarled, rough hand to Johnny and all the rest
of the workmen came, one by one, and shook hands with him. It was queer,
but it was pleasant, too, for he knew them all and he smiled at them as
they greeted him. Lars Berget gripped his hand so hard that it really
hurt. And just think! Even Carlstrom came and made a beautiful bow (My!
how stiff his moustache ends were today!), and to crown all, Miss
Melling pressed forward and actually courtesied! At this Johnny Blossom
was so astounded that he had to look over at his mother.
Later, when the working people had gone, there was a tremendous amount
of solemn talk between Father and the Admiral and the other uncles.
Johnny Blossom did not understand a bit of it, but stood beside his
mother, who was still crying a little, though Johnny could not see that
what they talked of now was anything to cry over.
When his parents were finally ready to go, Johnny Blossom thought they
would walk home as usual, but, true as you live, Carlstrom was waiting
with the handsome black horses and the landau with the damask cushions—a
much grander equipage than the one which had brought them to Kingthorpe.
They had had the brown horses then.
All the uncles shook hands with Johnny very ceremoniously. People were
still standing around the steps at the entrance to the mansion and in
the park along the avenue where the carriage would go, and Johnny
Blossom could hear them saying, “Here he comes!—the heir of Kingthorpe!”
Again little Johnny Blossom had a feeling that something was expected of
him. So he stood up, put his heels together, bowed as well as he could
in the moving carriage, and said: “Good-by! I thank you all. Good-by!”
At the far edge of a group stood Lars Berget, who swung his hat in the
air and ventured a faint, “Hurrah!” No one joined in it, however, for
they bethought them of Uncle Isaac.
Johnny Blossom sat down again with wonder in his eyes. It was all so
amazingly queer. Suddenly his mother said, “You must not think, little
John, that your father and I are altogether glad about this.”
No, it had not occurred to Johnny Blossom that it was anything to be
particularly glad about.
“May God help us to guide you aright!” added Mother.
Every one they met as they rode along turned around and stared at
Johnny. It was very embarrassing, really, to be the heir of Kingthorpe.
When the carriage stopped at the garden gate at home, Carlstrom asked
whether the _young gentleman_ would not like to ride on the new saddle
horse. He could guarantee that it was safe. Now indeed was Johnny
Blossom altogether dumbfounded. What had got into Carlstrom today? He
was usually so cross.
“We will consider that later,” said Father.
Why was it necessary to consider such an absolutely certain thing? Of
course he wished to ride. It could easily happen that Carlstrom would be
as cross as usual after today and never offer the horse again. He knew
Carlstrom! But Father had a very sober face, and when he looked like
that there was no use saying anything. So Johnny Blossom darted into the
house and raced around to find Asta and the maids, to tell them the
remarkable happenings of the afternoon.
There they were, all of them, down in the syringa arbor—Olea the cook,
Lisa the nursemaid, Asta, Andrea, and Dagny.
“Now you shall hear!” shouted Johnny, dashing into the arbor. “Just
think! I was put up on the library table, and all the people came and
shook hands with me; old Rolfsen began it, and he made a kind of speech
for me; and Lars Berget wanted to shout ‘Hurrah!’ when we drove out. And
if all this isn’t true, you may chop my head off.” Johnny Blossom’s eyes
shone. He was tremendously in earnest.
Olea the cook knitted slowly and thoughtfully.
“It would be just like you to stand on the table,” she said dryly. “And
if the people had any bringing up, of course they shook hands with you
as with everybody else.”
“No. Nobody stood on the table but me,” said Johnny Blossom. “And they
didn’t shake hands with any one else either; and that is as true—as
true”—
“Humph! It’s very likely that they paid their respects to such a great
man as you!” said Olea.
“My uncle the Admiral made a speech about me, too,” continued Johnny
Blossom.
“The boy is crazy,” said Olea, knitting on in unbroken calm.
“What did Uncle say?” asked Asta.
“He said—he said—that I must fill the station with honor; I didn’t
understand exactly what that meant, but he said it because I am to have
Kingthorpe. But I will _not_ live there; they may all be sure of that.”
“He is crazy as a loon!” said Olea. But Lisa the nursemaid was more
interested.
“You are to have Kingthorpe, did you say?”
“Yes, my uncle the Admiral said so; he read it from a great big paper—he
read out my whole name. JOHN CHRISTOPHER WINKEL BLOSSOM, he read; and
that is as true—as true”—
“For the land’s sake!” said Lisa, laying John’s trousers, which she was
patching, down in her lap.
“Well, if that isn’t the greatest I ever heard in all my days,” said
Olea. “However, I don’t believe it. It is just some of your tomfoolery,
John, you rascal.”
“Here comes Mother and you shall hear for yourself,” shouted John.
“Didn’t I stand on the table, Mother? And shan’t I have Kingthorpe,
Mother?” Mother assented soberly.
“Yes, my boy.”
John looked triumphantly at Lisa and Olea.
“Now you see what silly nincompoops you are—never believing a single
thing I tell you.”
“John dear,” said Mother, “you are not to use such expressions.”
Well, Lisa and Olea were really very contrary both of them. What would
they say if they knew how every one had been calling him the heir of
Kingthorpe? On the whole it was rather pleasant to be called that,
although somewhat embarrassing. He would not speak of it to Olea and
Lisa after all—not yet, anyway. They were both staring at him in
open-mouthed wonder.
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