Mrs. R. and Mrs. B. Oh yes, I know ’em mighty well.
Mrs. S. Well it was his wife—she followed him out to this State.
Mrs. B. I know’d ’em all mighty well. Her da’ter Lucy was the littlest teeny bit of a thing when it was born I ever did see. But they tell me that when I was born—now I don’t know anything about it myself—but the old folks used to tell me, that when I was born, they put me in a quart-mug, and mought o’ covered me up in it.
Mrs. S. The lackaday!
Mrs. R. What ailment did Lucy die of Mis’ Barny?
Mrs. B. Why, first she took the ager and fever, and took a ’bundance o’ doctor’r means for that. And then she got a powerful bad cough, and it kept gittin’ worse and worse, till at last it turned into a consumption, and she jist nat’ly wasted away, till she was nothing but skin and bone, and she died; but, poor creater, she died mighty happy; and I think in my heart, she made the prettiest corpse, considerin’ of any bod I most ever seed.
Mrs. R. and Mrs. S. Emph! (solemnly.)
Mrs. R. What did the doctors give her for the fever and ager?
Mrs. B. Oh, they gin’ her a ’bundance o’ truck—I don’t know what all; and none of ’em holp her at all. But at last she got over it, somehow or other. If they’d have just gin’ her a sweat o’ bitter yerbs, jist as the spell was comin’ on, it would have cured her right away.
Mrs. R. Well, I reckon sheep-saffron the onliest thing in nater for the ager.