ult your son
is so late. I made him stay to supper while his clothes were drying.
He was soaked to the skin; and so was I. We ran into one another in the
storm and I insisted on his coming into my house for shelter."

"I was beginning to get worried about him," said my mother. "I am
thankful to you, Sir, for looking after him so well and bringing him
home."

"Don't mention it--don't mention it," said the Doctor. "We have had a
very interesting chat."

"Who might it be that I have the honor of addressing?" asked my mother
staring at the gray parrot perched on the Doctor's shoulder.

"Oh, I'm John Dolittle. I dare say your husband will remember me. He
made me some very excellent boots about four years ago. They really
are splendid," added the Doctor, gazing down at his feet with great
satisfaction.

"The Doctor has come to cure my squirrel, Mother," said I. "He knows all
about animals."

"Oh, no," said the Doctor, "not all, Stubbins, not all about them by any
means."

"It is very kind of you to come so far to look after his pet," said my
mother. "Tom is always bringing home strange creatures from the woods
and the fields."

"Is he?" said the Doctor. "Perhaps he will grow up to be a naturalist
some day. Who knows?"

"Won't you come in?" asked my mother. "The place is a little untidy
because I haven't finished the spring cleaning yet. But there's a nice
fire burning in the parlor."

"Thank you!" said the Doctor. "What a charming home you have!"

And after wiping his enormous boots very, very carefully on the mat, the
great man passed into the house.

THE SIXTH CHAPTER. THE WOUNDED SQUIRREL

INSIDE we found my father busy practising on the flute beside the fire.
This he always did, every evening, after his work was over.

The Doctor immediately began talking to him about flutes and piccolos
and bassoons; and presently my father said,

"Perhaps you perform upon the flute yourself, Sir. Won't you play us a
tune?"

"Well," said the Doctor, "it is a long time since I touched the
instrument. But I would like to try. May I?"

Then the Doctor took the flute from my father and played and played and
played. It was wonderful. My mother and father sat as still as statues,
staring up at the ceiling as though they were in church; and even I, who
didn't bother much about music except on the mouth-organ--even I felt
all sad and cold and creepy and wished I had been a better boy.

"Oh I think that was just bea