“I feel hungry.”

“I have some broth for you,” announced the pretty nurse, and brought forward the tray.

Gwendolyn looked down at the bowl.  “M-m-m!” she breathed.  “It smells good!  Now”—­to the Doctor—­“if I had one of your nice bread-pills—­”

At that, curiously enough, everyone laughed, the Doctor heartiest of all.  And “Hush!” chided her mother gently while the Doctor shook a teasing finger.

“Just for that,” said he, “we’ll have eating—­and no conversation—­for five whole minutes.”  Whereupon he began to scribble on a pad, laughing to himself every now and then as he wrote.

“That must be a cheerful prescription,” observed Gwendolyn’s father.  He himself looking happier than he had.

“The country,” answered the Doctor, “is always cheerful.”

Gwendolyn’s spoon slipped from her fingers.  She lifted eager, shining eyes.  “Moth-er,” she half-whispered, “does the Doctor mean Johnnie Blake’s?”

The Doctor assented energetically.  “I prescribe Johnnie Blake’s,” he declared.

“A-a-ah!” It was a deep breath of happiness.  “I promised Johnnie that I’d come back!”

“But if my little daughter isn’t strong—­” Her father gave a sidewise glance at the steaming bowl on the tray.

Thus prompted, Gwendolyn fell to eating once more, turning her attention to the croutons bobbing about on the broth Each was square and crunchy, but not so brown as a bread-pill.

“I shall now read my Johnnie Blake prescription,” announced the Doctor, and held up a leaf from the pad.  “Hm!  Hm!” Then, in a business-like tone; “Take two pairs of sandals, a dozen cheap gingham dresses with plenty of pockets and extra pieces for patches, and a bottle of something good for wild black-berry scratches.”  He bowed. “Mix all together with one strong medium-sized garden-hoe—­”

“Oh, fath-er,” cried Gwendolyn, her hoarse voice wistful with pleading, “you won’t mind if I play with Johnnie, will you?”

“Play all the time,” answered her father.  “Play hard—­and then play some more.”

“He isn’t a common little boy.”  Whereupon, satisfied, she returned to the blue bowl.

“And now,” went on the Doctor, “as to directions.”  He held up other leaves from the pad.  “First week (you’ll have to go easy the first week), use the prescription each day as follows; When driving; also when lying on back watching birds in trees (and have a nap out of doors if you feel like it); also when lighting the fire at sundown.  Nurse, here, will watch out for fingers.”

At that, another pleased little chuckle.

“Second week:”  (the Doctor coughed, importantly) “When riding your own fat pony, or chasing butterflies—­assisted by one good-natured, common, ordinary, long-haired dog; or when fishing (stream or bath-tub, it doesn’t matter!) or carrying kindling in to Cook—­whether you’re tired or not!”