Mr. Blake hunted for Lydia’s hand and found it.
“In the first place,” said he, “there isn’t any such fish. And in the second place, if he comes I won’t let him hurt you. Now will you try to go to sleep?”
“Yes,” said Lydia, “I will.”
So holding fast to Father with one hand, and to Lucy Locket with the other, Lydia at last fell asleep.
[CHAPTER VII—Dr. Wolfe]
The next morning when Lydia woke, the bump on her head felt as big as a hen’s egg. She lay feeling it proudly, and wishing that Mary Ellen could see it. Mary Ellen was always so interested in bumps, and cuts, and bruises, but the children’s summer home, Robin Hill, would not open until 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 climbed out of bed in search of a mirror, poor little Lydia fell on the floor in a 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.