The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle | Page 5

squirrel was
fighting very hard for its life. The hawk was so frightened when I came
upon it suddenly like this, that it dropped the poor creature and flew
away. I picked the squirrel up and found that two of its legs were badly
hurt. So I carried it in my arms back to the town.
When I came to the bridge I went into the musselman's hut and asked
him if he could do anything for it. Joe put on his spectacles and
examined it carefully. Then he shook his head.
"Yon crittur's got a broken leg," he said--"and another badly cut an' all.
I can mend you your boats, Tom, but I haven't the tools nor the learning
to make a broken squirrel seaworthy. This is a job for a surgeon--and
for a right smart one an' all. There be only one man I know who could
save yon crittur's life. And that's John Dolittle."
"Who is John Dolittle?" I asked. "Is he a vet?"
"No," said the mussel-man. "He's no vet. Doctor Dolittle is a
nacheralist."
"What's a nacheralist?"
"A nacheralist," said Joe, putting away his glasses and starting to fill
his pipe, "is a man who knows all about animals and butterflies and
plants and rocks an' all. John Dolittle is a very great nacheralist. I'm
surprised you never heard of him--and you daft over animals. He
knows a whole lot about shellfish--that I know from my own
knowledge. He's a quiet man and don't talk much; but there's folks who
do say he's the greatest nacheralist in the world."

"Where does he live?" I asked.
"Over on the Oxenthorpe Road, t'other side the town. Don't know just
which house it is, but 'most anyone 'cross there could tell you, I reckon.
Go and see him. He's a great man."
So I thanked the mussel-man, took up my squirrel again and started oft
towards the Oxenthorpe Road.
The first thing I heard as I came into the marketplace was some one
calling "Meat! M-E-A-T!"
"There's Matthew Mugg," I said to myself. "He'll know where this
Doctor lives. Matthew knows everyone."
So I hurried across the market-place and caught him up.
"Matthew," I said, "do you know Doctor Dolittle?"
"Do I know John Dolittle!" said he. "Well, I should think I do! I know
him as well as I know my own wife--better, I sometimes think. He's a
great man--a very great man."
"Can you show me where he lives?" I asked. "I want to take this
squirrel to him. It has a broken leg."
"Certainly," said the cat's-meat-man. "I'll be going right by his house
directly. Come along and I'll show you."
So off we went together.
"Oh, I've known John Dolittle for years and years," said Matthew as we
made our way out of the market-place. "But I'm pretty sure he ain't
home just now. He's away on a voyage. But he's liable to be back any
day. I'll show you his house and then you'll know where to find him."
All the way down the Oxenthorpe Road Matthew hardly stopped
talking about his great friend, Doctor John Dolittle--"M. D." He talked
so much that he forgot all about calling out "Meat!" until we both

suddenly noticed that we had a whole procession of dogs following us
patiently.
"Where did the Doctor go to on this voyage?" I asked as Matthew
handed round the meat to them.
"I couldn't tell you," he answered. "Nobody never knows where he goes,
nor when he's going, nor when he's coming back. He lives all alone
except for his pets. He's made some great voyages and some wonderful
discoveries. Last time he came back he told me he'd found a tribe of
Red Indians in the Pacific Ocean--lived on two islands, they did. The
husbands lived on one island and the wives lived on the other. Sensible
people, some of them savages. They only met once a year, when the
husbands came over to visit the wives for a great feast--Christmas-time,
most likely. Yes, he's a wonderful man is the Doctor. And as for
animals, well, there ain't no one knows as much about 'em as what he
does."
"How did he get to know so much about animals?" I asked.
The cat's-meat-man stopped and leant down to whisper in my ear.
"HE TALKS THEIR LANGUAGE," he said in a hoarse, mysterious
voice.
"The animals' language?" I cried.
"Why certainly," said Matthew. "All animals have some kind of a
language. Some sorts talk more than others; some only speak in
sign-language, like deaf-and-dumb. But the Doctor, he understands
them all--birds as well as animals. We keep it a secret though, him and
me, because folks only laugh at you when you speak of it. Why, he can
even write animal-language. He