"Every day you must choose a card to send to yourself," said he, "and I will mail it for you."

So at once, Lydia chose a picture of Friend Morris's house, and the next morning she was listening for the postman's whistle, when round the house he came on his bicycle and handed in the postcard. But what do you think sly Father had done? On the back of the card he had drawn a picture, a picture that made Lydia, and the friendly postman, and Mother, and every one who saw it laugh. For there was Lydia, after her fall, being helped up the stairs again by Lucy Locket, while round the top of the stairs peeped the head of the faithful slave. And Lydia's own head and ankle were wrapped round and round in yards and yards of bandage.

"Just like the soldiers at the war," said the delighted Lydia.

So every morning she had a visit from the postman, who enjoyed the pictures quite as well as any one else. And they were funny. For once it was Lydia running away from a wolf straight into the open arms of the real Dr. Wolfe, and as he and Lydia were now the best of friends you may be sure they both enjoyed the joke. And again it was Miss Puss pushing Lydia in the doll carriage as a return for past favors, or Lydia in a mad ride on the back of her slave, her hair blown in the wind, while tiny rabbit slaves cheered them on their way.

So the days slipped quickly by, and now Lydia could be carried about the house by Father, her "second slave," as he sometimes called himself in fun.

"Come, Lyddy Ann," said he one morning, "you are going to have a long trip to-day, over to Friend Morris's. She has some medicine for you."

"Medicine?" said Lydia, making a wry face. "I don't want any medicine, Father, I don't."

"Yes, you do," said Mr. Blake, picking her up; "you want this kind. Its name is Maggie."

"Maggie?" said Lydia, patting the top of Mr. Blake's head and crushing his hat over one eye. "Maggie Medicine, Maggie Medicine. I never heard of that kind before. Hurry, please, Father, take me quick, so I can see Maggie Medicine."

CHAPTER VIII-Maggie Medicine

Friend Morris and Mrs. Blake sat rocking on the broad veranda as Mr.

Blake carried Lydia, waving and blowing kisses, across the road.

"Oh, Mother, what is Maggie Medicine?" called Lydia. "Friend Morris, do you know?"

The ladies laughed and nodded, and Father said, "Listen, Lydia."

There was a sound of crunching gravel and the roll of wheels, and then round the corner of the house stepped a little dark-brown pony, drawing a light wicker basket wagon after him, and led by Alexander, who tried in vain to repress a proud smile.

"This is thy medicine, Friend Lydia," said Friend Morris, coming forward to the veranda steps, "a medicine that will bring back rosy cheeks to thee, I hope. Every day thee is to go for a ride-"

But Friend Morris got no farther, for Lydia lurched forward in Father's arms and caught her round the neck.

"I love thee, Friend Morris," she whispered, "and I love thy medicine.

And I will lend thee Lucy Locket for a whole day, and give thee three green candies for good luck beside."

"I thank thee, little Quaker," answered Friend Morris with a laugh, straightening her cap and patting Lydia's cheek. "Now, Alexander has a lump of sugar for thee to give Maggie, and then he will take thee for a ride."

So Lydia rather timidly fed Maggie a lump of sugar, and then Alexander drove her in triumph down the River Road as far as the village, where he bought a little whip with a red ribbon to be stuck in the front of Maggie's cart, but never to be used on her, at Lydia's earnest request.

And every pleasant day after that, Lydia went for a drive with Mother or Father or Alexander. One day Friend Deborah drove Lydia far up a shady back country road in search of a woman who wove rag rugs. Friend Morris wanted to order two blue-and-white rugs for the upper hall. The rug woman stood at her gate as she bargained with Friend Deborah, and Lydia could only stare at her in amazement, for the woman's hands were bright blue! She could scarcely wait until Maggie was trotting homeward to ask Friend Deborah if she had seen them, too.

Friend Deborah laughed.

"It's because she dyes, Lydia," said she.

