Tellef’s mother was very much out of patience, but she wrung the water from Johnny’s blouse and hung the blouse by the fire.
“And you,” she said sharply, “the Kingthorpe heir—to behave like this!”
Oh, yes—it was just that that made everything worse. Johnny Blossom sat in his shirt sleeves close by the hearth, staring thoughtfully into the fire.
It was being heir of Kingthorpe, he could plainly see, that made things difficult; for, truly, hadn’t everything been easier when he was just Johnny Blossom? There was so much to think of now—responsibility and all that. But still, he really wanted to be good; he really and truly did; though he hadn’t seemed to succeed very well.
Johnny Blossom sat crouched together on the veranda steps, Mother sat on the veranda sewing, and the sun shone hotly down. Long silence.
“Well, John,” said Mother. “What is the matter?”
How could Mother know that anything was the matter? for he had just sat there stock still and had not said a single word!
“Oh, there are some things that are so hard, Mother.”
“Yes, I know that.”