Go yourself. Tell him he must come, dead or alive."

I dragged that poor sick man from his bed and brought him. He looked at

the child and said she was not dying. This was joy unspeakable to me,

but it made my wife as mad as if he had offered her a personal affront.

Then he said the child's cough was only caused by some trifling

irritation or other in the throat. At this I thought my wife had a mind

to show him the door. Now the doctor said he would make the child cough

harder and dislodge the trouble. So he gave her something that sent her

into a spasm of coughing, and presently up came a little wood splinter or

so.

This child has no membranous croup," said he. "She has been chewing a

bit of pine shingle or something of the kind, and got some little slivers

in her throat. They won't do her any hurt."

"No," said I, "I can well believe that. Indeed, the turpentine that is

in them is very good for certain sorts of diseases that are peculiar to

children. My wife will tell you so."

But she did not. She turned away in disdain and left the room; and since

that time there is one episode in our life which we never refer to.

Hence the tide of our days flows by in deep and untroubled serenity.

[

Very few married men have such an experience as McWilliams's, and so the

author of this book thought that maybe the novelty of it would give it a

Sketches New and Old