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That afternoon Johnny Blossom sat crouched on the stone steps leading to the road. The fishing rod lay beside him, but he did not feel like going fishing. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, thinking of Uncle Isaac. It might easily be that just now, this minute, Uncle Isaac stood outside that great golden gate—the gate that leads into Paradise—and knocked on it. To think that God can hear a man’s little knock. Why, that gate is surely as big as—yes, as the tallest pine tree over there, and all of gleaming gold; and God looks and throws the gate wide open of course, for he sees it is Uncle Isaac. And so Uncle Isaac goes into the Kingdom of Heaven. In Johnny Blossom’s opinion, after his experience on the coal steamer, Englishmen were the most delightful people on the face of the globe. “What the dickens are you doing?” yelled the foreman of a surfacing gang, starting for the boy on a run. “Want to flood the works?”.

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“You say that, do you, John? You think that to be strong is the greatest thing? Possibly it was, in past ages; but in the future, the man with the most love in his heart, the best man, will be the greatest. Remember that, little John Blossom.” “Gee, this is bully,” commented Bob, as he lay stretched out on the porch of the general store, out of the glare of the sun. “I never thought just resting could be such fun!” “But what did your father say to all this?” He departed in the morning, very well pleased with the accommodating principles of monastic religion. He had been told that the enjoyment of the good things of this life was the surest sign of our gratitude to Heaven; and it appeared, that within the walls of a Sicilian monastery, the precept and the practice were equally enforced..