Why, if it isn’t little Nurse Mary, cries FATHER, and they all rise up to greet her.  She kisses both the children, and shakes hands with Father and Mother.

Here’s a chair for you, Nurse Mary, says JACK.

Let me take your cloak and hood, Nurse Mary, says POLLY.

When they were all seated again, FATHER says, I am afraid I shall have to give you a little scolding, Mary, for coming out on such a cold night.  It really don’t do, you know.

Now, Doctor John, NURSE MARY answers, What do you expect?  Haven’t I seen you every Christmas Eve since you were half the size of Master Jack here, and didn’t I knit with my own hands the first little stocking you ever hung up for Santa Claus, and don’t I remember how frightened you were that time when we heard the reindeers on the roof, and when the handful of walnuts came tumbling down the chimney?  And do you expect me to stay away on Christmas Eve, like some lonely old woman, who never was nurse to any children at all, let alone two generations of them?  What are you thinking of, Doctor John?

I am thinking, says FATHER smiling, that if you hadn’t come, we should have missed you dreadfully.  But tell me, Nurse Mary, how are you feeling?

Well, answers NURSE MARY, to speak the truth, Doctor John, I think you must give me some medicine.

Medicine? cries MOTHER.

Are you sick, Nurse Mary? asks POLLY.

Yes, Miss Polly, sick, and very sick, too, NURSE MARY answers.

But how? asks FATHER.  What’s wrong?  Where is the trouble?

First of all, in my back, Doctor John, says NURSE MARY.  Today, after sweeping and scrubbing a little, and baking a Christmas cake, I just ironed out a few pieces, my best cap and apron, and the likes of that, and before I had finished, I give you word my back began to ache.  Now what do you make of it?  And then, my joints—­stiff!  Yes, Dr. John, stiff!  How am I to do my work with stiff joints, I’d like to know?

I see, says FATHER, shaking his head. This is a serious matter.  But cheer up, Nurse Mary; I believe I have the very thing that will help you. He opens his medicine case, which stands on the table, and takes out a little bottle. Here it is, he says, and let me tell you how to take it; for with this medicine that is the most important part.  You must find some children to give it to you.  If you take it from grown-up people, it will do you no good at all, so you must find a child somewhere, or two would be better, one to pour it out and one to hold the spoon—­

Oh, let me pour it out, cries JACK.

And let me hold the spoon, cries POLLY.

Why, that will do finely, says FATHER, and hands Jack the bottle. And now I must go out, he continues; for old Mrs. Cavendish is sick and has sent for me.  It may be quite late, when I come home. He begins to put on his overcoat.