He wouldn't even allow them sticks, wouldn't old Joe—not he.
Old Worble's aunt Susan got quite young and skittish; and as for old Worble's aunt Susan's mother, who was bedridden, up she had to get on old Joe Wilkings's third visit, and had to toddle across the room. He drilled her—kept on at it; he was there twice a day; and every time she had to get out of bed and toddle across the room. Had to live in her dressing-gown, and could get no peace for the life of her; but, bless you, in ten days she had begun to believe that she had never been bedridden at all, and that it was all fancy! And all in consequence of that strange influence of old Joe Wilkings; that awful determination of his.
Then there were the provisions to prepare for that picnic; and old Joe would insist upon the old folks preparing them. He wouldn't have any young people in it—not he. He was here, there, and everywhere, compelling them to superintend the cooking of the joints and pies—for he was not going to have any beef-tea or arrowroot or pap at the picnic, but all good solid food for robust people.
Well, the eventful day came; and there were the old folks collected at the railway station with their hampers and bags. The whole population of younger folks had turned out to see them off; but not a single one of them was to go, for old Joe wouldn't have anyone under the age of sixty-five, as he said children were always a trouble at an outing. And, what's more, his word seemed to be law, and that was the long and the short of it.
The young people shook their heads forebodingly, and said they didn't know what on earth would come of it all, that they didn't; and they only hoped uncle and aunt and grandfather would come back all right!
But the train came in, and in hopped the old parties, and away they went.
Old Joe Wilkings had his work cut out now, with a vengeance and all: for as soon as they had got away from the younger folks who usually took care of them, they began to think it was all over with them and to give way; but Joe Wilkings roared and shouted at them, and chuckled and threatened until he had brought them all round again. There wasn't to be a single bathchair, or crutch, or even a stick.
"Over she had to go somehow."
Then they got out at the station they had settled on; and old Joe insisted on their carrying the hampers among them down to the river: and, what's more, he chose a way across the fields where there were a lot of stiles to get over; and he made 'em do it, if you'll credit it. Old George Worble's aunt Susan's mother pretended she couldn't, and sat down and wept: but Joe Wilkings had her on her feet again in a twinkling; and over she had to go somehow.
Then old Peter Scroutts began to give way and grizzle for his bath-chair and ear-trumpet, but when old Joe threatened to fight him if he went on about that nonsense, why, he just had to behave himself.
Our doctor had made up his mind that something dreadful was bound to come of the whole thing, and sneaked after them by the next train; but when Joe caught him following them, he was so angry and furious about it, that the doctor was afraid he would have an apoplectic fit unless he went away as Joe commanded him to. So he retired; and
