"I will follow your directions carefully, Dr. Whiskers," smiled Lady Spider. "Is there really to be a school where my little Webbie, Spinnie, Tony, and Patty can be taught the civilized ways of your learned family?"
"We have just arrived at the Lake and are hardly settled. There will soon be a school. My grand-daughter, Dot Squeaky, will be the teacher. A sweet young lady mouse she is, if I am her grand-daddy and maybe ought not to boast of her smartness. I must bid you good-day, Lady Spider. I will come in next week and see if you are better."
"A very pleasant call," thought Dr. Whiskers, as he trotted along the country road. "Lady Spider does not seem to be a harmful creature. Hello! Here I am at Squire Cricket's gateway. I must cure his sore throat."
Squire Cricket came to the door. He wore a red flannel around his neck and his voice was hoarse as he greeted Dr. Whiskers.
"Nimble-toes said you needed some medicine," began Dr. Whiskers. "I see you are wearing the red flannel that Granny sent. She believes that red flannel will cure almost anything."
"It's no good," croaked Squire Cricket. "I've worn it ever since Nimble-toes fetched it, and I'm still as hoarse as Grandpa Bull Frog."
"Ah well, if Mistress Cricket will fetch a glass of water, I will fix a gargle that will help you."
He sprinkled some salt into the water which Mistress Cricket brought.
"Now, Squire Cricket, if you will use this mixture, a spoonful every hour, and rub a little cure-all salve under your red flannel at night, we'll soon have your voice as clear as a lark's, and the soreness all gone. How many kiddies shall you send to my grand-daughter's summer school, Mistress Cricket?"
"Our two children, Sammie and Fidelia, must go. I hope Miss Squeaky will teach music. Our children love to fiddle. We all enjoyed Mr. Squeaky's band last summer. It was good news when we heard that you were coming back to the Lake."