Dr. Hilton felt Siller's pulse, looked at her tongue, and then said, with a wise roll of the eye, which almost set Rachel to laughing, "I would advise you, ma'am—ah, to get a quart—ah, of good brandy, and steep some cloves in it, and some—ah,—some—ah,—"
"Snakeroot and cinnamon," chimed in Rachel, looking up from her sewing with a very innocent face.
Now that was exactly what the Doctor was going to say, only he was trying to say it very slowly, so that it would sound like something remarkable, and he did not like to have the words taken out of his mouth. No doctor would have liked it.
"Well, well, young woman," said he rising from the settle in a rage, "if you understand medicine better than I do, miss, I'll give up my patients to you, and you may take charge of 'em."
"Beg pardon, sir," said Rachel; "I only wanted to help you. You seemed to have forgotten part of your bitters."
It was very rude of Rachel to make sport of the Doctor, even though he was only a quack; and her mother told her afterwards she was surprised to see she was no more of a lady.
"Mark my words, Rachel," said Mrs. Lyman, "those who are careless about other people's feelings will have very few friends."
Rachel blushed under her mother's glance, and secretly wished she were as careful of her words as her sweet sister Dorcas.
But I was going to tell you that Dr. Hilton had been looking for Priscilla, because he wished her to go and keep his house a few days while his wife was gone on a visit. Siller told Mrs. Lyman she was always very lonesome there, because there were no children in the house and begged that "the two small girls" might go and stay with her till she got a little used to it,—one night would do.
Mrs. Lyman very seldom allowed Mary or Patience to be gone over night; but to oblige Priscilla, who was always such a good friend of the children in all their little sicknesses, she consented.