w leaving his patient for a moment went into the fresh air,
both to revive himself and to write a hasty note, begging Doctor Fuller
to send not only some medicine suited to the case, but a pair of
chickens, and a recipe for making them into broth, with such other
material as might be needed.

Fifty miles of forest lay between Sowams and Plymouth, but a swift
runner was dispatched at once with the missive, and the promise of a
rich reward if he hastened his return; then Winslow turned to his
fellow-statesman who stood looking on with an amused smile.

"Master Hampden, know you how to make broth?" demanded he.

"I have no teaching but mother wit," replied Hampden. "And you are
richer in that than I."

"Nay then--here Pibayo, is that thy name?"

"Ahhe," replied the squaw modestly.

"Thou hast corn in store?"

"Ahhe," again replied the woman, and Winslow making the most of his
little stock of Indian words directed her to bruise some of the maize in
her stone mortar, and meantime calling for one of the egg-shaped earthen
stew-pans used by the natives, he half filled it with water, and settled
it into the hot ashes of the open air fire. The maize ready, he winnowed
it in his hands, blowing away the husks and chaff, and poured the rest
into the boiling water.

"So far well," remarked he gayly to Hampden; "but what next? I remember
in the garden of our home at Droitwich there was a gay plot of golden
bloom that my mother called broth marigolds, but we shall hardly come by
such in this wilderness."

"Methinks there are turnips in broth," ventured Hampden.

"And there are turnips in Plymouth, but that is not here," retorted
Winslow. "Come, let us see what herbs Dame Nature will afford."

A little search and some questioning showed the herbalists a goodly bush
of sassafras, and Winslow, who with the rest of his generation ascribed
almost magical virtues to this plant, enthusiastically tugged up several
of its roots, and cleansing them in the brook, sliced them thinly into
his broth. Finally he added a handful of strawberry leaves, the only
green thing to be found, and leaving the mess to stew for a while, he
strained it through his handkerchief, and presented it to his patient
who eagerly drank a pint of it.

Perhaps there really is magic in sassafras, perhaps the child of nature
throve upon this strictly Pre-Raphaelitish composition, perhaps Indian
gruel with strawberry leaves in it and strained through a pocket
ha