KNITTING SALE-SOCKS.
"He's took 'ith all the sym't'ms,—thet 's one thing sure! Dretful pain in hez back an' l'ins, legs feel 's ef they hed telegraph-wires inside 'em workin' fur dear life, head aches, face fevered, pulse at 2.40, awful stetch in the side, an' pressed fur breath. You guess it's neuralogy, Lurindy? I do'no' nothin' abeout yer high-flyin' names fur rheumatiz. I don't guess so!"
"But, Aunt Mimy, what do you guess?" asked mother.
"I don' guess nothin' at all,—I nigh abeout know!"
"Well,—you don't think it's"——
"I on'y wish it mebbe the veryaloud,—I on'y wish it mebbe. But that's tew good luck ter happen ter one o' the name. No, Miss Ruggles, I—think—it's—the raal article at first hand."
"Goodness, Aunt Mimy! what"——
"Yes, I du; an' you'll all hev it stret through the femily, every one; you needn't expect ter go scot-free, Emerline, 'ith all your rosy cheeks; an' you'll all hev ter stay in canteen a month ter the least; an' ef you're none o' yer pertected by vaticination, I reckon I"——
"Well, Aunt Mimy, if that's your opinion, I'll harness the filly and drive over for Dr. Sprague."
"Lor'! yer no need ter du thet, Miss Ruggles,—I kin kerry yer all through jest uz well uz Dr. Sprague, an' a sight better, ef the truth wuz knowed. I tuk Miss Deacon Smiler an' her hull femily through the measles an' hoopin'-cough, like a parcel o' pigs, this fall. They du say Jane's in a poor way an' Nathan'l's kind o' declinin'; but, uz I know they say it jest ter spite me, I don' so much mind. You a'n't gwine now, be ye?"