“Well, well! You do know how to make things!” said Jeremias admiringly.
A nail was driven in the wall near the one that held the big silver watch, and the Christmas present was hung on it at once in plain sight.
“God will never, never forsake thee,” read Jeremias as his crooked old finger pointed along the slanting line. “There is balm in those words, Johnny Blossom,” he said slowly.
Old people were queer, thought John, for “balm” was something that was used for wounds—he knew that very well—and yet there lay Jeremias and said that there was balm in those words, “God will never, never forsake thee.”
“Yes,” said Johnny Blossom, for he saw that Jeremias expected him to answer.
It really looked very pretty hanging there on the wall.
“How do they manage about the wood at your house nowadays?” asked Jeremias.
“Oh, very well,” replied John. Then he happened to think that Jeremias might be disappointed to hear that it made no difference whether he was able to look after the wood or not, so Johnny added quickly, “Mother says that they don’t split the wood fine enough.”
Jeremias was plainly enlivened. “There! Isn’t that what I have always said!” he exclaimed. “Wood should be split just so. Kindlings ought to be light and pleasant and coquettish to make the fire dance.”
“Yes,” said Johnny Blossom.