“I’m better again, mother. Oh, is that you, Dr. Tarbot? I don’t want any more of your nasty medicines. You needn’t order them for me, for I’m not going to take them.”
He laughed as he announced his determination. The mother ran up to the boy and began to kiss him.
“Oh, I do think he is a little better,” she cried eagerly. She looked round as she spoke at the nurse, who was standing perfectly motionless by the bedside. The nurse did not glance at her—her eyes were fixed on Tarbot.
“I took his temperature an hour ago,” she said; “he is decidedly feverish, and ought to stay quiet.”
“I hate you, you nasty nurse,” said little Piers, “and I hate you, too, Dr. Tarbot. I want Dick to come to me—Dick or Barbara, but I would rather have Dick. Do send Dick to me, mother. He ought to come, oughtn’t he, when the king wants him?”
“I don’t think you should have visitors at present,” said Tarbot. “I wish you to stay quiet and to do what Nurse Ives says.”
“Oh, I’m not going to obey her,” said the child. “I hate nurses. I want Dick. Please, mother, send for Dick!”
The doctor began to examine the boy, tapping the little chest, listening to his breathing, taking his temperature, feeling his pulse.
“You’ll be better soon,” he said, when he stood up after making his examination. “I’ll send you some fresh medicine; you need not take any more of that bitter stuff. Nurse, I will give you some directions in the other room. Piers, listen to me—you must stay in bed.”
“No, I won’t,” said the boy. “I’m going to get up.”
“You’ll stay in bed, my boy, because I order it,” said Tarbot in a determined voice.
The boy gazed at him out of his great black eyes.
“You order it?” he said slowly. “I didn’t think anybody could order Sir Piers Pelham.”
“Oh, because—because I’m rich,” said the child, “and I”—he gazed round him in a puzzled way—“I’m great. I’ll be a _very_ great man when I’m grown up. I was telling nurse about it. I was telling her that I’d have heaps of money. I shall have everything my own way. I’ll be a sort of king. The king can do no wrong. That’s a beautiful proverb, isn’t it? I’m going to have it illuminated and put over the mantelpiece. I’m the king and I can do no wrong, and I wish to get up, and I _will_. You can’t keep me in bed, nor can nurse.”