“Yes.”

“I want ter ask you, how yer kep’ them there fel’s from a dyin’?  ’Cause when they’re bin tuk like they wuz tuk yer could jest bet every muel in the kerral that they’d peg out in twenty-seven hours at furthest.”

“God did it, not I,” replied Agnes.

“Don’t call me sassin’ yer, agin, Miss Agony, but that ain’t so; ‘cause thar’s nuthin’ ’ll fetch ’em, when they’re tuk the way they wuz tuk.  It’s magic done it, nuthin’ else!”

“Well, in case you should feel the headache, sick stomach, and chill coming on at any time, or fall in with any person suffering that way, remember the following recipe.  Take out your book again and put it down.”

“Yes, Miss Agony, willin’.”

The fellow produced his book and pencil, and holding the former flat up against the door, wrote at Miss Arnold’s dictation: 

“Put the feet immediately into hot and very strong mustard water—­put in plenty of mustard.  Quickly take a strong emetic of ipecac or mustard water.  Go to bed immediately, and send for the doctor.  While waiting for the doctor, get salt mackerel, directly out of the brine, and bind them to the soles of the feet.  And the moment the patient craves any particular article of food or drink, do not hesitate to give it moderately.  If mackerel cannot be obtained, use strong raw onions or garlic.  In a few hours the mackerel will most likely become putrid; if so, remove them, and apply others.”

“Golly!  Golly!  I knowed it was magic—­somethin’ like that, and not medicine at all!” exclaimed the fellow, nodding his head to himself.

“Let me look at your book, to see if you have it correctly written,” said Agnes, stepping partially behind the driver.

“Lor’ bless you, Miss Agony!” he exclaimed, “you’d never be able to read my writin’.  Hold on, an’ I’ll read fur you myself, an’ then yer ken tell me ef I’m wrong.”

As Agnes still manifested a desire to look at the book, however, he held it for her inspection.  But with the exception of here and there a small word, like a or the, she could not decipher any of the scrawl.  So she expressed her desire to hear it read.

The fellow promptly read it all off without a single mistake, much to the astonishment of Miss Arnold.

“Is that all straight, hey, Miss Agony?” asked he, with a comical expression of mingled pride and curiosity running over his countenance.

“Yes,” replied Agnes; “and,” added she, “my name is not what you call it, but Agnes Arnold.”

“Well, now, don’t think I wuz callin’ yer that fur sass, Missus Arnold, for I wuz not.  I’ll hurry along now, for I’ve got a heap to do this mornin’.  Things is a gittin’ wuss an’ wuss every day.”

“I hope they will soon mend,” said Agnes, fervently; “good day.”

“Good-by, Missus Arnold, an’ I hope God’ll take best care uv you, anyhow,” answered the driver.