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?”