I guess if I had been forced to take my choice when I had the fever, I'd have stuck pretty tight to mother.
Even Dr.Fenner said if I pulled through she'd have to make me.

I might have been lying there yet, if it hadn't been for the book Frank sent me, with the poetry piece in it.

It began: "Somewhere on a sunny bank, buttercups are bright, Somewhere 'mid the frozen grass, peeps the daisy white." I read that so often I could repeat it quite as well with the book shut as open, and every time I read it, I wanted outdoors worse.

In one place it ran: "Welcome, yellow buttercups, welcome daisies white, Ye are in my spirit visioned a delight.
Coming in the springtime of sunny hours to tell, Speaking to our hearts of Him who doeth all things well." That piece helped me out of bed, and the blue gander screaming opened the door.

It was funny about it too.