“Yes, some people like it,” said Gill; “and the doctors have dockroot ointment, and dockroot powder, and dockroot liquid. They know what ‘tis good for, I suppose; but I can’t have it spreading every where among my crops. Then there’s this ragweed; if I let it alone, it will choke out every thing else. To be sure, the birds like the seed, but I have other mouths than theirs to fill.”
“And here’s a mullein, Gill, shall I pull it up?”
“I think your little hands would find it tough work; let me manage it.”
“It seems a pity to pull it up, and throw it away to wilt. What a long, hairy stalk it has, and what pretty yellow flowers, and how woolly the leaves feel,—just like flannel!”
“You can boil them in lard and make an ointment of them, to soften and soothe with. And you can steep the young leaves in water for cough mixtures.”
“You know a great deal about plants, don’t you, Gill?”
“That’s pretty much all I do know. I live among them, and I study them in the books, and out of the books. I like to study them; there’s no better learning than to look into the things that God has made.”
“What’s this?” asked Sally, pulling up a slender green stem, with long “spider legs” branching out from point to point of the stalk, until it looked like a miniature pine tree.
“That is what they call the field horsetail,” said Gill, “but a prettier name is low pine, or pine-weed, as some say. There’s another kind with a long stem of a light-brown color, with a darker-colored sheath at each joint, and, at the top of the stem, a head shaped like a pine cone. You find it on low, damp ground, and among the meadow grass. People fancy that it hurts horses, but Dobbin has eaten quantities of it with the hay, and isn’t any the worse.”
“I hope nothing will ever hurt Dobbin,” said Sally.