“'I know he is,' says Kenelm, solemn as a roostin' pullet, 'but we've been fishin' with the wrong bait. 'Tain't consumption that's ailin' you, Hannah; you've got the heaves.'
“So Hannah didn't cough much more, 'cause, when she did, Kenelm would trot out the bottle of horse med'cine, and chuck overboard a couple of barrels of sarcasm. She tried openin' all the windows, sayin' she needed fresh air, but he locked himself up in the kitchen and filled that so full of smoke that you had to navigate it by dead reckonin'—couldn't see to steer. So she was about ready to give up; somethin' that anybody but a stubborn critter like her would have done long afore.
“But one afternoon she was down to the sewin' circle, and the women folks there, havin' finished pickin' to pieces the characters of the members not on hand, started in to go on about the revivals and how much good they was doin'. 'Most everybody had some relation, if 'twa'n't nothin' more'n a husband, that had stopped smokin' and chewin'. Everybody had some brand from the burnin' to brag about—everybody but Hannah; she could only set there and say she'd done her best, but that Kenelm still herded with the goats.
“They was all sorry for her, but the only one that had any advice to give was Abbie Larkin, she that was Abbie Dillin'ham 'fore she married old man Larkin. Larkin had one foot in the grave when she married him, and she managed to crowd the other one in inside of a couple of years afterward. Abbie is a widow, of course, and she is middlin' good-lookin' and dresses pretty gay. Larkin left her a little money, but I guess she's run through most of it by this time. The circle folks was dyin' to talk about her, but she was always on hand so early that they hardly ever got a chance.
“Well, after supper was over, Abbie gets Hannah over in a corner, and says she:
“'Miss Parker,' says she, 'here's an advertisement I cut out of the paper and saved a-purpose for you. I want you to look at it, but you mustn't tell anybody I gave it to you.'
“So Hannah unfurls the piece of newspaper, and 'twas an advertisement of 'Kill-Smudge,' the sure cure for the tobacco habit. You could give it to the suff'rer unbeknownst to him, in his tea or soup or somethin', and in a couple of shakes he'd no more smoke than he'd lend money to his brother-in-law, or do any other ridic'lous thing. There was testimonials from half a dozen women that had tried it, and everyone showed a clean bill.
“Hannah read the advertisement through twice. 'Well, I never!' says she.
“'Yes,' says Abbie, and smiles.
“'Of course,' says Hannah, lookin' scornful, 'I wouldn't think of tryin' the stuff, but I'll just take this home and read it over. It's so curious,' she says.