gin to itch, and then you mustn’t scratch it, or it will be worse. Want me to call cousin Bess?”
“Not now,” said Fred, as he struck the repeater that his father had bought for him soon after his return from Boston. “Only five o’clock, three hours to breakfast time. It would be too bad to disturb her.”
Rob subsided into drowsiness for a few moments, but his conscience would not let him sleep, when he knew Fred was so uncomfortable.
“I’ll tell you, Fred,” he said suddenly, “they told me once, just as I was getting over it, that plantain leaves are good for poison. You just keep quiet, and I’ll go look for some.”
And he sprang out of bed and hastily pulled on his clothes, without stopping for shoes and stockings. Out he ran, barefooted, over the dewy lawn, looking here and there for the coveted plant. But it was not in vain that Jack Rogers had a fine gardener for his summer home, and to the water’s edge the smooth, even turf was broken by no weed. At last, out by the back door, Rob discovered two of the
