Part 7 (1/2)
”Why not?” asked Father in astonishment. ”What's the matter with Dr.
Wolfe?”
”I'm afraid!” sobbed Lydia. ”It's Red Riding Hood's wolf. I'm afraid!”
”Lydia,” said Father impatiently, ”you are talking nonsense. Dr. Wolfe is an old friend of Friend Morris. He is as kind as he can be, and very fond of little girls.”
”Yes, fond of eating them,” thought Lydia.
She didn't say this aloud, but she buried her head in her pillow and refused to listen to any pleasant things about Dr. Wolfe. He was Red Riding Hood's wolf, and she wouldn't see him, and her ankle hurt, and she was the most miserable little girl in the world.
So Mr. Blake, shaking his head, went away, and that was really the best thing he could do. For when Lydia was left alone she stopped crying, and by the time Mother appeared with a breakfast tray, she was able to sit up and eat a whole bowl of oatmeal without stopping. Her ankle did not hurt unless she moved it, so, propped up with pillows, and looking at a picture-book, she felt quite like herself again.
”h.e.l.lo the house!” said a voice, and Lydia, peering through the piazza railing, saw a man on the gra.s.s below looking up at her. He was short and plump, with a little white beard and glittering gold-bowed spectacles. He smiled up at Lydia and called:
”Good-morning! Is anybody home?”
”Yes, I am,” answered Lydia. ”I don't know where Mother and Father are.
I haven't seen them for a long time.”
”Isn't it rather late to be in bed?” asked the little old gentleman.
”I've been up a long time myself, and had a walk by the river too.”
”But I'm sick,” said Lydia importantly; ”I've hurt my head and my ankle.
I can't get up.”
”You don't say so,” said the old gentleman, interested at once. ”Well, in that case, I'd better come up.”
And in a twinkling he was up the steps and sitting at the side of Lydia's bed.
”How did you get such a b.u.mp on your head?” said he. ”It's as handsome a one as ever I saw, and I've seen a good many.”
”I fell downstairs last night,” answered Lydia, feeling her ”handsome b.u.mp” with fresh pleasure, and glad to tell her story. ”I hurt my head and my ankle. I can't walk.”
”Then I'm the very man for you,” returned the old gentleman cheerfully, ”for I'm a tinker. I tinker people-their heads, and their arms, and their legs. It's well I happened along this morning. And now that I've seen the b.u.mp on your head, if you're willing I'll have a look at your ankle, too.”
Lydia sat very still while the jolly tinker carefully felt of the injured ankle, and asked her a question or two. She screwed up her face with pain now and then, but she didn't shed a single tear. At last the tinker nodded as if satisfied, and sat down again on the side of the bed.
”In tinker talk,” said he, ”it's a strain. But the truth is that overnight you've been bewitched. Yes,” said the tinker gravely, ”you've been turned into the Princess-Without-Legs. And I have a pretty good idea who did the mischief. But my magic is stronger than his magic, and the first thing you know, you will be as well as ever again.”
Lydia was listening to all this with eyes and mouth wide open.
”Who did it?” said she in a whisper. She felt as if she had stepped inside a fairy book, and that if she spoke aloud she would step outside again.
”My cousin,” answered the old gentleman in a low voice, ”my wicked cousin. Did you ever hear the story of Red Riding Hood?”
Lydia nodded and leaned farther forward.
”The wolf in that story is my wicked cousin,” said the old gentleman sadly. He felt in his pocket for his handkerchief and blew his nose violently.
”A wolf,” thought Lydia, ”for a cousin. Why, I know who he is.-You are Dr. Wolfe!” cried she, her voice loud with surprise. ”Are you Dr.