First, he would try fishing far out over the flower beds with his rod. There! he had caught and broken off a big, dark red rose. The well was naturally a better place to fish. Johnny Blossom fished up the most incredible things from that well. He first threw them in, of course, and then it was a tremendous piece of work to get them out again—leaves, flowers, his own straw hat—yes, it was certainly an extra fine fishing rod. He would write at once to Uncle Isaac and thank him for it.
How pleasant that no one was up yet, and that he could settle himself cosily at Mother’s writing desk! Uncle Isaac had been his godfather at baptism, so Johnny Blossom wrote:
“Dear Godfather: A thousand thanks for the fishing rod. I am so happy. It catches everything splendidly. This afternoon I am going to fish in the bay. If you have a pain in your heart, just rub yourself with kerosene, Jeremias the wood-cutter says. He smells like a lamp, but he is well now and walks out with a stick. It’s nothing if you do smell if you can only be well.”
Johnny Blossom could think of nothing more to write about, though he stared long and hard at the walls. His examination report? No, he would not write about that, for there were some 9’s for conduct and some marks for lessons that were not as high as one might wish. No, there was not an atom more to write. So the letter was signed:
“Your affectionate Johnny Blossom.”
After his writing, he went to the wharf and fished for a while. As it happened he caught nothing, but it was fun enough just to put out the rod and draw it in again.
Suddenly the maid Lisa appeared.
“You are to hurry right home, John.”
Father and Mother sat in the study, Mother with her handkerchief in her hand and with red eyes.
“We have something to tell you, my boy,” said Father. “Uncle Isaac has been very sick.”