By this time Aunt Maria, hearing a noise, had come in with a light.
"Are you sick, dear child?"
"No, auntie; I don't know what's the matter; I 'spect it's the blues. I had 'em you know, when the beer came to an end—I mean the world—I mean that night Polly Whiting called me up."
Horace used all his self-control to keep from laughing.
"Well, Cousin Dotty, you do look blue, I declare; as blue as the skimmiest milk of the cheatiest milkman. Mother, isn't there something in the medicine chest that is good for the blues?"
"They are in my side—I mean it," said Dotty, dismally. "I'm afraid it's a—snake?"
Mrs. Clifford took the afflicted child in her arms, and began to question her with regard to the exact spot where she felt the "blues," assuring her that some relief might be afforded if the nature of the trouble could only be discovered.
"O, ho," cried Horace, suddenly; "I know what it is; it's a jigger."
Upon reflection, it was decided that Horace might be right. A little creature called the chègre, had perhaps made its way out of some decayed log and crept in under Dotty's skin, causing all this heat and irritation. There was a small, hard swelling on her side, which appeared to move. Her father asked her if she was willing to have him cut it out with his penknife.
Dotty hesitated; her nerves quivered at sight of the sharp blade.