“Can you not confess your sins directly to God—the God who is everywhere, and governs all things?” said the aged man, impressively, and with animation.
“I have prayed,” said Joe; “but now I want the ointment!”
“Your body, which must be placed in the damp cold earth, needs no oil. It is far better to purify the soul, which perishes not,” said Roughgrove, in fervent and tremulous tones.
“Oh!—Oh! Ugh!” cried Joe, in a deep guttural voice, and turning over on his face. His fears had evidently been increased by the solemn tone and look of Roughgrove.
“Don’t be alarmed, Joe,” said Glenn, turning him again on his back. “Sneak will soon be here, and La-u-na says the plantain will be sure to cure you. William tells me that he has seen the Indians permit the snakes to bite them for a mere trifle in money, so certain were they of being restored by the plant. And indeed he never knew a bite to terminate fatally.”
“But I’m afraid Sneak won’t come in time,” replied Joe, somewhat comforted.
“Pshaw! he won’t loiter in a case of this kind—he knows it is no joke,” continued Glenn.
“But suppose he can’t find any plantain—then I’m dead to a certainty! Oh me!”
“Does the pain increase much?” asked Mary.
“Oh, yes! its ten times worse than it was ten minutes ago! I’m going fast—I can’t move either leg now,” he continued, in a weak utterance.