there was Dr. Duck swimming around among the pond lilies and the
frogs, having a lovely time. And wasn't he sunburnt? Well, I should
say he was. His bill was as dark as a little brown berry and his nose
was as red as a little choke cherry.

"That looks very serious to me," said he, putting on his glasses and
looking at Mr. Bear's injured feet. "I'll have to get a saw and cut
off your foot." And then Mr. Bear gave a dreadful howl. "Oh, please
don't saw off my foot. It's sore enough already."

"I didn't mean to saw off your foot," said Dr. Duck. "Did I say that?
I mean to saw off the splinter and then put on a poultice and draw out
the pain."

Well, it took a long time to do all that, and the poor Bear cried
several times, for it hurt the splinter dreadfully, you know, to be
sawed off that way. But by and by the poultice began to "draw, and
pretty soon out came the splinter, and Mr. Bear felt ever so much
better. That is, until the doctor said, "It will cost you a million
dollars, for that was a very serious operation."

"I've never even seen a million dollars," said the Bear. "Nor even a
million cents. You'll have to mail me a corrected bill," and then he
jumped into the automobile and asked Uncle Lucky to drive away.

"Stop, stop!" cried the Duck Doctor, but Uncle Lucky paid no attention
to him, any more than the Bear paid the bill. "You send a corrected
bill to my friend," said the old gentleman rabbit. "And, mind you, you
had better correct it three times and a half if you ever want it
paid."