Part 11 (1/2)

”Almost,” said Sam, hesitating.

”The wormwood-tea did you good, it seems; but you're not quite well yet.”

”I'll soon be well,” said Sam, hastily.

”I mean you shall be,” said his visitor. ”I've brought you some more medicine.”

”Is it tea?”

”No, castor-oil.”

”I don't need it,” said Sam, getting up quickly. ”I'm well.”

”If you are not well enough to go to work, you must take some oil.”

”Yes, I am,” said Sam. ”I'll go right out into the field.”

”I don't want you to go unless you are quite recovered. I'm sure the oil will bring you 'round.”

”I'm all right, now,” said Sam, hastily.

”Very well; if you think so, you can go to work.”

Rather ruefully Sam made his way to the potato-field, with his hoe on his shoulder.

”Tea and castor-oil are worse than work,” he thought. ”The old woman's got the best of me, after all. I wonder whether she knew I was makin'

believe.”

On this point Sam could not make up his mind. She certainly seemed in earnest, and never expressed a doubt about his being really sick. But all the same, she made sickness very disagreeable to him, and he felt that in future he should not pretend sickness when she was at home. It made him almost sick to think of the bitter tea he had already drunk, and the oil would have been even worse.

The deacon looked up as he caught sight of Sam.

”Have you got well?” he asked innocently, for he had not been as clear-sighted as his wife in regard to the character of Sam's malady.

”Yes,” said Sam, ”I'm a good deal better, but I don't feel quite so strong as I did.”

”Mebbe it would be well for you to fast a little,” said the deacon, in all sincerity, for fasting was one of his specifics in case of sickness.

”No, I don't think it would,” said Sam, quickly. ”I'll feel better by supper-time.”

”I hope you will,” said the deacon.

”I wish I had a piece of pie or somethin' to take the awful taste out of my mouth,” thought Sam. ”I can taste that wormwood jist as plain! I wonder why such things are allowed to grow.”

For the rest of the afternoon Sam worked unusually well. He was under the the deacon's eye, and unable to get away, though he tried at least once. After they had been at work for about an hour, Sam said suddenly, ”Don't you feel thirsty, Deacon Hopkins?”

”What makes you ask?” said the deacon;

”Because I'd jist as lieves go to the house and get some water,” said Sam, with a very obliging air.