“Yes, you had better,” said Aunt Grenertsen. But when he had gone into the hall she called, “Johnny Blossom!”
He looked in again.
“Why, there are those ripe apples. You might climb up in the tree for them, you are so small and light.”
“Yes, Aunt Grenertsen. I’ll go right up now, this minute.”
“No. Come tomorrow. It is altogether too late this afternoon.”
The next day, at a little past two, Johnny Blossom was again in Aunt Grenertsen’s garden. He had gulped down his dinner at an alarming rate, and then hurried to King Street, stopping on his way to get Tellef; for there must be one person to climb and shake the tree and one to stand below and pick up the apples. However, Tellef must stay outside the garden until Aunt Grenertsen had been informed that Johnny had brought an assistant.
“Good afternoon, Aunt Grenertsen, here I am.
“Well, you are early enough I hope. I want to say this much, Johnny Blossom, that I won’t have it on my conscience that you should eat any half-rotten apples—and there are usually a good many half-rotten of this kind—but those that are cracked or bruised you may have, for they won’t keep anyway.”
“Thank you, Aunt Grenertsen.”