TALKIN' about sickness, makes me think of that spring after we sold the old homestead down on Nubbin Ridge, an' moved up here by Bean Blossom. The folks we bought from was powerful sickly, an' I don't wonder at it sence I've reformed, so to speak. They went away to Floridy fur their health as soon as we bought 'em out, but I don't know whether they found it or not. We moved right up here that fall, so as to be here ready fur work in the spring. Well, we wus here in the spring sure enough, an' so was the work, but we wa'n't ready fur it—Baker nor me, neither one.
Part of the house was pritty good an' new,—a two-story front on the side of the kitchen, which was on the north of the house, an' had a bedroom north of it, agin along the end like. The kitchen part had ben built nigh onto forty years, an' was kind of sunk in the ground, an' had a cellar under it that wa'n't walled up nor nothin'. But it kep' our garden stuff from freezin' by bein' banked all round.
We thought we'd build 'fore a great while, but we wa'n't in no hurry. We'd alwas ben well—Baker an' me—exceptin' my rheumatiz an' his bilious spells, which I never drempt we could do without; but we both kep' a-bein' right smart worse that winter, till by the first of March he wus plum down in bed with typhoid, the doctor said, an' I wus that done out an' draggy I couldn't much more'n waggle; an' old Dr. Duncan (he wus tendin' on Baker) says he, "You'd better be careful, Mrs. Baker, or I'll have another patient."
Well, when Baker'd ben dangerous three or four days, an' I'd ben up with him the hull night, one morning I jest set down in the kitchen to rest awhile, if 'twas nine o'clock, fur I couldn't go no longer till I did, with my head a-achin' an' a-singin' as it wus. The table wus settin' jest as we'd had breakfast, an' the floor hadn't ben swep' fur two days (I hadn't had time frum Baker), an' everything looked like a young harrycane had ben a-visitin' us. I'd got Uncle Dan'l Philip's Ben to do the chores and tinker round; but land! I had a time of it, for I couldn't hire a girl nowhere; they wus all afraid of ketchin' the fever.
I hadn't set but a little spell till somebody knocked on the door kind of gentle like, an' thinkin' it wus some of Uncle Dan'lses to see how Baker wus. I set still an' says. "Come in."10
When the door opened, in walked a strange lady (I say "lady," for Sophy is one from the crown of her head to the sole of her foot), an' says she: "I suppose you are Cousin Priscilla. You don't know me tho, so I'll explain. I'm Sophy Randolph, a daughter of Hannah Randolph, your husband's cousin, who lives in Bloomfield."
My stars! thinks I to myself, I wish you was in Halifax! Not but what I like Baker's kin, an' like to have 'em come an' visit us when there's a decent chance of treatin' 'em like white folks. But I managed to say: "O, you are? I'm glad to see you, only Baker's powerful sick, an' I'm afraid you won't enjoy it much," says I.
"Don't worry about my enjoyment," says she, a-kissin' me, "I jest come because he's sick."
An' while she was layin' by her wraps, as she calls her cloak an' things, she told me how she'd jest got home from—Sammy Terryum's, I think she called it, where she'd ben several months a-learnin' how to take care of sick folks; an' her ma a-readin' in the Bean Blossom Globe (she's always took it) about Baker's bein' sick, an' her a-wantin' to come an' "put some of her learnin' into practise," she said, an' her ma a-bein' right in fur it.
Jest then I heard Baker, an' went in to tend on him, an' as he was purty bad, I had to stay quite a spell. When I come out agin, that young woman had washed them dishes, an' swep' an' dusted that kitchen as clean as a new copper, an' was a-steppin' round with my checked apron on a-tendin' to the bird—poor little feller! I'd forgot him. My heart, which had dropped plum down below zero when I first see her, begun to rise right smart, I tell you; fur I see she meant what she said about helpin' me. If ever I needed help, 'twas then. The neighbors come in some, but 'peared like they didn't take holt to do nothin'. We hadn't ben there long, you know, an' they wus mighty skeared of the fever anyways, an' I don't blame 'em overly much neither. None of Uncle Dan'lses wus able to help much, fur they wus about all down with the influenza; so there I wus.
Well, I took Sophy in to see Baker; an' bein' part out of his head, he thought she wus her mother (she does look a sight like her), an' he called her "Hanner," an' kep' a-talkin' about when they wus children.
