Squire Cricket came to the door. He wore a red flannel around his neck and
his voice was hoarse as he greeted Dr. Whiskers.

"Nimble-toes said you needed some medicine," began Dr. Whiskers. "I see
you are wearing the red flannel that Granny sent. She believes that red
flannel will cure almost anything."

"It's no good," croaked Squire Cricket. "I've worn it ever since
Nimble-toes fetched it, and I'm still as hoarse as Grandpa Bull Frog."

"Ah well, if Mistress Cricket will fetch a glass of water, I will fix a
gargle that will help you."

He sprinkled some salt into the water which Mistress Cricket brought.

"Now, Squire Cricket, if you will use this mixture, a spoonful every hour,
and rub a little cure-all salve under your red flannel at night, we'll
soon have your voice as clear as a lark's, and the soreness all gone. How
many kiddies shall you send to my grand-daughter's summer school, Mistress
Cricket?"

"Our two children, Sammie and Fidelia, must go. I hope Miss Squeaky will
teach music. Our children love to fiddle. We all enjoyed Mr. Squeaky's
band last summer. It was good news when we heard that you were coming back
to the Lake."

Just then, Sammie Cricket hopped excitedly in.

"Oh, Dr. Whiskers, old Daddy Longlegs has had an accident! He wants you to