kind-hearted Aunt Lucy, “but I was a feeding it with apple pie—nothing in the world but plain apple pie, ’twouldn’t hurt a flea—when she come along, and, in her pleasant way, said, ‘I would rather the baby have nothing to eat, Mrs. Nutting.’ I was most scared, for fear I’d done something sinful.”
Arthur was now trying the use of his little lungs, and powerfully, too, much to the discomfort of the guests and myself.
“Can’t you give the child something to quiet it?” said Aunt Lucy. “Some catnip tea would be good.”
“Not half so good as piny root,” said Mrs. Higgins, “or some camphor sling.”
“Now, that reminds me,” chimed in Mrs. Gove, “of one injury that these temperance societies have done. Babies didn’t use to cry so when I was young; and I never thought, when I had a baby, that I could do without a decanter of gin. There’s nothing like it for the cholic; and then it would strengthen you up, Mrs. Wadsworth, and set you right upon your feet again.”
“That’s just what I tell her,” said the nurse; “but there ain’t a drop in the house, and Mr. Wadsworth says that he prefers not to use it unless the doctor prescribe.”
“Well, well, every one to their notion,” said Mrs. Higgins. “I’m not certain but soot tea will answer the purpose as well—that’s one of my favourite remedies.”
“I must go now,” said Aunt Lucy, as she rose to depart, “for my old man will be wanting his supper; but between sundown and dark I’ll run over with some arbs, catnip and sage, and thoroughwort. I reckon I can cure the baby.”
In the mean while I had exerted all my strength to hush the little sufferer, and he now lay asleep upon my arm; but I was covered with a profuse perspiration, and, as soon as the child was removed, fell back exhausted.
The next day, about the same hour, Arthur commenced crying again, and it continued so long and loud that I became thoroughly alarmed. Poor Mrs. Bagly did her best, but all in vain. I removed the pins and loosened his dress, but it did no good, he cried without ceasing.
