“Pat,” said his mother, “Baby’s very ill, he is. He’s after takin’ a sudden turn for the worse. I must have the doctor this minute, or it’s dead he’ll be before morning.”
“Right, mother,” said Pat in a business-like way. “If the doctor is at his house, I’ll have him here in half an hour!”
He ran upstairs again. In three minutes he was back dressed and searching in the back kitchen for his scooter.
“What d’you be after fetchin’, dearie?” said his mother. “Sure, an’ you aren’t goin’ to take out yer scooter this dark night?”
“Yes, mother,” said Pat. “It’s as fast as a motor bike, I can be goin’ on my scooter. I shall be down the hill at the doctor’s house in ten minutes from now.”
Softly he let himself out, and set off down the lonely road. There was a small moon, and he knew every inch of the way.
It was all down hill to the doctor’s house. The road was smooth and quite empty. Pat got up a great speed. It was glorious! The night air rushed past him.
He reached the bottom of the first hill. There was rather a lonely piece of road to go along, here. At the end of it stood a great house, with a high wall round it. The owner of the house had been away from it for many years. Only a very old caretaker lived in it.
People said it was full of treasures and great wealth—jewels and silver plate, priceless china and beautiful pictures. The shutters were always closed, and many were the tales about it.
Pat’s heart beat rather fast as he reached the wall. Great black trees grew in the garden and stretched their branches like great hands over it.