“And what's a microbe?”
“I fancy it's a bacillus.”
“And what's a bacillus?”
“I don't know,” said Mary frankly; “only it's something that might give you scarlet fever, or small-pox, or diphtheria, or measles, or lots of diseases. No, Della, you must never scratch yourself with a pin. If you just have to take a splinter out of your hand, hold a needle point in the flame of a candle before you stick it in you. That kills the disease germs.”
“Why, I must be full of diseases,” said Della in a queer voice. “I stick a pin in myself every day of my life.”
“Of course there are little healthy germs in us,” pursued Mary, “that fight the unhealthy ones. There's always a battle going on, or else we'd all die right off, of some disease.”
“Is that why I feel so queer sometimes inside of me?” continued Della.
“I don't know. I dare say it is,” replied Mary. “I'm not much of a doctor. I hear mamma and papa talking about these things.”
Della looked thoughtful, but made no answer, as she was watching a man drive into the yard. After jumping from his wagon he lifted out a box and put it on the back door-step.
“That's Bill Seaforth,” said Della. “He wants to see daddy, I guess,” and she sprang out of the hammock and ran to the kitchen door.