At the far edge of a group stood Lars Berget, who swung his hat in the air and ventured a faint, “Hurrah!” No one joined in it, however, for they bethought them of Uncle Isaac.
Johnny Blossom sat down again with wonder in his eyes. It was all so amazingly queer. Suddenly his mother said, “You must not think, little John, that your father and I are altogether glad about this.”
No, it had not occurred to Johnny Blossom that it was anything to be particularly glad about.
“May God help us to guide you aright!” added Mother.
Every one they met as they rode along turned around and stared at Johnny. It was very embarrassing, really, to be the heir of Kingthorpe.
When the carriage stopped at the garden gate at home, Carlstrom asked whether the young gentleman would not like to ride on the new saddle horse. He could guarantee that it was safe. Now indeed was Johnny Blossom altogether dumbfounded. What had got into Carlstrom today? He was usually so cross.
“We will consider that later,” said Father.
Why was it necessary to consider such an absolutely certain thing? Of course he wished to ride. It could easily happen that Carlstrom would be as cross as usual after today and never offer the horse again. He knew Carlstrom! But Father had a very sober face, and when he looked like that there was no use saying anything. So Johnny Blossom darted into the house and raced around to find Asta and the maids, to tell them the remarkable happenings of the afternoon.
There they were, all of them, down in the syringa arbor—Olea the cook, Lisa the nursemaid, Asta, Andrea, and Dagny.
“Now you shall hear!” shouted Johnny, dashing into the arbor. “Just think! I was put up on the library table, and all the people came and shook hands with me; old Rolfsen began it, and he made a kind of speech for me; and Lars Berget wanted to shout ‘Hurrah!’ when we drove out. And if all this isn’t true, you may chop my head off.” Johnny Blossom’s eyes shone. He was tremendously in earnest.