"It's this way, Thumbkin; and let's make a bargain of it. I think
there's a cure for that back of yours. It hasn't been tried very much;
about often enough to make it worth while for us to take a chance.
I'll be honest with you and tell you the house surgeon doesn't think it
can be done; but that's where the bargain comes in. He thinks he can
mend my trouble, and I don't; and we're both dreadfully greedy to prove
we're right. Now if you will give me my way with you I will give him
his. But you must come first."

"A hundred years is a long time to be asleep," she objected.

"Bless you, it won't be a hundred minutes."

"And does your back need it, too?"

"Not my back; my stomach. It's about the only chance for either of us,
Thumbkin."

"And you won't unless I do?"

The Old Senior Surgeon gave his head a terrific shake; then he caught
her small hands in his great, warm, comforting ones. "Think. It means
a strong back; a pair of sturdy little legs to take you anywhere; and
the whole world before you!"

"And you'll have them, too?"

He smiled convincingly.