Purty soon she says, "Why, Cousin Priscilla, there's not enough air in here, is there? an' it's so warm, too!"
"I don't know," says I. "Dr. Duncan had me shet up the winder tight so he wouldn't take cold, an' said to keep a good fire a-goin'."
"Why, that's so strange!" Sophy says, "They taught us at Sammy Terryum's that fever patients should be kep' cool, an' talked so much about havin' the air fresh an' pure."
"Well, I'm in fur what's pure," says I, "but I gen'ally go by them as is s'posed to know. Dr. Duncan's gettin' purty old, an' mebbe he wusn't learnt the same as you've ben. Baker's got the fever, you know, an' I wouldn't have him take cold fur nothin'."
She didn't say nothin' fur a spell, but jest set an' watched Baker, an' bathed his head, an' looked round at the stove an' at the winder now an' agin. I see she wus mighty uneasy, an' I jest happened to think of bein' at Jonas Gaston's down on Nubbin Ridge onst when they had the fever, an' young Dr. Duncan, a son of the old doctor's, a-talkin' jest like Sophy about air, an' urgin' 'em to let in plenty air, not right on 'em, of course, but have it ventilatin' out an' in, an' circulatin'. He said not to keep 'em too warm neither, fur they wus havin' a warm enough time of it. The more I thought about it, the certainer I wus Sophy was right; fur that young man's called the best doctor in Brush County, an's sent fur far an' near. I told her about it, an' then I opened the winder some, top an' bottom (there wa'n't but one), an' we shet off the stove some too, an' 't wa'n't long till Baker quit a-flouncin' round like he'd ben the hull night an' mornin', an' dropped asleep, her a-coolin' his head; an' I see the old doctor was wrong there.
When Baker'd lay quiet a spell, she got up an' motioned me to foller her out, an' asked what I wanted got fur dinner, an' where to find the things, an' then would have me lie down in the front bedroom, an' rest. I never waked till noon, an' when I went out, Ben wus eatin' his dinner, an' she wus comin' out from Baker with an empty glass. She'd coaxed him to drink some milk after he'd woke up. While we eat dinner, she says, "Cousin Priscilla, I don't want to be officious, but don't you think Cousin Felix (she meant Baker) would be more comfortable in the parlor, away from the noise and smells of the kitchen?"
"Yes," says I, "I've ben a-wishin' he wus in there."
An' so, Ben a-helpin', we set up a bed, an' moved him into the front room; an', there bein' a hall between it an' the kitchen, 'twas a heap better fur him, an' comfortabler.
The doctor come that night, an' raised a rumpus about Baker takin' cold, with them winders open.
"There's entirely too much air in here," says he, a-struttin' across the room jest like our old gobbler.
"There haint neither," snapped Baker, jest like he does to me sometimes when nobody's here. Not that he's overbearin' with me, only crabbed now an' agin, like other men.
Then Sophy, tho she wus mighty respectful, begun an' talked quite a spell to Dr. Duncan, an' told as how we all, an' particular anybody sick an' feverish, needs lots of fresh air; an' what his son had said, an' what a fine thing our fireplace wus, a-ventilatin' the air an' carryin' it right up the chimbly. An' then a-lookin' at him as respectful an' confidin', as if he wus a hull doctor college, drug store an' all, says she, "Isn't it true, sir, that a fever patient seldom takes cold?"
At that he made her a bow, an' says, "Well, well, madam, well, well, you are probably right;" an' then, glancin' at me, "We'll see how it'll work in this case, with Mrs. Baker's consent."
I told him to give Sophy his directions out in the kitchen; she could mind 'em better 'n me. So he give 'em, an' she listened right along till he said to give eggnog made of brandy, with an egg beat into it, ever so often. My! how her eyes flashed! an' says she, "I can't do that; for he's burnin' up now."
"He must have it to keep his strength up," says he, a-lookin' like he needed something strengthenin'. Then Sophy begun. She's said since she never give a temperance lecture; but if she'd ben a-talkin' to a church full of folks instead of jest one, I'd a-called it a powerful good lecture, if 't wa'n't long. She got him lectured right smart anyway, fur he finally agreed that to use lemonade in place of the brandy wus "probably as well in this case." I foller'd him out to ask how Baker wus doin', an' he said he thought he'd pull through all right, only he seemed tired, bein' moved; an' then he asked, "Who is that young woman, Mrs. Baker? She's very intelligent, very."—Good Health.