Yan carried his note-book—­he used it more and more, also his sketching materials.  On the road he gathered a handful of flowers and herbs.  His reception by the old woman was very different this time.

“Come in, come in, God bless ye, an’ hoo air ye, an’ how is yer father an’ mother—­come in an’ set down, an’ how is that spalpeen, Sam Raften?”

“Sam’s all right now,” said Yan with a blush.

“All right!  Av coorse he’s all right.  I knowed I’d fix him all right, an’ he knowed it, an’ his Ma knowed it when she let him come.  Did she say onything about it?”

“No, Granny, not a word.”

“The dhirty hussy!  Saved the boy’s life in sphite of their robbin’ me an’ she ain’t human enough to say ’thank ye’—­the dhirty hussy!  May God forgive her as I do,” said the old woman with evident and implacable enmity.

“Fwhat hev ye got thayer?  Hivin be praised, they can’t kill them all off.  They kin cut down the trees, but the flowers comes ivery year, me little beauties—­me little beauties!” Yan spread them out.  She picked up an Arum and went on.  “Now, that’s Sorry-plant, only some calls it Injun Turnip, an’ I hear the childer call it Jack-in-the-Pulpit.  Don’t ye never put the root o’ that near yer tongue.  It’ll sure burn ye like fire.  First thing whin they gits howld av a greeny the bhise throis to make him boite that same.  Shure he niver does it twicet.  The Injuns b’ile the pizen out o’ the root an’ ates it; shure it’s better’n starvin’.”

Golden Seal (Hydrastis canadensis), the plant she had used for Sam’s knee, was duly recognized and praised, its wonderful golden root, “the best goold iver came out av the ground,” was described with its impression of the seal of the Wise King.

“Thim’s Mandrakes, an’ they’re moighty late, an’ ye shure got thim in the woods.  Some calls it May Apples, an’ more calls it Kingroot.  The Injuns use it fur their bowels, an’ it has cured many a horse of pole evil that I seen meself.

“An’ Blue Cohosh, only I call that Spazzum-root.  Thayer ain’t nothin’ like it fur spazzums—­took like tay; only fur that the Injun women wouldn’t live in all their thrubles, but that’s something that don’t consarn ye.  Luk now, how the laves is all spread out like wan wid spazzums.  Glory be to the Saints and the Blessed Virgin, everything is done fur us on airth an’ plain marked, if we’d only take the thruble to luk.

“Now luk at thot,” said she, clawing over the bundle and picking out a yellow Cypripedium, “that’s Moccasin-plant wid the Injuns, but mercy on ’em fur bloind, miserable haythens.  They don’t know nothin’ an’ don’t want to larn it.  That’s Umbil, or Sterrick-root.  It’s powerful good fur sterricks.  Luk at it!  See the face av a woman in sterricks wid her hayer flyin’ an’ her jaw a-droppin’.  I moind the toime Larry’s little gurrl didn’t want to go to her ‘place’ an’ hed sterricks.  They jest sent fur me an’ I