—that kind of goblin never scared a woman in the dark yet. But surely you'll let me laugh when I think of you chiding her gladness in life to-day, when I mind of you last week so desperate throng among the poultices.”
“I'm for none of your lawyer arguments,” said Bell, trying in vain to gag herself with a knitting-pin from one of the Shetland shawls she had been turning out for years with the hope that some day she could keep one for herself. “It might have been that 'she pleased God and was beloved of Him, so that, living among sinners'—among sinners, Dan—'she was translated. Yea, speedily was she taken away, lest that wickedness should alter her understanding, or deceit beguile her soul.'”
“I declare if I haven't forgot my peppermints!” said her brother, quizzing her, and clapping his outside pockets. “A consoling text! I have no doubt at all you could enlarge upon it most acceptably, but confess that you are just as glad as me that there's the like of Dr. Brash.”
“I like the doc,” the child broke in, with most of this dispute beyond her; “he's a real cuddley man. Every time he rapped at my chest I wanted to cry 'Come in.' Say, isn't he slick with a poultice!”
“He was slick enough to save your life, my dear,” said Uncle Dan, soberly. “I'm almost jealous of him now, for Bud's more his than mine.”
“Did he make me better?” asked the child.
“Under God. I'm thinking we would have been in a bonny habble wanting him.”
“I don't know what a bonny habble is from Adam,” said Bud, “but I bet the doc wasn't everything—there was that prayer, you know.”
“Eh?” exclaimed her uncle, sharply.
“Oh, I heard you, Uncle Dan,” said Bud, with a sly look up at him. “I wasn't sleeping really that night, and I was awful liable to have tickled you on the bald bit of your head. I never saw it before. I could have done it easily if it wasn't that I was so tired; and my breath was so sticky that I had to keep on yanking it, just; and you were so solemn and used such dre'ffle big words. I didn't tickle you, but I thought I'd help you pray, and so I kept my eyes shut and said a bit myself. Say, I want to tell you something”—she stammered, with a shaking lip—“I felt real mean when you talked about a sinless child; of course you didn't know, but it was—it wasn't true. I know why I was taken ill: it was a punishment for telling fibs to Kate. I was mighty frightened that I'd die before I had a chance to tell you.”