Four Little Blossoms at Brookside Farm — Themes and Context

Bobby was the oldest. He was seven, and was remarkably like his sister Meg in looks. Both had fair hair and blue eyes. Meg's real name was Margaret Alice Blossom, and she was named for her mother. Bobby's full name was Robert Hayward Blossom. He was just a year older than Meg.

The twins were the funniest and dearest little couple, four years old and as roly-poly, happy-go-lucky a pair of youngsters as ever tumbled into one scrape after another and out again. They were known as Dot and Twaddles to all their friends, but, of course, they had "real" names like other children. Dot was named for an aunt, Dorothy Anna Blossom, and Twaddles was Arthur Gifford Blossom, if you please. Only no one ever called him that.

The Blossom children lived at the very tip end of the long straggling street that divided Oak Hill into two sections; in fact the Blossoms' rambling, comfortable old house was almost outside the town limits. Father Blossom owned the big foundry on the other side of the railroad.

"I'll go in," said Bobby, when they reached the post-office. "You wait here."

He disappeared into the yellow wooden building that was the Oak Hill post-office, and the other Blossoms, seeing a stalled car, stopped to watch the troubles of the interurban motorman whose trolley-car was blocked by a dog that apparently wanted to be run over.

The motorman clanged his bell and a boy on the curbstone whistled shrilly, but the dog refused to budge. He only rolled over on his side.

"He's hurt," said Meg. "See, his foot drags. I'll get him off."

She dashed out into the street and bent over the poor animal. Meg was "just crazy," her brothers said, about animals, and she was never afraid of any four-footed creature. Now, as she leaned over the little dog, he began to lick her hand with his rough tongue.

"His leg's broken," Meg said pityingly to the conductor and the motorman who had joined her. "Oh, the poor doggie! But Doctor Maynard will fix it."

There was a crowd now gathered on the car tracks, and Bobby, who had come out of the post-office and heard from the twins what was going on, pushed his way through to his sister.

"You hold your dress," he directed. "I'll lift him. There!"

The little dog was a heavy armful for Meg, but she held him bravely.

"I'm afraid of strange dogs myself," declared the conductor, plainly relieved that some one else had tended to the dog. "What are you going to do with him, little girl?"

"Take him to the doctor's," announced Meg. "Aren't we, Bobby?"

"Of course," affirmed Bobby.

He and Meg, carrying the dog, went back to where Twaddles and Dot were waiting. The twins were used to waiting patiently while the older children investigated sudden alarms and excitements.

"Let me pat him," begged Dot. "He's pretty, isn't he? Is he hurt, Meg? What are you going to do with him?"

"Take him to Doctor Maynard's," said Meg briefly. "I guess he's in, 'cause it's after four o'clock."

Kind, jolly Doctor Maynard was in. He was the Blossoms' family doctor, and knew the children very well. He didn't seem a bit surprised to have the four of them walk into his consulting room.

"Now, who's sick?" he demanded, pretending to be anxious. "Don't tell me Dot needs gingerbread pills? Or has Twaddles been eating too much layer cake? Dear, dear, you can't all have the whooping cough!"

Meg smiled, a little watery smile. Tears stood in her blue eyes.

"It's this," she said, spreading out her dress on the couch so that the doctor could see the dog. "I think his leg is broken."

Doctor Maynard sat down on the couch and the children crowded around him. The brown eyes of the dog watched him intently as though he knew that help was at hand.

"Yes, it's broken," said the doctor gently, after feeling of the slim little hind leg that dragged so uselessly. "But we can mend it, Meg. I have splints right here."

While the others watched, Doctor Maynard tore off long white strips of cloth and selected two wooden splints. These he placed one on each side of the broken leg and then directed Meg to wind the strips firmly around while he held the splints in place. This was to make the leg grow strong and straight again.

"Doesn't it hurt?" demanded Twaddles curiously.

"Yes, it hurts him," admitted Doctor Maynard, stroking the head of the little dog. "But animals are splendid patients, and they seldom complain. Now, then, our little friend is about as good as new, except that he will have to go on three legs for a bit."