I know how to do that, for I have
done a lot of nussin' in my life. And then it seemed nat'ral to
ask her to put out her tongue, and when she did it I
gave a look at it and nodded my head. `Do you think it is her
brain?' said the old woman, half whisperin'. `Can't say anything
about that yit,' said I. `I must go down-stairs and get the
medicine-case. The fust thing to do is to give her a draught,
and I will bring it up to her as soon as it is mixed.' You have
got a pocket medicine-case with you, haven't you?"
"Oh, yes," said I. "It is in my overcoat."
"I knowed it," said Uncle Beamish. "An old doctor might go
visitin' without his medicine-case, but a young one would be sure
to take it along, no matter where he was goin'. Now you get it,
please, quick."
"My notion is," said he, when I returned from the kitchen
with the case, "that you mix somethin' that might soothe her a
little, if she has got anything the matter with her brain, and
which won't hurt her if she hasn't. And then, when I take it up
to her, you tell me what symptoms to look for. I can do it--I
have spent nights lookin' for symptoms. Then, when I come down
and report, you might send her up somethin' that would keep her
from gettin' any wuss till the doctor can come in the mornin',
for he ain't comin' here to-night."
"A very good plan," said I. "Now, what can I give her? What
is the patient's age?"
"Oh, her age don't matter much," said Uncle Beamish,
impatiently.
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