“Won’t you come in?” asked my mother. “The place is a little untidy because I haven’t finished the spring cleaning yet. But there’s a nice fire burning in the parlor.”
“Thank you!” said the Doctor. “What a charming home you have!”
And after wiping his enormous boots very, very carefully on the mat, the great man passed into the house.
THE SIXTH CHAPTER
THE WOUNDED SQUIRREL
INSIDE we found my father busy practising on the flute beside the fire. This he always did, every evening, after his work was over.
The Doctor immediately began talking to him about flutes and piccolos and bassoons; and presently my father said,
“Perhaps you perform upon the flute yourself, Sir. Won’t you play us a tune?”
“Well,” said the Doctor, “it is a long time since I touched the instrument. But I would like to try. May I?”