“Well, now it’s ready, if you’ll eat it,” she said, turning to us. “Best we’ve got. Sit up. Take some pone;” and she sat down in the rocker at one end of the table. We took seats at the other end.
“Jupiter! what’s the matter with this child?” A little white child that had crawled up into the gallery, and now to my side—flushed face, and wheezing like a high-pressure steamboat.
“Got the croup, I reckon,” answered the woman. “Take some ’lasses.”
The child crawled into the room. With the aid of a hand it stood up and walked round to its mother.
“How long has it been going on that way?” asked we.
“Well, it’s been going on some days, now, and keeps getting worse. ’Twas right bad last night, in the night. Reckoned I should lose it, one spell. Take some butter.”
We were quite faint with hunger when we rode up, but didn’t eat much of the corn-cake and pork. The woman and the high-pressure child sat still and watched us, and we sat still and did our best, making much of the milk.
“Have you had a physician to see that child?” asked my brother, drawing back his chair.
She had not.
“Will you come to me, my dear?”