Doctor Papa

THE SCARECROW SISTER.

One morning little Miss Frizzle danced about her brother Preston, as he was starting for school, saying,--

"If a little boy had one poggit full o' pinnuts, and one poggit full o' canny, and one in his hands, how many would he be?"

This was a question in arithmetic; and, though Preston was a large boy, he could not answer it.

"Answer it yourself," said he, laughing.

"He'd have fousands and fousands--as many as four hundred!" said Flaxie, promptly.

"Shouldn't wonder! What's the need of my going to school, when I have a little sister at home that knows so much?" cried Preston, kissing her and hurrying away.

Flaxie wished he and her sister Julia--or Ninny, as she called her--could stay with her all the time. She was lonesome when they were both gone; and to-day her mamma said she must not go out of doors because her throat was sore.

She stood for awhile by the kitchen window, looking at the meadow behind the house. It was sprinkled all over with dandelions, so bright and gay that Flaxie fancied they were laughing. They didn't have sore throats. O, no! they could stay out of doors all day long; and so could the pretty brook; and so could the dog Rover; and the horses, Whiz and Slowboy; and the two young colts.

By-and-by the colts came to the kitchen window, which was open, and put in their noses to ask for something to eat. Flaxie gave them pieces of bread, which Dora handed her; and they ate them, then ran out their tongues and licked the window-sill, to be sure to get all the crumbs.

"What if they should bite you!" said Dora.

"O, they won't! I'm a doctor's chillen; they won't bite me," said Flaxie, who was never afraid of any thing or anybody.

"Well, you mustn't keep that window open any longer. You'll get cold, if you are a doctor's children," said Dora. "Run into the parlor to your mother. Why, you haven't seen her for an hour."

Flaxie was not at all anxious to see her mother, but ran into the parlor and called for a slate and pencil. Mrs. Gray gave them to her; and Flaxie drew pictures for ten minutes,--such pictures! Then the squeaking stopped, and she began to cry.

"What is it, darling?" said mamma.

"I've losted my pessle," sobbed Flaxie.

"O, well, I'll get you another. Don't cry."

"I've losted it up my nose," screamed the child, running to her mother in great distress.

It was true. The pencil was a very short one; and, in poking it into her nose, just for fun, she had pushed it too far, and it would not come out. Mrs. Gray tried her very best; but the harder she tried the further up went the pencil, and the more Flaxie's nose bled and swelled. It was growing worse every minute; and Mrs. Gray, not knowing what else to do, called Dora from the kitchen and sent her for "Dr. Papa."

When Flaxie knew her father was sent for, she cried louder than ever; for she thought she must be dreadfully hurt.

"Is I a-goin' to die?" said she. "I wouldn't die for fi-ive dollars!"

"No, indeed, pet, you won't die. Dr. Papa will make you all well in two minutes."

"Will he? O, dear, my nose is so sick! Kiss it, mamma!"

Mamma kissed the poor purple little nose, which helped Flaxie very much; but she burst out afresh, next moment. "How bad Dr. Papa'll feel when he comes home!"

Her mother soothed her; but soon she fell to crying again.

"How Ninny'll feel when she comes home!"

Mrs. Gray comforted her for this with more kisses; but presently Flaxie sobbed out once more,--

"How Pesson will feel when he comes home!"

For the child truly believed her friends would grieve more about it than she did.

Dr. Papa hurried to his darling as fast as he could; but, by the time he got home, her nose was badly swelled, and he had to hurt her very much in order to get out the "pessle." When it was all over, he took her on his knee, and tried to make her forget her troubles by showing her some pictures.

"The man in this picture is a school-teacher," said he; "and the little boy who stands by his desk must have been naughty, for the teacher is going to whip him with that stick."

"Goin' to w'ip him? Well, I'll wait and see if he w'ips him," said Flaxie, folding her hands and staring at the picture with all her might.

Dr. Papa laughed. He often laughed at what Flaxie said; and Mrs. Prim, a lady who lived in town, thought he "spoiled her." Perhaps he did.

"O, see the pretty chickies," said the child, as her father turned to another picture. "Does God make chickies?"

"Certainly."

"Well," said she, thoughtfully, "how they must have hollered when he stuck the fedders in!"

I must confess Dr. Papa laughed again. Then he put Flaxie down, and said he must go, though she held him by the vest-buttons, and declared the next picture would be "awful funny."

"How do you know?"

"O, I guess it will!"

"Well, dear, if it's ever so funny, Dr. Papa will have to go, for a sick lady wants to see him."