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137
The Solitary Summer
·
Elizabeth Von Arnim
60
This
pond
of
hers,
by
the
way,
is
an
object
of
the
liveliest
interest
to
the
babies.
They
do
not
seem
to
mind
the
smell,
and
they
love
the
slime,
and
they
had
played
there
for
several
days
in
great
peace
before
the
unfortunate
accident
of
the
June
baby's
falling
in
and
being
brought
back
looking
like
a
green
and
speckled
frog
herself,
revealed
where
it
was
they
had
persuaded
Seraphine
to
let
them
spend
their
mornings.
Then
there
was
woe
and
lamentation,
for
I
was
sure
they
would
all
have
typhoid
fever,
and
I
put
them
mercilessly
to
bed,
and
dosed
them,
as
a
preliminary,
with
castor
oil--that
oil
of
sorrow,
as
Carlyle
calls
it.
It
was
no
use
sending
for
the
doctor
because
there
is
no
doctor
within
reach;
a
fact
which
simplifies
life
amazingly
when
you
have
children.
During
the
time
we
lived
in
town
the
doctor
was
never
out
of
the
house.
Hardly
a
day
passed
but
one
or
other
of
the
Three
had
a
spot,
or,
as
the
expressive
German
has
it,
a
Pickel,
and
what
parent
could
resist
sending
for
a
doctor
when
one
lived
round
the
corner?
But
doctors
are
like
bad
habits--once
you
have
shaken
them
off
you
discover
how
much
better
you
are
without
them;
and
as
for
the
babies,
since
they
inhabit
a
garden,
prompt
bed
and
the
above-mentioned
simple
remedy
have
been
all
that
is
necessary
to
keep
them
robust.
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