"What have you done?" she said.

"Nothing," said Aladdin. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Mrs. Brackett tossed her hands heavenward.

"What is the matter?" she cried.

"I don't know," said Aladdin. She followed him into the house
and up the stairs, which he climbed heavily.

"Where do you feel bad, 'Laddin O'Brien?" she said sharply.

"It's my head, ma'am," said Aladdin. He went into his room
and lay face down on the bed, having first dropped his
schoolbooks on the floor, and began to talk fluently of kings'
daughters and genii and copper bottles.

The Widow Brackett was an active woman of action. Flat-footed
and hatless, but with incredible speed, she dashed down the
stairs, out of the house, and up the street. She returned in
five minutes with the doctor.

The doctor said, "Fever." It was quite evident that it was
fever; but a doctor's word for it put everything on a
comfortable and satisfactory footing.

"We must get him to bed," said the doctor. He made the
attempt alone, but Aladdin struggled, and the doctor was old.
Mrs. Brackett came to the rescue and, finally, they got