"Yes'm," assented Samanthy.
"Wall," rejoined Mrs. Putnam, "of course I know who it wuz yer wuz talkin' to. Did she make the plaster?"
"Yes'm," again assented Samanthy.
"Give it to me," said Mrs. Putnam.
Samanthy passed it to her, and the old lady crumpled it in her hand's and threw it across the room. "Now go down stairs, Samanthy Green, and make me a mustard plaster, as I told yer to, and when I git up outer this I'll see if I can't git somebody to wait on me that kin tell the truth 'thout my havin' to help 'em."
In the course of half an hour the new plaster was made and applied, and a bright fire was shedding its warmth into the room.
"Go down stairs and git yer breakfast," said Mrs. Putnam. "'Tis a trifle early, but I hearn tell that lyin' makes people hungry."
As Samanthy gave her an inquiring look, Mrs. Putnam said, "No, I don't want nothin' to eat or drink nuther, but when yer git the dishes washed I want yer ter go on an errand for me."
It was half past six when Samanthy Green again stood in Mrs. Putnam's room.
"I want yer to go right down to Zeke Pettengill's and tell his sister Alice that I want her to come right up here. Tell her it's my las' sickness, and I won't take 'no' for an answer. Be sure you put it to her jest as I do; and Samanthy," as Samanthy opened the door and was leaving the room, "say, Samanthy, don't git anybody to do the errand for you."