“Had a fever?”
“A little—yes.”
“You all alone?”
“There’s a man comes in by and by. He’ll clean up and get things for me.”
Uncle William ignored the pride in the tone. “Jest roll over a little mite. There—” He placed his broad hand under the thin back. “Feel sore there? Kind o’ hurts, don’t it? I thought so—There.” He laid him back gently. “You jest wait a minute.” He was fumbling at the lock that held his box.
“Are you a doctor?” The young man was watching him with half-amused eyes.
“Well, not a doctor exactly.” Uncle William had taken out a small bottle and was holding it up to the light, squinting through it. “But I had a fever once, myself—kep’ a-runnin’.” He had come over to the bedside, the bottle in his hand. “You got a doctor?”
The young man shook his head. “He will come if I send for him.”
Uncle William nodded. “That’s the best kind.” He held out the bottle. “I’d like to give you ’bout five on ’em.”
“What are they?”