ic, doctor. I never was no hand
to swaller medicine when I was young, and the obnoxion seems to grow on
me ez I git older.

Not all that toddy? You'll have me in a drunkard's grave yet,--you an'
Sonny together,--ef I don't watch out.

That nutmeg gives it a mighty good flavor, doc'. Ef any thing ever does
make me intemp'rate, why, it'll be the nutmeg an' sugar thet you all
smuggle the liquor to me in.

It does make me see clairer, I vow it does, either the nutmeg or the
sperit, one.

There's Sonny's step, now. I can tell it quick ez he sets it on the back
steps. Sence I'm sort o' laid up, Sonny gits into the saddle every day
an' rides over the place an' gives orders for me.

Come out here, son, an' shake hands with the doctor.

Pretty warm, you say it is, son! An' th' ain't nothin' goin' astray on
the place? Well, that's good. An', doc', here, he says thet his bill for
this visit is a unwarranted extravagance 'cause they ain't a thing I
need but to start on the downward way thet leads to ruin. He's got me
all threatened with the tremens now, so thet I hardly know how to match
my pronouns to suit their genders an' persons. He's give me fully a
tablespoonful o' the reverend stuff in one toddy. I tell him he must
write out a prescription for the gold cure an' leave it with me, so's in
case he should drop off befo' I need it, I could git it, 'thout applyin'
to a strange doctor an' disgracin' everybody in America by the name o'
Jones.

Do you notice how strong he favors _her_ to-day, doctor?

I don't know whether it's the toddy I've took thet calls my attention to
it or not.

[Illustration: "When I set here by myself on this po'ch so much these
days an' think."]

She always seemed to see me in him--but I never could. Far ez I can
see, he never taken nothin' from me but his sect--an' yo' name, son, of
co'se. 'Cep'in' for me, you couldn't 'a' been no Jones--'t least not in
our branch.

Put yo' hand on my forr'd, son, an' bresh it up'ards a few times, while
I shet my eyes.

Do you know when he does that, doc', I couldn't tell his hand from hers.

He taken his touch after her, exact--an' his hands, too, sech good firm
fingers, not all plowed out o' shape, like mine. I never seemed to
reelize it tell she'd passed away.

That'll do now, boy. I know you want to go in an' see where the little
wife is, an' I've no doubt you'll find her with a wishful look in her
eyes, wonderin' what keeps you out here so long.