“I, a subject for hydropathy! Why, child, water is no more necessary to me, than it is to a cat.”
“But going to sea, aunty, is not hydropathy—”
“Don’t say that, Rosy; do not say that, my dear. It is hydropathy on a large scale, as Capt. Spike says, and when he gets us into blue water, he has promised that you shall have all the benefits of the treatment.”
Rose was silent and thoughtful; after which she spoke quickly, like one to whom an important thought had suddenly occurred.
“And Capt. Spike, then, was consulted in my case?” she asked.
“He was, my dear, and you have every reason to be grateful to him. He was the first to discover a change in your appearance, and to suggest a sea voyage. Marine Hydropathy, he said, he was sure would get you up again; for Capt. Spike thinks your constitution good at the bottom, though the high color you have proves too high a state of habitual excitement.”
“Was Dr. Monson consulted at all, aunt?”
“Not at all. You know the doctors are all against hydropathy, and mesmerism, and the magnetic telegraph, and every thing that is new; so we thought it best not to consult him.”
“And my aunt Sprague?”
“Yes, she was consulted after every thing was settled, and when I knew her notions could not undo what had been already done. But she is a seaman’s widow, as well as myself, and has a great notion of the virtue of sea air.”