“Wouldn’t you, Dr Martin?”
“That I should, my boy,” cried the Doctor, who was still eagerly searching the fields and meadows broken up by patches of forest. “Look here, Phil; we want to get away, as your father wishes, from all this terrible war, so we’ll put all lessons aside and think of nothing but making this a holiday excursion amongst the fields and woods; and when we get tired we’ll sit down on a tree trunk and rest, and if the sun is too hot we will have a nap in the shade. Sometimes we shall be thirsty.”
“And then we’ll lie down on the bank of a river and drink,” cried Phil, clapping his hands.
“To be sure—drink the beautiful clear water. We can sleep, too, in the fir woods. The soft fir needles make a beautiful aromatic bed.”
“What’s aromatic?” said Phil, with his eyes sparkling.
“Sweet-scented and spicy.”
“I shall like that,” cried the boy; “only won’t the fir needles prick when we undress?”
“But we shan’t undress, my boy.”
“What fun! Father will laugh when I tell him by and by. But you don’t say a word about what we are to eat, Dr Martin?”
“Oh, we shall find something to eat. Why, we might catch some fish perhaps in the streams.”