“Hello, old boy!” said Gaspard. “All right?”
“All r-i-i-ght,” said the boy with a deep sigh. “I’m a-w-f-u-l sle-epy.” Gaspard reached down to gather him up in his arms.
“No!” said the chief, placing his hand on Gaspard’s arm. “No! Lie down—good. Better soon—five minutes.” And Gaspard, kneeling there, waited with white, anxious face. The chief spoke a few words to his daughter who was standing near with her child in her arms. She hurried away and came back in a few moments with a tin cup. The chief took it from her.
“Good,” he said with a grunt. “Good. Drink.” Gaspard looked at the stuff doubtfully, then at the girl.
“Yes, it is good. The Indians know it is good,” she said quietly. Gaspard took the cup and waited till Paul opened his eyes again.
“Here, old chap, drink this,” he said, lifting the boy’s head.
“My! Daddy, that’s awful agusting stuff,” he said, screwing up his face.
“Good,” said the chief with emphasis. “Drink. Make all better.”
“Shall I, Daddy?” said the boy.
“The chief says so, Paul, and he knows.”