he spilled some powder of dry leaves. Sam did so. "An' you
take this yer bundle and bile it in two gallons of wather and drink a
glassful ivery hour, an' hev a loive chicken sphlit with an axe an'
laid hot on the place twicet ivery day, till the proud flesh goes, an'
it'll be all right wid ye--a fresh chicken ivery toime, moind ye."

"Wouldn't--turkeys--do--better?" groaned Sam, feebly. "I'm me mother's
pet, Granny, an' expense ain't any objek"--a snort that may have meant
mortal agony escaped him.

"Niver moind, now. Sure we won't talk of yer father an' mother;
they're punished pretty bad already. Hiven forbid they don't lose
the rest o' ye fur their sins. It ain't meself that 'ud bear ony
ill-will."

A long groan cut short what looked like a young sermon.

"What's the plant, Granny?" asked Yan, carefully avoiding Sam's gaze.

"Shure, an' it grows in the woods."

"Yes, but I want to know what it's like and what it's called."

"Shure, 'tain't like nothin' else. It's just like itself, an' it's
called Witch-hazel.

"'Witch-hazel blossoms in the faal,
To cure the chills and Fayvers aall,'

"as cracked Jimmy says."

"I'll show you some av it sometime," said Biddy.

"Can it be made into Lung-balm?" asked Yan, mischievously.

"I guess we'll have to go now," Sam feebly put in. "I'm feeling much
better. Where's my stick? Here, Yan, you kin carry my medicine, an'
be _very_ keerful of it."

Yan took the bundle, not daring to look Sam in the face.

Granny bade them both come back again, and followed to the door with a
hearty farewell. At the same moment she said:

"Howld on!" Then she went to the one bed in the room, which also was
the house, turned down the clothes, and in the middle exposed a lot of
rosy apples. She picked out two of the best and gave one to each of
the boys.

"Shure, Oi hev to hoide them thayer fram the pig, for they're the
foinest iver grew."

"I know they are," whispered Sam, as he limped out of hearing, "for
her son Larry stole them out of our orchard last fall. They're the
only kind that keeps over. They're the best that grow, but a trifle
too warm just now."

"Good-by, and thank you much," said Yan.

"I-feel-better-already," drawled Sam. "That tired feeling has left me,
an' sense tryin' your remedy I have took no other," but added aside,
"I wish I could throw up the stuff before it pisens me," and then,
with a keen eye to the picturesque effect, he wanted to fling his
stick aw