The old woman put on her specticles, and looked at it, and felt it all over, while Mary was holdin’ it in her lap by the fire.
“Don’t be skared,” ses she. “Don’t be skared, my child, maybe it’s nothing but the hives, or the yaller thrash, or some other baby ailment, what won’t hurt it.”
“Oh, it’ll dy—I know it will,” ses Mary.
“Maybe its only sick at its little stummick, muther,” ses sister Carline, “and some sut tea is the best thing in the world for that, they say.”
“And if it’s the thrash, some catnip tea will drive it out in half a ower,” ses the old woman. “Prissy, make some catnip tea, quick as you can.”
“And have some water warmed to bathe its little feet in,” ses sister Kesiah; “for maybe its spasomy.”
“Oh dear, see how it winks its eyes!” ses Mary.
“That ain’t nothing uncommon, dear,” ses her muther.
“Now it’s twitchin’ its little lims again. Oh, it will dy, I know it will.”
“Wouldn’t some saffron tea be good for it?” ses Miss Carline. “Poor little dear!”