She kept an old apron tied on his back, and generally took him
to bed with her--not into bed, that would have been troublesome; but
close by, tied to the bed-post. Now, as she told the others, Pikery was
very sick indeed. He must have some medicine, just like Philly.
"Give him some water," suggested Dorry.
"No," said John, decidedly, "it must be black and out of a bottle, or it
won't do any good."
After thinking a moment, she trotted quietly across the passage into
Aunt Izzie's room. Nobody was there, but John knew where the Elixir Pro
was kept--in the closet on the third shelf. She pulled one of the
drawers out a little, climbed up, and reached it down. The children were
enchanted when she marched back, the bottle in one hand, the cork in the
other, and proceeded to pour a liberal dose on to Pikery's wooden seat,
which John called his lap.
"There! there! my poor boy," she said, patting his shoulder--I mean his
arm--"swallow it down--it'll do you good."
Just then Aunt Izzie came in, and to her dismay saw a long trickle of
something dark and sticky running down on to the carpet. It was Pikery's
medicine, which he had refused to swallow.
Pages:
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57