The Doctor threw open the door and led the way out into the veranda, where Mrs Morley and Minnie were standing beside a black-haired, black-eyed, young native woman, who was squatted down in the shade, and who now started up hurriedly from where she had evidently been holding up a solemn-looking little child of about two years old for the ladies’ inspection.
The woman’s dark eyes flashed, and she made a movement as if to cover her face, but snatched away her hand directly and stood up proudly for a moment, before bowing low and not ungracefully to the Doctor as he gave her a quick nod.
“Here is Dula,” said Mrs Morley. “She has brought up her sick child.”
“Yes, I see,” said the Doctor, rather gruffly, as he frowned at the swarthy little patient. “But I wish Dula could talk English or I could talk her tongue a little better.”
The woman smiled intelligently as she rearranged the bright-coloured plaid sarong around the child and said in a pleasant voice:
“Ba-be bet-ter.”
The Doctor took a step forward, and the child shrank from him as he laid his hand upon its head and gazed fixedly in its eyes.
“Now, little one,” he said, “we did teach you to put out your tongue last time.”
“Tongue—tongue,” said the woman quickly; and she held the child towards the Doctor, while Archie and Minnie exchanged glances, and then burst out laughing; for, in obedience to a shake given by its mother, the tiny girl uttered a low whimper, screwed-up her face as if about to cry, and then thrust out a little red tongue, drew it back instanter, and buried her face in her mother’s breast.
“All right,” said the Doctor to the woman. “It is getting well fast.”