"Dies?" said Lydia, more puzzled than before.

"Yes, dyes the rags different colors, the rags that she uses for her rugs," explained Friend Deborah, slapping the reins on Maggie's back.

"Oh," said Lydia, and fell to thinking. This was a piece of news that must be treasured up for Sammy's delectation. He would enjoy a piece of work like that. How fascinating to be a different color every day!

So, one afternoon, when Sammy and Mary Ellen walked down from Robin Hill to play with Lydia, whose ankle was well now, the first thing to be talked over was the story of the rug woman.

"She lives in a little house all by herself, with three hens and a pig.

Friend Deborah told me. And her hands are bright blue. And she dyes the rags and makes them into rugs. We have one, and so has Friend Morris, and Friend Morris is going to have two more."

Lydia stopped, out of breath, and Mary Ellen asked:

"Where does she live? Is it far? Could we go?"

"Oh, it's far up this road," answered Lydia, pointing. "And when you come to a little bridge, you turn past the mill, and then after a while you're there."

"I'm going," said Sammy, determined to see the woman with the blue hands, or perish in the attempt. "I'm going now," and he rose to his feet. "Want to come?"

"Oh, I do," said Lydia piteously. "I want to go dreadfully, but I can't walk so far. My lame foot gets so tired."

"We'll carry you," announced Mary Ellen, with a decided air. "Sammy and I will make a chair of our hands and carry you."

But Sammy had a bright idea. He pointed to the open stable door, and, out of it, as if to solve their problem for them, walked Maggie Medicine, harnessed to her cart.

"Quick," said Sammy, "before any one stops us."

"Oh, Sammy, do you think we ought?" asked Mary Ellen in a little voice, a question that was not meant to be answered, for she had already boosted Lydia into the cart and was scrambling in herself.

"'Fraid-cats may stay at home. We're a-going," was Sammy's reply, as he started Maggie down the drive with a shake of the reins and a flourish of the whip.

And while Maggie Medicine jogs peacefully along the country road, shaking her head and twitching her ears now and then as a sign to Sammy to stop jerking the reins, let us see where all the grown people were this sunny afternoon.

In the first place, Mary Ellen and Sammy had been asked to spend the afternoon to keep Lydia company, because Father and Mother and Friend Morris were invited out to spend the day. Friend Deborah, who had gone about her work all morning with her head tied up in a handkerchief, had at last been forced to go to bed "to favor the faceache," as she said.

Alexander, to keep the house quiet and give the children a good time, had planned a drive, but no sooner had he fastened the last strap in Maggie's harness than word came that the black colt had jumped the pasture bars and was running away.

So poor patient Alexander was racing up the hot, dusty road in one direction, while innocent Maggie, with her load, ambled along in the other. When they came to the little bridge, Maggie saw a cool, shady back road stretching before her in pleasant contrast to the dusty highway, and being a wise little pony, she promptly turned in and trotted briskly past the mill as she had done the week before with Friend Deborah. Sammy thought it was due to his skillful driving, but Maggie twitched her ear as if to say, "Don't imagine that I pay any attention to you children, please."

On they went, until Lydia pointed to a little house, half hidden under vines, with two or three bedraggled hens scratching about in the front yard.

"That's it," said Lydia. "I remember it. That's it."

"What shall we say when we see her?" asked Mary Ellen anxiously.

"Goodness, I almost wish we hadn't come."

"We'll ask her for a drink," responded Sammy, never at a loss, whose sharp eyes had spied a well round the corner of the house. "We'll have a good look at her hands, too, when she works the bucket."

The children scrambled out of the cart, and leaving Maggie to nibble the roadside gra.s.s, walked into the front yard. The house seemed deserted.

There was no stir of life within doors, and without, the hens stepped about and pecked at the ground in perfect silence. A hush fell upon the children. It was not nearly so much fun as they had expected. To tell the truth, Lydia wished she were at home.