Snythergen shuddered at the horrible thought of being trepanned—or in other words of having his skull operated on so his brain could be examined. As he talked to himself the little man danced excitedly about.
“The fit seems to be over,” he said breathlessly, when Snythergen had waved his last signal to Squeaky.
“Dinner is ready,” called the farmer’s wife from the house.
“I will be right in,” answered the doctor, for he had decided to wait until he had eaten before going for the musicians.
The chance of running away to meet Squeaky and bread and butter had become more and more doubtful now the little doctor had seen him waving, and Snythergen was so hungry! He looked in through the dining-room window to see what the family was having to eat. It was a very hot day and the window was wide open. The farmer was placing a steaming plate of meat and potatoes before the doctor, who sat facing the window where he could watch the tree while he ate. The rich odor of food arose to Snythergen’s nostrils and it was more than he could resist.
“I must have something soon, or I’ll fall over,” he said to himself. “I wonder how I can manage it?” For a moment he thought, then an idea came to him. Leaning over, with his top branches he beat violently upon the roof of the house.
“What’s happening upstairs!” cried the farmer’s wife in alarm.
“It sounds as if the roof was falling in!” said the farmer leaping from his chair, and they rushed out of the room. In his excitement the doctor followed part way upstairs. The instant he was gone Snythergen reached a forked limb into the dining room and helped himself to the doctor’s dinner.
“He will never miss it,” he thought. “He’s too excited to eat, anyway.”