So I at once made my preperations for faith cure. I het some Pond’s Extract in a little cup on the gas—I had brung a little contrivance from home that fitted the burner.
I het that extract as hot as I could bear it, and bathed that shoulder blade in the soothin’ mixture; I then wet a cloth in anarky, and rubbed it for a quarter of a hour by the clock; I then put on a strong poreus plaster I had by me, made from healin’ herbs; and then I het some more Pond’s Extract, and put in some tincture of wormwood—I had a little in a bottle—and I wet a woollen cloth in it and laid it over the blade. I then filled my hot-water bag with water and laid myself down on the bed, with the warm, soothin’ rubber bag pressed clost to the achin’ blade.
And then, havin’ completed these simple preleminaries, I leaned on the Faith Cure—I leaned heavy, and anon I felt that I had hit on the right plan. The pain grew lighter and lighter, my thoughts of the contrarytemps grew more peaceful and as if I could bear it. I felt that I could forgive Josiah, and then I knew nothin’ further for a long time.
Samantha’s Faith Cure.
Anon I seemed to be back in Jonesville; Philury and I wuz down in our back paster a-pickin’ rossberrys. The sun shone down warm as I stooped over the pink, laden boughs.
The crick under the hill tinkled melogiously—somebody wuz tunin’ it, I thought. It seemed to be playin’ melogious cords I had never hearn before. A bird flew out of the deep, green depths of Balcom’s woods; it flew up in front of me and lighted on my forward, and said—
“How do you feel, Samantha? Are you worse?”
I had layed there for five hours by the clock, and it wuz my own pardner’s hand on my forward that rousted me up.
“No,” sez I, “Josiah; I am much better than I wuz.”