CHAPTER VII--Dr. Wolfe
The next morning when Lydia woke, the bump on her head felt as big as ahen's egg. She lay feeling it proudly, and wishing that Mary Ellen couldsee it. Mary Ellen was always so interested in bumps, and cuts, andbruises, but the children's summer home, Robin Hill, would not openuntil next week, and Lydia could only hope the bump was a lasting one.She hoped, too, it would be bright red or purple, but when she climbedout of bed in search of a mirror, poor little Lydia fell on the floor ina heap and screamed with pain.
"My ankle! My ankle!" was all she could say.
And when Father saw the badly swollen ankle, he said:
"This won't do. I'll have to send for Dr. Wolfe."
But at these words, Lydia clung to Mother and began to scream again.
"No, no!" she cried, "I won't, I won't, I won't have Dr. Wolfe!"
"Why not?" asked Father in astonishment. "What's the matter with Dr.Wolfe?"
"I'm afraid!" sobbed Lydia. "It's Red Riding Hood's wolf. I'm afraid!"
"Lydia," said Father impatiently, "you are talking nonsense. Dr. Wolfeis an old friend of Friend Morris. He is as kind as he can be, and veryfond of little girls."
"Yes, fond of eating them," thought Lydia.
She didn't say this aloud, but she buried her head in her pillow andrefused to listen to any pleasant things about Dr. Wolfe. He was RedRiding Hood's wolf, and she wouldn't see him, and her ankle hurt, andshe was the most miserable little girl in the world.
So Mr. Blake, shaking his head, went away, and that was really the bestthing he could do. For when Lydia was left alone she stopped crying, andby the time Mother appeared with a breakfast tray, she was able to situp and eat a whole bowl of oatmeal without stopping. Her ankle did nothurt unless she moved it, so, propped up with pillows, and looking at apicture-book, she felt quite like herself again.
"Hello the house!" said a voice, and Lydia, peering through the piazzarailing, saw a man on the grass below looking up at her. He was shortand plump, with a little white beard and glittering gold-bowedspectacles. He smiled up at Lydia and called:
"Good-morning! Is anybody home?"
"Yes, I am," answered Lydia. "I don't know where Mother and Father are.I haven't seen them for a long time."
"Isn't it rather late to be in bed?" asked the little old gentleman."I've been up a long time myself, and had a walk by the river too."
"But I'm sick," said Lydia importantly; "I've hurt my head and my ankle.I can't get up."
"You don't say so," said the old gentleman, interested at once. "Well,in that case, I'd better come up."
And in a twinkling he was up the steps and sitting at the side ofLydia's bed.
"How did you get such a bump on your head?" said he. "It's as handsome aone as ever I saw, and I've seen a good many."
"I fell downstairs last night," answered Lydia, feeling her "handsomebump" with fresh pleasure, and glad to tell her story. "I hurt my headand my ankle. I can't walk."
"Then I'm the very man for you," returned the old gentleman cheerfully,"for I'm a tinker. I tinker people--their heads, and their arms, andtheir legs. It's well I happened along this morning. And now that I'veseen the bump on your head, if you're willing I'll have a look at yourankle, too."
Lydia sat very still while the jolly tinker carefully felt of theinjured ankle, and asked her a question or two. She screwed up her facewith pain now and then, but she didn't shed a single tear. At last thetinker nodded as if satisfied, and sat down again on the side of thebed.
"In tinker talk," said he, "it's a strain. But the truth is thatovernight you've been bewitched. Yes," said the tinker gravely, "you'vebeen turned into the Princess-Without-Legs. And I have a pretty goodidea who did the mischief. But my magic is stronger than his magic, andthe first thing you know, you will be as well as ever again."
Lydia was listening to all this with eyes and mouth wide open.
"Who did it?" said she in a whisper. She felt as if she had steppedinside a fairy book, and that if she spoke aloud she would step outsideagain.
"My cousin," answered the old gentleman in a low voice, "my wickedcousin. Did you ever hear the story of Red Riding Hood?"
Lydia nodded and leaned farther forward.
"The wolf in that story is my wicked cousin," said the old gentlemansadly. He felt in his pocket for his handkerchief and blew his noseviolently.
"A wolf," thought Lydia, "for a cousin. Why, I know who he is.--You areDr. Wolfe!" cried she, her voice loud with surprise. "Are you Dr.Wolfe?"
"That's what they call me," admitted the tinker, "but if you don't carefor the name you may call me anything you like. I can't help what mycousin does, you know. It's very hard to have him in the family. And I'mnot one single bit like him. Can't you see that?"
"Yes, I can," said Lydia pityingly, the tinker seemed so downcast. "Youcan't help it, and I don't mind calling you Dr. Wolfe one bit. I'm sorryfor you." And she reached out and took his hand in hers.
"Then you forgive me for having such a cousin?" asked the anxious Dr.Wolfe.
"Yes, I do," returned Lydia earnestly. "I do."
"Good," said the Doctor, shaking her hand. "And now we must set ourmagic to work and cure that ankle. First of all, thePrincess-Without-Legs must have a slave." And he clapped his handstogether one, two, three times.
Lydia's eyes sparkled in anticipation. A slave! She fixed her eyes onthe doorway, and was very much disappointed at the appearance of her ownmother in answer to the summons.
"Not you, not you, Mrs. Blake," said Dr. Wolfe, laughing. "That wasmeant to call the slave of the Princess-Without-Legs."
"Who?" asked Mrs. Blake, opening her eyes as wide as Lydia's. "Princesswho?"
"It's me, Mother, it's me," Lydia called out. "I'm thePrincess-Without-Legs, and this is Dr. Wolfe, and I'm going to have aslave."
