CHAPTER XI—THE PRINCESS IN THE TOWER
“Do something for you? Oh, Doctor, I should just love to!” Surprise and pleasure caused Nathalie’s eyes to light expectantly. And then, “Do tell me what it is; perhaps it is something I can’t do!” she said doubtfully.
“Oh, you can do it all right,” asserted the doctor confidently. “Remember the old adage, ‘Where there’s a will, there’s a way.’” His eyes twinkled humorously as he watched the girl’s face. “But let’s get at the beginning of things. The other day as I was hastening to my little African friend, Rosy, I heard some one talking to her. I stood still, for it was some one telling the fairy tale of Jack and the Bean Stalk.
“Now when I was a wee laddie,” continued the doctor, “that fairy tale was the star one to me, so I plead guilty, I was tempted and listened. And then when I discovered that the Story Lady, as Rosy says, was a sometime friend of mine, I found that old tale doubly interesting. A few days ago, when talking to a patient, I happened to relate this little incident in connection with something else I was telling, and then my troubles began.”
The doctor pretended dismay. “That lady has a crippled child who rarely goes out, never meets children of her own age, but is compelled a good part of the time to lie on a couch suffering more or less pain. This little girl was injured in an accident which her mother, poor creature, believes was her fault.”
“Oh, how dreadfully she must suffer!” burst from Nathalie involuntarily.
“Yes, I sometimes think the poor mother suffers more than the child. Now this mother, from a mistaken idea, believes it best to keep her child secluded, thinking that the comments of strangers would hurt the child’s feelings and cause more suffering. So you see what a miserable life the little one leads. Well, I must cut my tale short—” taking out his watch and glancing at it; “perhaps it was something I said, I don’t know, but this lady asked me if I thought the young lady who was so good at story-telling would be willing to come and amuse her child with stories. You see I was in for it, but all I could do was to say I would ask her,” the doctor’s eyes sobered, “for I believe that this Story Lady girl is not only a worth while girl—is that the way my wife puts it when she lectures you?” the doctor’s face had wrinkled into a smile again, “but that she has one of the kindest hearts in the world.”
“Oh, Doctor, Mrs. Morrow never lectures,” answered Nathalie enthusiastically; “she just talks to us in the sweetest way; we just love to hear her. But, Doctor, why did you not tell the lady I would be only too glad to tell her little girl stories, but if she suffers so much it might tire her.” This was all said in one breath.
“Not so fast, Blue Robin. No, I did not tell her you would, for I did not know how it would strike you,” rejoined the doctor gravely. “I only told her what you could do.”
“Oh,” exclaimed his companion; “well then, please tell her the first time you see her that I shall be delighted to do all I can for her little girl.”