“Yes, Beckie is a pretty sick little bear girl. But I think I can cure her. She needs some cough medicine.”
“Will it be bad, bitter medicine, doctor?” asked Beckie, as she sat up in bed, with a dry-leaf quilt wrapped around her.
“Well, Beckie, I might as well tell you the truth, for you would find it out anyhow as soon as you tasted it,” said Dr. Possum. “The cough medicine is going to be very bitter and bad. I will not deceive you. But I can do one thing—I can make it a pretty color.”
“Do, please, then,” begged Beckie. “But why is it that you doctors can’t make medicine that is not bitter?”
“I’ll tell you why, Beckie,” spoke Dr. Possum. “You see the bad cold or other disease gets inside you and it likes you so well it stays there, and as long as it stays you can’t get better. So we give bitter medicines—not to you, but to the bad cold that’s inside you.
“And when the cold sees that bad, bitter medicine coming down your dear little red throat, the cold says to itself:
“‘Ha! Hum! This is no place for me! I’d better get out!’ And out the cold goes, and then you get better. That’s what bitter medicines are for.”
“I see,” said Beckie. “Well, I’ll take it.”
“And you can make as many faces as you like when you swallow it,” said Dr. Possum with a laugh. Then he mixed up some bitter cough medicine for Beckie, but he colored it pink, just to match the shade of the little bear girl’s hair ribbon.
“There, now,” said the possum doctor gentleman. “You can make believe it’s pink candy syrup, Beckie.”