“Oh, I don’t want Dr. Fisher to come,” cried Joel in great alarm. “He’ll put me to bed, and make me have the measles all over again. Don’t let him come, Mamsie!” he begged.
“Oh, you can’t have the measles again, Joel,” said Polly, getting up on her feet, and picking up the bowl.
“Can’t I?” said Joel.
“No, indeed,” said Polly decidedly; “the very idea, Joel Pepper!” and she gave a gay little laugh. Joel’s eye wasn’t hurt, and Dr. Fisher was coming. Everything would soon be all right!
Phronsie, who didn’t really know that the scissors had done anything naughty to Joel’s face, was still struggling to keep them on her fat little hand enough to snip away at the “trimming.” She began now, in a soft little voice, to talk to Seraphina lying on the floor by her side.
“You are going to have a new dress, my child, to wear to-morrow to dear Mrs. Brown’s, and you may see the little chickies, and the dear, sweet little pigs.”
“Then he can come,” said Joel on a high key, “if he won’t put me to bed and make me have the measles again,” while Polly sped out, and on the wings of the wind, over to get good Dr. Fisher.
The little Doctor was soon there, and mending Joel’s face, who kept saying it didn’t hurt, as he twisted his hands tightly together. When it was all over, he looked out over the plasters and bandage on his round face, and announced very pompously, “I’m going to have company to-morrow.”
“Are you?” said Dr. Fisher.
“Yes, I am,” said Joel, with an important air, and beginning to get down from Mrs. Pepper’s lap. “Mamsie said I might, and I must go and ask ’em now.”