"Er--have any of you seen a white kid glove lying about?" said the Dodo, anxiously.

"Is that it?" asked d.i.c.k, pointing to the enormous object lying at his feet.

The Dodo gave a start.

"Er--er--oh--my!" he exclaimed. "I do believe--why, surely it isn't--yes--yes--bless me, if I don't believe that it really _is_ my glove. Why, whatever has happened to it?"

"It certainly looks rather large for you," remarked the Palaeotherium.

"Large! why it's prodigious!" exclaimed the Dodo.

"What size do you wear?" asked Marjorie, who was enjoying the fun.

The Dodo undid the glove which he had on and looked inside.

"Sevens," he remarked.

"And this," said d.i.c.k, kicking the enormous glove open, "is marked ninety-nines!"

"I don't believe I _could_ wear that size," said the bird, disconsolately. "Whatever is to be done?"

"I should get inside it altogether, if I were you," suggested d.i.c.k.

"Don't be ridiculous," said the Dodo, beginning to cry. "It's bad enough to--to--have one's gloves car--carrying on in this fas-fashion, without being laughed at by--by a parcel of cre--creatures that don't care anything about their per--per--personal appearance, and who--who nev--never wore a p--p--pair of gloves in their lives!"

"Oh!" cried Marjorie, "I'm sure _we_ wear gloves when we are at home, don't we, d.i.c.k?"

"Of course," said he.

"And me, too," declared Fidge; "me wears goves."

"I don't believe it," sobbed the Dodo; "and if I did, I wouldn't, so there!"

"I think you are an awful cry-baby," said d.i.c.k; "I should be ashamed, if I were you, to be always sniveling about nothing."

The Dodo didn't answer, but sat down beside the enormous glove, and continued to sob and cry till his eyes, which were never very beautiful, became swollen and red, and his little lace handkerchief was wringing wet with his tears.

Marjorie, in her kind-hearted way, tried to comfort him, and privately suggested to d.i.c.k that, as the poor bird seemed so very much cut up about his glove, that he should restore it to its natural size again.

This, however, d.i.c.k positively refused to do for the present, and the Dodo becoming worse instead of better, the Archaeopteryx said he should go and fetch a doctor.

"Oh, do!" cried the Dodo, sitting up, and becoming interested at once.

"I _love_ doctors, they give you such nice stuff to take."

"Ough!" shuddered Marjorie.

"I'm sure they do, then," said the Dodo; "lovely little pills with sugar on them, and powders in jam--oh, lovely! Don't you think powders in jam delicious?" he asked, appealing to d.i.c.k.

"No; I certainly don't," was the reply, as the Archaeopteryx, followed by a funny-looking little old man, came running back.

The Prehistoric Doctor--for so the children found he was called--was dressed in a coa.r.s.e coat made of bear's skin, under which was a spotless shirt-front and collar; an old-fashioned pair of horn-rimmed spectacles completed his costume, while some dangerous-looking surgical instruments projected from a rough pocket tacked on to the side of his coat.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Tut, tut, this is serious,' said the Doctor."]

"Ah!--h'm! and _how_ are we feeling this morning?" he said, kindly, going up to the Dodo.

The bird turned up his eyes pathetically and gave a sigh.

"Like a dying duck in a thunderstorm," whispered d.i.c.k, and Marjorie had to hold her handkerchief to her mouth to keep from giggling out loud.

"Ah! How is the pulse?" continued the Doctor, in a soothing voice.

The Dodo gravely extended the pinion with the glove on it.

This seemed to puzzle the Doctor a little at first, but after looking at it for a moment through his spectacles, he fished an enormous silver watch out of another pocket in his skin coat, and carefully pinching the glove between his finger and thumb, regarding his timepiece anxiously.

This operation over, he shook his head gravely, and demanded to see the Dodo's tongue.

"Oh! I couldn't!" simpered the bird; "I really couldn't; it's so rude to put out one's tongue, you know."

A little persuasion, however, on the part of the Doctor prevailed upon him to open his enormous beak, and the examination was proceeded with.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "They hurried to the station."]

"Tut! tut! this is serious!" exclaimed the Doctor, regarding the Dodo's tongue critically. "We must have a change of air immediately, and thorough rest. I will go and make you up a little prescription, and I would advise you to start at once. The air at--er--the Crystal Palace would suit you admirably. There is an excursion starting to-day. I should certainly go by that if I were you."

"The Crystal Palace! Why, that's near London!" cried Marjorie, excitedly. "Can't we go by the excursion, too?"

"Of course you can," chimed in the Palaeotherium; "we'll all go, and make up a nice little family party."

So, without further ado--the Doctor having made up his prescription, consisting of a large bottle of "bull's eyes," one to be taken every quarter of an hour--they hurried to the station, at the door of which a most energetic porter was ringing a huge bell.

CHAPTER XVII.

WAITING FOR THE TRAIN.

They found, on reaching the station, which was a very primitive affair with a thatched roof, that the booking-office was closed.

"Clerk be goned away for 'ees 'oliday," explained the Porter, with a grin.

"Then whatever are we going to do about tickets?" asked Marjorie, anxiously, for the trip to the Crystal Palace seemed to afford such an excellent opportunity of getting home again that she was anxious not to miss it.

"He may be back before the train comes in," said the Archaeopteryx; "there doesn't seem to be one in sight, and we often have to wait weeks and weeks for a train here, you know."

"But what was he ringing the bell for, then?" inquired d.i.c.k, "if the train isn't coming in."