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Johnny Blossom, cap in hand, tiptoed with unusual care over the highly polished floor. First a gentle knock on Uncle’s door, then a louder one.

“Come right in, my boy.”

Johnny Blossom bowed low as he entered.

Gray-haired, delicate, with sorrowful eyes and long, white hands, Uncle Isaac sat in his big, carved, oaken chair.

“Good day, John! Now this is very kind of you to come to me, away out here.”

“Yes. I thought it was an awfully long time since you had seen me.”

“True, so it is. I suppose you are very busy nowadays?”

“Awfully busy. Tonight we are going out fishing.”

“I meant particularly at school.”

“Oh! Of course I go to school.”

“You are a good scholar?”

“Oh, well, I am not the worst. I’m not one of the best either, but I’m not the worst, really.”

“But you should be among the best, Johnny Blossom.”

There was a short silence.

“It is awfully hard to be among the best, Uncle Isaac,” with an apologetic smile.

“Not if a person is industrious, John.”

Johnny Blossom suddenly found something the matter with his shoestring. His face was very red when he straightened up again, saying, “How provoking shoestrings are!”