"Bertie," she said, "tell John to go at once to Dr. Bell's and ask him to come here at once—at once, remember. Your father has cut his hand very badly, and we can't stop the bleeding."
"I'll go, mother; let me go on the tricycle," I said.
And she answered, "Do, dear; only make haste!"
I don't think I ever went so fast before; but it was a good road, and that helped me, and I was saying to myself all the time, "Oh, don't let me be too late for the doctor! Please let me find him and bring him to father."
And I did find the doctor at home. I was out of breath, but I managed to tell him what was the matter, and he was soon ready.
Of course I couldn't keep up with his pony-cart, as father could have done, but I got home not long after, and heard that the doctor was there, and the bleeding had stopped.
Father was very weak for some time, and his hand was not well for several weeks, but the doctor and mother said he would have died if I hadn't been able to fetch the doctor so quickly on my tricycle.
That's why I like my tricycle so much, and think it such a useful thing. If it had been a pony, it would have had to be saddled and bridled; but I always keep it cleaned and oiled, so it was quite ready for use when it was wanted. Mother used to be rather afraid of my riding it at one time, but she doesn't mind it now, because she knows how useful it was the day father cut his hand.
