If he only had something to give her—he himself. Of course Mother would find something, but he would like to, too. He hadn’t a cent in his bank. What few cents he had saved had all been poked out long since, and he hadn’t anything else either. Well, yes, he had that fine new cake of India ink Father had just given him; but Aunt Grenertsen surely did not draw with India ink.
There! Now he had an idea. She should have that rare postage stamp from Mozambique, she certainly should! The whole class and some of the big boys envied him his possession of that stamp and had begged and begged for it; but not one of them should get it, no indeed!
He found an old pill box, laid the Mozambique stamp carefully in it, and ran straightway to King Street.
Everything was as usual. He could scarcely bear to look at the tree he had gathered the fruit from, but finding two apples on the ground under the other tree, he picked them up and took them into the house. He certainly wasn’t going to eat any more of Aunt Grenertsen’s apples.
“Good afternoon, Aunt Grenertsen.”
“Oh, is that you, back here already?”
“I found these apples out in the garden.”
Aunt Grenertsen looked at them over her glasses.
“H’m—they are not bruised, these two.”
Johnny Blossom made no answer to this remark, but got up quickly from his chair by the door and went over to the window where Aunt Grenertsen sat.