he turned from Lily to
consult with him.

"I tink dar's hope for Cyd," replied he, a queer smile playing about
his mouth as he glanced at the anxious leader of the party.

"Do you? Then you understand the case--do you?"

"Yes, sar; I do, for sartin. My old massa used to hab jus such fits as
dat," added Quin, his countenance beaming with intelligence.

"What did you do for him?"

"Notin, but put him to bed and let him sleep it off; I tink cold water
good for him. Dat's what missus used to do for old massa when he hab it
bery bad."

At the suggestion of Quin, Cyd was placed outside of the washboard, and
half a dozen buckets of cold water were dashed upon him by the
relentless hand of the negro nurse.

"Wha--wha--wha--" roared Cyd, as the first bucket fell upon him.

"See dar!" exclaimed Quin, triumphantly. "He done git better so quick.
Gib him some more;" and he dashed another pailful upon him.

"Go away dar!" cried Cyd, trying to rise; but Dan held him fast.

"Dat do him heaps ob good," added Quin; and he continued to apply the
harsh remedy.

"Don't do it any more, Quin," interposed Lily, who seemed to think the
remedy was as bad as the disorder.

"Do him power ob good. Drive de fit right away from him," answered Quin,
as he remorselessly dashed another bucket of cold water upon the
patient. "Dat's wat dey call de water-cure."

"Go away dar!" screamed Cyd. "Luff dis chile lone."

"Don't, Quin; he does not like it," said Lily.

"'Pose he don't; nobody likes de medicine."

"But you may kill him," added Dan.

"Kill him! Don't you see he's growin better all de time? Dar; dat'll
do," replied Quin, as he carried the bucket to the forecastle.

"Wha--wha--what's the matter?" demanded Cyd.

"Do you feel better, Cyd?" asked Dan, tenderly, as he permitted the
patient to roll over into the standing room.

"Yes, sar!

'I's born way down 'pon de Mississip;
I's crossed de riber on a cotton-wood chip,'"

roared Cyd, trying to sing a familiar song.

"Why, he is crazy!" exclaimed Lily.

"Yes, missy, he's crazy; but he soon git ober it," answered Quin,
laughing.

"Why do you laugh, Quin? You don't seem to be at all concerned about
him," added Lily.

"Bad fit, missy!"

"What ails him?"

"Bad fit, missy; my ole massa use to hab lots ob dem fits," chuckled
Quin.

"But what kind of a fit is it, Quin?"

"Notin, missy, only Cyd done drink too much whiskey, and get
drunk--dat's all."

CHAPTER X