Alice had a delightful day at Mandy Maxwell's. The twins, Abraham Mason and Obadiah Strout, sturdy little fellows of the same age as Ezekiel's boy, were full of fun and frolic. Swiss, Uncle Ike's dog, had grown old in the past five years, but the antics of the youngsters overcame at times both age and its accompanying dignity, or love of repose, and he was often as frisky as in his younger days.
Mrs. Crowley told Alice, in confidence, that she “was most dead” with the noise of them, and that, some day, she would be “kilt intirely” by falling over them.
Alice held the little girl for hours, and, remembering Mrs. Hawkins' complaint, called her “Martha” instead of “Mattie.”
After the death of Capt. Obed Putnam, his companion, Uncle Ike came down from his attic and had the room that Quincy occupied when he boarded with Ezekiel Pettingill. He was now eighty-one years of age, and too feeble to go up and down stairs, so his meals were taken to his room.
He was greatly pleased to see Alice and to learn that there had been no return of the trouble with her eyes.
“If we had known as much then as we do now, you wouldn't have needed any doctor, Alice.”
“Why, how's that?” she asked.
“Because the mind governs the body; as we think we are—we are.”
“Well, Uncle Ike, why don't you think you are able to go down stairs and walk back again?”
“I was referring to disease, not the infirmities of old age.”