“Is he better now?” I inquired.
“O, yes; ever so much now. I don’t know what ma called the disease he’s got; but howsomever she said thererwort was good for it, and I guess it is, ’cause he’s better.”
I was called away, and did not see my friend George till a week after our return from the little trip to B. He never mentioned Jenny afterwards, nor said a word about the thoroughwort tea. He took to horses after that, and eventually married a poor, unpretending girl, quite unlike the dark-eyed, beautiful, and wealthy Miss Jenny Kingsbury.
Mrs. Brown still recommends her favorite panacea for all ails, physical or moral; but whenever she mentions it in George’s presence, he exclaims, with a look of disgust,—
“O, confound the thoroughwort!”
VI.
QUACKS.