“‘I should hope so,’ replied I. ‘What is it you require—a lotion or an embrocation?’
“‘I don’t understand those hard words, but I want some doctor’s stuff.’
“‘Very well, my good woman; I know what is proper,’ replied I, assuming an important air. ‘Here, Timothy, wash out this phial very clean.’
“‘Yes, sir,’ replied Timothy very respectfully.
“I took one of the measures, and putting in a little green, a little blue, and a little white liquid from the medicine bottles generally used by Mr. Brookes, filled it up with water, poured the mixture into the phial, corked, and labelled it haustus statim sumendus, and handed it over to the old woman.
“‘Is the poor child to take it, or is it to rub outside?’ inquired the old woman.
“‘The directions are on the label; but you don’t read Latin?’
“‘Deary me, no! Latin! and do you understand Latin? What a nice clever boy!’
“‘I should not be a good doctor if I did not,’ replied I. On second thoughts I considered it advisable and safer that the application should be external, so I translated the label to her: haustus, rub it in; statim, on the throat; sumendus, with the palm of the hand.”
Their next effort at doctoring is humorously described by the novelist in the following words:—