“Let me see if there isn’t a pin or bit of glass in his shoe,” said Mrs. Pitcher. But when she had hunted, and found nothing, she began to be alarmed, and sent Posy to call her father. Posy went eagerly, for she wanted papa to see and pity her Pollio.
Judge Pitcher was shocked to find his little son creeping about like a baby, and sent presently for Dr. Field.
When the doctor entered the room, Pollio hid his face in his purple-bordered handkerchief, with his forehead touching the floor.
“Well, my little man, what’s this? Are you playing baby? Oh, no! I guess you are a black dog, like Beppo: let us hear you bark.”
Pollio jerked both elbows angrily. He did not like to be laughed at when he was in trouble. But, if he had only known it, the doctor pitied him very much, and was hiding two big tears under his “eye-bushes.” For he saw now that Pollio’s back had been hurt worse than he supposed. There was a sore spot on it; and, strange as it may seem, that was why he could not walk.
“Well, how do you like being a dog?” asked the doctor, scowling away another tear.
“I’m not a dog,” exclaimed Pollio, turning over on his side. “But my legs are spoiled: they won’t go.”
“How do they feel?”
“They feel like India-rubber boots,” snapped Pollio, thinking the doctor very inquisitive.
“Well, I am going to give you some medicine, and I hope in a few days they will feel as stiff as calfskin boots,” said the doctor, writing something on a slip of paper.