"Co'se you cayn't cure her," says she, "no stuff in bottles for that, honey! What the ghos' want?"
"Nothing at all," said I. "It just sits on the bed and looks."
"Laws, honey, Miss Jessop, but that yer kine's the wors' of all," says she, staring at me. "She'll jes' have ter leave it onto somebody else, that's all."
"Why, can you do that?" I asked.
"Sure you can do it," she says. "Was it one that loved her?"
"They all say so," said I.
She struck her hands together.
"I knew it—I knew it!" she cried out. "It's always that-a-way. My ole mudder she had that ha'nt fer ten years, and it was her half-sister that brung her up from three years ole! She'll jes' have ter leave it onto some one."
"Well, I'll tell her so," said I, just in joke, of course.
"You do," says she, solemn as the grave, "you do, Miss Jessop, honey, an' she'll bless you all her life. You get some one ter say they'll take that ha'nt off her right w'ile it's there, so it hears 'em, and w'ile there's a witness there ter hear bofe sides, an' you hear to me, now, she'll go free!"