“Keep it wet, and let it alone; then it will heal right up, and not be sore.”
“What do you charge?” asked the Commodore, laughing.
“Nothing; I keep a ’spensary; that is a place where poor people are doctored free gratis for nothing,” explained Nan, with an air.
“Thank you, Doctor Giddy-gaddy. I’ll always call you in when I come to grief;” and Emil departed, but looked back to say—for one good turn deserved another—“Your duds are blowing away, Doctor.”
Forgiving the disrespectful word, “duds,” the ladies hastily descended, and, gathering up their wash, retired to the house to fire up the little stove, and go to ironing.
A passing breath of air shook the old willow, as if it laughed softly at the childish chatter which went on in the nest, and it had hardly composed itself when another pair of birds alighted for a confidential twitter.
“Now, I’ll tell you the secret,” began Tommy, who was “swellin’ wisibly” with the importance of his news.
“Tell away,” answered Nat, wishing he had brought his fiddle, it was so shady and quiet here.
“Well we fellows were talking over the late interesting case of circumstantial evidence,” said Tommy, quoting at random from a speech Franz had made at the club, “and I proposed giving Dan something to make up for our suspecting him, to show our respect, and so on, you know—something handsome and useful, that he could keep always, and be proud of. What do you think we chose?”