WELL, there were not many days after that, you may be sure, when I did
not come to see my new friend. Indeed I was at his house practically
all day and every day. So that one evening my mother asked me jokingly
why I did not take my bed over there and live at the Doctor’s house
altogether.
After a while I think I got to be quite useful to the Doctor, feeding
his pets for him; helping to make new houses and fences for the zoo;
assisting with the sick animals that came; doing all manner of odd jobs
about the place. So that although I enjoyed it all very much (it was
indeed like living in a new world) I really think the Doctor would have
missed me if I had not come so often.
And all this time Polynesia came with me wherever I went, teaching me
bird language and showing me how to understand the talking signs of the
animals. At first I thought I would never be able to learn at all—it
seemed so difficult. But the old parrot was wonderfully patient with
me—though I could see that occasionally she had hard work to keep her
temper.
Soon I began to pick up the strange chatter of the birds and to
understand the funny talking antics of the dogs. I used to practise
listening to the mice behind the wainscot after I went to bed, and
watching the cats on the roofs and pigeons in the market-square of
Puddleby.
And the days passed very quickly—as they always do when life is
pleasant; and the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months; and
soon the roses in the Doctor’s garden were losing their petals and
yellow leaves lay upon the wide green lawn. For the summer was nearly
gone.
One day Polynesia and I were talking in the library. This was a fine
long room with a grand mantlepiece and the walls were covered from the
ceiling to the floor with shelves full of books: books of stories,
books on gardening, books about medicine, books of travel; these I
loved—and especially the Doctor’s great atlas with all its maps of the
different countries of the world.
This afternoon Polynesia was showing me the books about animals which
John Dolittle had written himself.
“My!” I said, “what a lot of books the Doctor has—all the way around
the room! Goodness! I wish I could read! It must be tremendously
interesting. Can you read, Polynesia?”
“Only a little,” said she. “Be careful how you turn those pages—don’t
tear them. No, I really don’t get time enough for reading—much. That
letter there is a _k_ and this is a _b_.”
“What does this word under the picture mean?” I asked.
“Let me see,” she said, and started spelling it out.
“B-A-B-O-O-N—that’s _Monkey_. Reading isn’t nearly as hard as it looks,
once you know the letters.”
“Polynesia,” I said, “I want to ask you something very important.”
“What is it, my boy?” said she, smoothing down the feathers of her
right wing. Polynesia often spoke to me in a very patronizing way. But
I did not mind it from her. After all, she was nearly two hundred years
old; and I was only ten.
“Listen,” I said, “my mother doesn’t think it is right that I come
here for so many meals. And I was going to ask you: supposing I did a
whole lot more work for the Doctor—why couldn’t I come and live here
altogether? You see, instead of being paid like a regular gardener or
workman, I would get my bed and meals in exchange for the work I did.
What do you think?”
“You mean you want to be a proper assistant to the Doctor, is that it?”
“Yes. I suppose that’s what you call it,” I answered. “You know you
said yourself that you thought I could be very useful to him.”
“Well”—she thought a moment—“I really don’t see why not. But is this
what you want to be when you grow up, a naturalist?”
“Yes,” I said, “I have made up my mind. I would sooner be a naturalist
than anything else in the world.”
“Humph!—Let’s go and speak to the Doctor about it,” said Polynesia.
“He’s in the next room—in the study. Open the door very gently—he may
be working and not want to be disturbed.”
I opened the door quietly and peeped in. The first thing I saw was an
enormous black retriever dog sitting in the middle of the hearth-rug
with his ears cocked up, listening to the Doctor who was reading aloud
to him from a letter.
“What _is_ the Doctor doing?” I asked Polynesia in a whisper.
“Oh, the dog has had a letter from his mistress and he has brought it
to the Doctor to read for him. That’s all. He belongs to a funny little
girl called Minnie Dooley, who lives on the other side of the town. She
has pigtails down her back. She and her brother have gone away to the
seaside for the Summer; and the old retriever is heart-broken while the
children are gone. So they write letters to him—in English of course.
And as the old dog doesn’t understand them, he brings them here,
and the Doctor turns them into dog language for him. I think Minnie
must have written that she is coming back—to judge from the dog’s
excitement. Just look at him carrying on!”
Indeed the retriever seemed to be suddenly overcome with joy. As the
Doctor finished the letter the old dog started barking at the top of
his voice, wagging his tail wildly and jumping about the study. He
took the letter in his mouth and ran out of the room snorting hard and
mumbling to himself.
“He’s going down to meet the coach,” whispered Polynesia. “That dog’s
devotion to those children is more than I can understand. You should
see Minnie! She’s the most conceited little minx that ever walked. She
squints too.”
_THE TWELFTH CHAPTER_