"Thank you, Doctor. Many thanks." He solemnly handed the coin to his benefactor. "All the pain has gone."
Dr. Grenfell stood holding the coin in his hand, wondering how he came to make such a fool of himself, while the fisherman's broad back bent to the oars of the little boat that took him ashore.
A month later, in the same harbor, the same man swung his leg over the rail with a hearty greeting.
"Had any more trouble?" asked the Doctor.
"No—sir! Not an ache out of her since!" came the jovial answer.
The Doctor had much trouble with patients who wanted to drink at one draught all the medicine he gave them. They thought that if a teaspoonful of the remedy was good for you, the whole bottle must be ever so much better.
A haddock's fin-bone was a "liveyere's" charm against rheumatism—but you must get hold of the haddock and cut off the fin before he touches the boat. So you don't often get a fin that is good for anything.
If you want to avoid a hemorrhage, the best plan is to tie a bit of green worsted round your wrist.
Both Protestants and Catholics write prayers on pieces of paper and wear them in little bags about their necks to drive off evil things.
The constant battle against wind and wave develops heroes and heroines, and the tales told of golden deeds such as might earn a Carnegie medal or pension are beyond number.