A frightfully piercing whistle resounded in the little room.
“Would you like to hear it again?” asked Johnny, radiant.
“No, no!” said Mother, with hands on both ears.
Just then Father grabbed John by the shoulder. Ugh! it was horrid when Father took hold that way, for it usually meant a whipping.
“Do you know what you deserve?” asked Father. Not a sound in reply. “You shall escape this time,” continued Father. “I think you will remember your Mother’s tears now better than a whipping; but another time—do you hear?”
“Yes.” Johnny stared at his mother’s tear-stained face.
“The postmaster and his boys came here and said that you had climbed up on the buoy farthest out. The boys had rowed back toward shore just for fun, but they met a man in a row boat who nabbed them because they had taken the Custom House boat. The boys didn’t say anything to him about you, sitting out there on the buoy”—
“There! Now you can see how stupid they are,” interrupted Johnny Blossom.
“They ran home, crying, and told that you were out on the ‘red pear’; but when the postmaster had got a boat and rowed out you were gone.”
“I was on board the coal steamer—that’s where I was. His name is Hobborn, Mother, and just listen! he set a big jar of preserves before me—I think it was raspberries—and I ate a lot, and then he gave me this whistle. Now I’ll blow it.” An ear-splitting blast followed.