“As soon as the woman was gone out with her stamps, the postmaster’s wife tried it and like to have fainted dead away.  She said she might have been able to convince her mind that there wasn’t no bunion on her foot, but she couldn’t convince her foot.  She said there wasn’t no such thing as pain, and the bunion made it its first business to do a little denyin’ on its own account.  You have to be awful careful not to offend a bunion.

[Sidenote:  A Test]

“This mornin’, while Roger was gone after them long, narrow pills that has to be swallowed endways unless you want to choke to death, I reckoned I’d try it on my back.  So I says, right out loud:  ’My back don’t hurt me.  It is all imagination.  I can’t have no pain because there ain’t no such thing.’  Then I stood up right quick, and—­Lord!”

Miss Mattie shook her head sadly at the recollection.  “Do you know,” she went on, thoughtfully, “I wish that woman at the hotel had lumbago?”

Doctor Conrad’s nice brown eyes twinkled, and his mouth twitched, ever so slightly.  “I’m afraid I do, too,” he said.

“If she did, and wanted some of them long narrow pills, would you give ’em to her?”

“Probably, but I’d be strongly tempted not to.”

[Sidenote:  Surprise]

When he took his leave, Miss Mattie, from force of habit, rose from her chair.  “Ouch!” she said, as she slowly straightened up.  “Why, I do believe it’s better.  It don’t hurt nothin’ like so much as it did.”

“Your surprise isn’t very flattering, Mrs. Austin, but I’ll forgive you.  The next time I come up, I’ll take another look at you.  Good-bye.”

Miss Mattie made her way slowly over to the table where the box of capsules lay, and returned, with some effort, to her chair.  She studied both the box and its contents faithfully, once with her spectacles, and once without.  “You’d never think,” she mused, “that a pill of that size and shape could have any effect on a big pain that’s nowheres near your stomach.  He must be a dreadful clever young man, for it sure is a searchin’ medicine.”

XIV

Barbara’s Birthday

“Fairy Godmother,” said Barbara, “I should like a drink.”

[Sidenote:  Fairy Godchild]

“Fairy Godchild,” answered Eloise, “you shall have one.  What do you want—­rose-dew, lilac-honey, or a golden lily full of clear, cool water?”

“I’ll take the water, please,” laughed Barbara, “but I want more than a lily full.”

Eloise brought a glass of water and managed to give it to Barbara without spilling more than a third of it upon her.  “What a pretty neck and what glorious shoulders you have,” she commented, as she wiped up the water with her handkerchief.  “How lovely you’d look in an evening gown.”

“Don’t try to divert me,” said Barbara, with affected sternness.  “I’m wet, and I’m likely to take cold and die.”