semblage of the neighbors
and friends from a distance. Horses were fastened to trees, fences and
the sides of the barn, just as on Sunday at the meeting-house or at the
annual town-meeting. The small boy was there in numbers, but only a few
girls. Alas, for the small boy! He was not permitted to play near the
house nor to make the least noise. Instead of a holiday, for him, it
turned out a more serious affair than the usual Puritan Sabbath. Bitter
was my disappointment. My mother, as she left me to go into the house,
warned me to keep very still and be a good boy. Accordingly I remained
under the window of the room in which the operation was to be performed.
The windows were wide open, and I could see and hear all that was said
and done. I had a view of my mother and two other women standing by the
bedside of Amos, fanning him. I could see the face of the sufferer,
pale, emaciated and troubled. Presently I heard the voice of the
minister, and looking toward the foot of the bed, I saw opened before
him the great family Bible from which he was reading. From the frequent
recurrence of the words boils and afflictions I think it must have been
some chapter in Job that he had selected as suitable for the occasion.
After the Scriptures the minister made a long prayer.

Then the dreadful preparations began. I saw the bed-clothing pulled back
and the diseased limb exposed; it was twice its natural size. The
surgeon was the once famous Dr. Miller, of Franklin, reputed the seventh
son of a seventh son, some extraordinary gift in surgery being credited
to such a descent. In his day he performed all the surgical operations
in that part of Massachusetts and the bordering towns of Rhode Island.
Spread out on a small table at his right hand were his instruments,
whose names I did not know, but they interested me immensely. What would
I not have given for one of those dainty polished saws or keen knives
with handsome handles! The room was partly filled with neighbors, mostly
women, ready to lend their aid to the surgeon and to comfort the
patient, whose family sat weeping in an adjoining room. Amos' eyes were
now closed and his mouth set firm. As the tourniquet was twisted tighter
and tighter the lines in his brow grew deeper. He breathed hard and a
moan, the only one, escaped him as the knife went through the outer
skin. It was not long before the sound of the saw came through the open
window. The operation was over and the leg had take