“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”—
“Nils was so happy over the cakes. He took them home to that sick boy of his.”
“No—I gave them all to Nils; but that stout man pinched my ear pretty hard, I can tell you.”
“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.
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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.