that?'

'I'm six,' said the child, slightly amused and very condescending.

'Six! There now. Add up and count as far as six, can you? Well, that's a
clever little girl, a clever little girl. And if she has to drink a
spoonful of medicine, she won't make a murmur, I'll be bound. Not like
_some_ little girls. What? Eh?'

'I take it if mother wishes me to,' said Joyce.

'Ah, there now! That's the style! That's what I like to hear from a
little lady in bed because she's cut her knee. That's the style--'

The comfortable and prolix doctor dressed and bandaged the knee and
recommended bed and a light diet for the little lady. He thought
a week or a fortnight would put it right. No bones or ligatures
damaged--fortunately. Only a flesh cut. He would come again in a day or
two.

So Joyce was reassured and stayed in bed and had all her toys up. Her
father often played with her. The doctor came the third day. He was
fairly pleased with the knee. It was healing. It was healing--yes--yes.
Let the child continue in bed. He came again after a day or two. Winifred
was a trifle uneasy. The wound seemed to be healing on the top, but it
hurt the child too much. It didn't look quite right. She said so to
Egbert.

'Egbert, I'm sure Joyce's knee isn't healing properly.'