“‘The doctor,’ says I, ’I think you had better have the doctor.  I think you need him much worse than some folks I could mention.’  And I looked right straight at Luella Miller laughin’ and cryin’ and goin’ on as if she was the centre of all creation.  All the time she was actin’ so—­seemed as if she was too sick to sense anythin’—­she was keepin’ a sharp lookout as to how we took it out of the corner of one eye.  I see her.  You could never cheat me about Luella Miller.  Finally I got real mad and I run home and I got a bottle of valerian I had, and I poured some boilin’ hot water on a handful of catnip, and I mixed up that catnip tea with most half a wineglass of valerian, and I went with it over to Luella’s.  I marched right up to Luella, a-holdin’ out of that cup, all smokin’.  ‘Now,’ says I, ’Luella Miller, ‘you swaller this!’

“‘What is—­what is it, oh, what is it?’ she sort of screeches out.  Then she goes off a-laughin’ enough to kill.

“‘Poor lamb, poor little lamb,’ says Aunt Abby, standin’ over her, all kind of tottery, and tryin’ to bathe her head with camphor.

“‘You swaller this right down,’ says I. And I didn’t waste any ceremony.  I just took hold of Luella Miller’s chin and I tipped her head back, and I caught her mouth open with laughin’, and I clapped that cup to her lips, and I fairly hollered at her:  ‘Swaller, swaller, swaller!’ and she gulped it right down.  She had to, and I guess it did her good.  Anyhow, she stopped cryin’ and laughin’ and let me put her to bed, and she went to sleep like a baby inside of half an hour.  That was more than poor Aunt Abby did.  She lay awake all that night and I stayed with her, though she tried not to have me; said she wa’n’t sick enough for watchers.  But I stayed, and I made some good cornmeal gruel and I fed her a teaspoon every little while all night long.  It seemed to me as if she was jest dyin’ from bein’ all wore out.  In the mornin’ as soon as it was light I run over to the Bisbees and sent Johnny Bisbee for the doctor.  I told him to tell the doctor to hurry, and he come pretty quick.  Poor Aunt Abby didn’t seem to know much of anythin’ when he got there.  You couldn’t hardly tell she breathed, she was so used up.  When the doctor had gone, Luella came into the room lookin’ like a baby in her ruffled nightgown.  I can see her now.  Her eyes were as blue and her face all pink and white like a blossom, and she looked at Aunt Abby in the bed sort of innocent and surprised.  ‘Why,’ says she, ‘Aunt Abby ain’t got up yet?’

“‘No, she ain’t,’ says I, pretty short.

“‘I thought I didn’t smell the coffee,’ says Luella.

“‘Coffee,’ says I.  ‘I guess if you have coffee this mornin’ you’ll make it yourself.’

“‘I never made the coffee in all my life,’ says she, dreadful astonished.  ’Erastus always made the coffee as long as he lived, and then Lily she made it, and then Aunt Abby made it.  I don’t believe I can make the coffee, Miss Anderson.’