"Well," said Mrs. Blake, smiling at the Princess, "you are? And where isthe slave?"
"I'll fetch him," said Dr. Wolfe briskly, disappearing into the bedroom,where Lydia could hear him talking in a low voice.
Presently he reappeared followed by Mr. Blake, and in his arms Dr. Wolfecarried a big brown furry rabbit with glittering yellow glass eyes.
"Your slave, Princess," said Dr. Wolfe, putting him on the bed besideLydia, who fell to stroking the soft fur. "He will take his head off foryou if needs be, he's that faithful. Try and see."
Lydia gently lifted off the rabbit's head and peeped inside. He wasfilled with red and green and white candies.
"You may think these are candies, Princess," said Dr. Wolfe with atwinkle in his eye, "but they are far more than that. They are magicpellets, an offering of your devoted slave. The red pellets will makeyou brave if your ankle gives you pain. The white ones will keep youhappy and cheerful so long as you have to lie still. And the green onesare for good luck. They must be taken three times a day, one of eachkind after each meal, and you must take your after-breakfast dose now."
Lydia picked out a red and a green and a white pellet, and puttingbunny's head on again, popped the red one into her mouth. She saw Dr.Wolfe unrolling a wide white bandage, and she thought just then sheneeded the red one most of all. But with Father's arm about her, andMother's hand in both of hers, Lydia bore the pain without crying, andsmiled bravely at the slave, whose yellow eyes gleamed sympatheticallyat her ankle nicely bound in its white bandage.
And in the week that followed, a week that might have been long andtiresome for a little girl who was not used to keeping still, the slaveof the Princess-Without-Legs did his work well. As a soft, comfortablebedfellow, he was second only to Lucy Locket. He listened patiently tothe long stories Lydia spun for him. And his manners with Miss PussWhitetoes were truly remarkable, and should have put that rude cat toshame. For though Miss Puss in the country was much more independentthan Miss Puss in the city, and not only declined to be cuddled, butoften refused to keep company with Lydia when she was all alone, stillMiss Puss was jealous of the slave, and could scarcely bear to see himin his
place of favor at Lydia's side. She growled and hissed and archedher back at the sight, and many a good laugh Lydia had at her sillybehavior.
And Lydia had great comfort in the slave's magic pellets. With a redcandy in her mouth, she took pride in not crying or wincing when herankle was bandaged. She tried to remember that the white candies meant,"No grumbling, no complaining, Lydia. Squeeze out a smile, Lydia. Don'tbe a snarley-yow, Lydia." And they helped her over many moments when shewanted to be cross and disagreeable.
But the green candies that brought good luck! Lydia often counted overon her fingers what they had done for her.
"There's the three picture-puzzles that Friend Morris gave me, that'sone," she would say. "And the little boy and girl cookies that FriendDeborah makes for me, that's two. And the boat with the wooden sailorthat Alexander whittled, that's three. Then there's the afghan for LucyLocket that Mother showed me how to knit. And Father's postcard game. Isthat number five or six?"
And Lydia would begin all over again counting on her fingers.
Of all these pastimes, Lydia liked best the afghan, and the postcardgame. The afghan was a gay striped affair--Roman, Mother called it--pinkand blue and yellow and white and black. Before you were tired ofworking on pink it was time to begin on blue, and so it was alwaysinteresting. To be sure, at first, Mother had to be near at hand to pickup dropped stitches, but after a little practice Lydia could knit nicelyby herself, with a mishap only now and then.
Mr. Blake's postcard game was the most fun. One day, in he came with apackage of picture postcards, showing the river, the church, the bridge,the schoolhouse, Crook Mountain where the river turned--all the prettyspots in the town of Hyatt. On every one of these he wrote Lydia's nameand address, and put them into an empty box, with a little book ofstamps.
"Every day you must choose a card to send to yourself," said he, "and Iwill mail it for you."
So at once, Lydia chose a picture of Friend Morris's house, and the nextmorning she was listening for the postman's whistle, when round thehouse he came on his bicycle and handed in the postcard. But what do youthink sly Father had done? On the back of the card he had drawn apicture, a picture that made Lydia, and the friendly postman, andMother, and every one who saw it laugh. For there was Lydia, after herfall, being helped up the stairs again by Lucy Locket, while round thetop of the stairs peeped the head of the faithful slave. And Lydia's ownhead and ankle were wrapped round and round in yards and yards ofbandage.
"Just like the soldiers at the war," said the delighted Lydia.
So every morning she had a visit from the postman, who enjoyed thepictures quite as well as any one else. And they were funny. For once itwas Lydia running away from a wolf straight into the open arms of thereal Dr. Wolfe, and as he and Lydia were now the best of friends you maybe sure they both enjoyed the joke. And again it was Miss Puss pushingLydia in the doll carriage as a return for past favors, or Lydia in amad ride on the back of her slave, her hair blown in the wind, whiletiny rabbit slaves cheered them on their way.
So the days slipped quickly by, and now Lydia could be carried about thehouse by Father, her "second slave," as he sometimes called himself infun.
"Come, Lyddy Ann," said he one morning, "you are going to have a longtrip to-day, over to Friend Morris's. She has some medicine for you."
"Medicine?" said Lydia, making a wry face. "I don't want any medicine,Father, I don't."
"Yes, you do," said Mr. Blake, picking her up; "you want this kind. Itsname is Maggie."
"Maggie?" said Lydia, patting the top of Mr. Blake's head and crushinghis hat over one eye. "Maggie Medicine, Maggie Medicine. I never heardof that kind before. Hurry, please, Father, take me quick, so I can seeMaggie Medicine."