On the tea-table were pink plates of thin sandwiches, and a huge glass pitcher of strawberry-ade with real strawberries floating in it.
“I wish you would pour, Margaret,” said Mother, smiling.
So Cousin Margaret, with a sly wink at Betsey, took her place very sedately and poured the frosty glasses full, and passed the sandwiches. And she did it so very well, and with such a grown-up air, that Betsey wondered how in the world Cousin Margaret could be a little girl so easily.
Chapter V
THE CHRISTMAS TREE
Betsey was sitting on the slippery couch looking quite serious. She was not Mr. Betts today, nor even Dr. Betson. She was just a little girl with a sore throat, watching the big, real Dr. Lawrence as he rummaged around in his black bag. He put up his uncomfortable glass spoon that he pressed down one’s tongue with, and fished out an oblong pasteboard box.
“Oh!” said Betsey.
Dr. Lawrence looked up quickly. “Why do you say ‘Oh!’ Sister?” he asked.
Betsey’s eyes were fastened on the little box. “It’s just the shape of a Victrola,” she said.
“Hmmmm!” buzzed the big doctor, taking the cover off and dropping in some tiny pink tablets and some large white ones. “If you will take a white pill every hour, and gargle a pink one (dissolved in water, of course) every half hour, you shall have the box! And——hullo! Here’s a bit of wire just about right for a crank! Now, Mr. Tom, we’ll do up your burned thumb.”
Tom had been experimenting a little too much with Norah’s teakettle and the steam had made quite a big blister. Dr. Lawrence unrolled a sheet of pure white absorbent cotton.