The doctor stood leaning on his stick, contemplating his guests. Alan was the worst. His face was scratched, and blood and dust together had streaked it in a most unbecoming way; his clothes were torn, his cap was gone, and his never very tidy hair stood in a shock above his forehead. The girls, too, showed unmistakable signs of the fray. Their hair ribbons were gone, wisps of straw and hay were sticking to their clothes, and their cheeks were scarlet with exercise and excitement. Even Jock had one eye bunged up, but he was the coolest and most unconcerned of the party. He saved the situation by trotting across to the doctor, laying the rat at his feet, and then looking up at him with his only available eye, as if for approval.
The doctor could not resist this appeal. He stooped and patted the dog, saying kindly, "Well done, little man." And then turning to the children, "Now then, you three graces, be off with you. Go and wash yourselves clean, if you can, and don't keep me waiting any longer for my dinner. A hungry man's an angry man, you know." And he sent them off with a flourish of his stick.
When they came to the dining-room the change in their appearance caused the doctor's eyes to twinkle, but he made no remark. Alan's face positively shone with soap, for though the application of it had made his many scratches smart, he had manfully persisted in the most vigorous cleansing operations. He had soaked his hair with water to make it lie down, but there was one lock in the region of the crown of his head which had refused to accept his ministrations. The girls, too, had smoothed their hair, brushed their clothes, and composed their countenances. All three looked as solemn as judges as they took their seats.
Marjory was afraid that their unpunctuality boded ill for the chance of getting the doctor's consent to their trying to open the old chest. They sat demurely, taking their soup in silence. After a little while sounds were heard like the fizzling of ginger beer in hot weather, and at last Blanche burst into a peal of laughter. Marjory looked anxiously at Dr. Hunter to see what he thought of this disturbance, but to her relief and surprise he was laughing too. Really her Uncle George was getting much nicer than he used to be, she thought.
"Well, Blanche, what's the joke?" he asked.
As soon as she could speak she replied,—
"It's Alan; he does look so dreadfully funny—one bit of hair sticking up, and the rest all plastered so smooth and meek-looking, and his face—oh dear!" And she laughed again. "I'm sure he was never meant to look so solemn."
Alan instinctively put up his hand to try to persuade the offending lock of hair to keep its proper place, but as soon as he took away his hand up jumped the hair again. He blushed deeply, realizing that the attention of the party, and especially of the doctor, who, to him, was a most awesome personage, was fixed upon himself; but in the end he joined in the laugh against his appearance as heartily as the rest.
Thus the ice was broken, and conversation began to flow, soon developing into a graphic account of the rat hunt.
"I saw Peter careering about like a youngster," said the doctor, laughing. "He'll be sorry enough to-morrow when he's as stiff as a board, but I believe he enjoyed the fun as much as any of you." And he laughed again.