“Soon, give more medicine,” was the reply that Rolf did not want. So he changed his ruse. “I wish you'd take that partridge and make soup of it. I've had my hands in poison ivy, so I dare not touch it.”
“Ach, dot shall I do. Dot kin myself do,” and the fat mother, laying the recent baby in its cradle, made cumbrous haste to cook the bird.
“Foiled again,” was Rolf's thought, but his Yankee wit was with him. He laid one hand on the bowl of snake-root tea. It was lukewarm. “Do you give it hot or cold, Quonab?”
“Hot.”
“I'll take it in and heat it.” He carried it off, thinking, “If Quonab won't let me give the bark extract, I'll make him give it.” In the gloom of the kitchen he had no difficulty in adding to the tea, quite unseen, a quarter of the extract; when heated, he brought it again, and the Indian himself gave the dose.
As bedtime drew near, and she heard the red man say he would sleep there, the little one said feebly, “Mother, mother,” then whispered in her mother's ear, “I want Rolf.”
Rolf spread his blanket by the cot and slept lightly. Once or twice he rose to look at Annette. She was moving in her sleep, but did not awake. He saw to it that the mosquito bar was in place, and slept till morning.
There was no question that the child was better. The renewed interest in food was the first good symptom, and the partridge served the end of its creation. The snakeroot and the quinine did noble work, and thenceforth her recovery was rapid. It was natural for her mother to wish the child back indoors. It was a matter of course that she should go. It was accepted as an unavoidable evil that they should always have those brown crawlers about the bed.
But Rolf felt differently. He knew what his mother would have thought and done. It meant another visit to Warren's, and the remedy he brought was a strong-smelling oil, called in those days “rock oil”—a crude petroleum. When all cracks in the bed and near wall were treated with this, it greatly mitigated, if it did not quite end, the nuisance of the “plague that walks in the dark.”
Meanwhile, Quonab had made good his welcome by working on the farm. But when a week had flown, he showed signs of restlessness. “We have enough money, Nibowaka, why do we stay?”