CHAPTER VII.
SAM MEETS HIS MATCH.
Sam went upstairs with alacrity, and lay down on the bed,--not that hewas particularly tired, but because he found it more agreeable to liedown than to work in the field.
"I wish I had something to read," he thought,--"some nice dime novellike 'The Demon of the Danube.' That was splendid. I like it a gooddeal better than Dickens. It's more excitin'."
But there was no library in Sam's room, and it was very doubtfulwhether there were any dime novels in the house. The deacon belongedto the old school of moralists, and looked with suspicion upon allworks of fiction, with a very few exceptions, such as Pilgrim'sProgress, and Robinson Crusoe, which, however, he supposed to be truestories.
Soon Sam heard the step of Mrs. Hopkins on the stairs. He immediatelybegan to twist his features in such a way as to express pain.
Mrs. Hopkins entered the room with a cup of hot liquid in her hand.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"I feel bad," said Sam.
"Are you in pain?"
"Yes, I've got a good deal of pain."
"Whereabouts?"
Sam placed his hand on his stomach, and looked sad.
"Yes, I know exactly what is the matter with you," said the deacon'swife.
"Then you know a good deal," thought Sam, "for I don't know ofanything at all myself."
This was what he thought, but he said, "Do you?"
"Oh, yes; I've had a good deal of experience. I know what is good foryou."
Sam looked curiously at the cup.
"What is it?" he asked.
"It's hot tea; it's very healin'."
Sam supposed it to be ordinary tea, and he had no objection to takeit. But when he put it to his lips there was something about the odorthat did not please him.
"It doesn't smell good," he said, looking up in the face of Mrs.Hopkins.
"Medicine generally doesn't," she said, quietly.
"I thought it was tea," said Sam.
"So it is; it is wormwood-tea."
"I don't think I shall like it," hesitated Sam.
"No matter if you don't, it will do you good," said Mrs. Hopkins.
Sam tasted it, and his face assumed an expression of disgust.
"I can't drink it," he said.
"You must," said Mrs. Hopkins, firmly.
"I guess I'll get well without," said our hero, feeling that he was ina scrape.
"No, you won't. You're quite unwell. I can see it by your face."
"Can you?" said Sam, beginning to be alarmed about his health.
"You must take this tea," said the lady, firmly.
"I'd rather not."
"That's neither here nor there. The deacon needs you well, so you cango to work, and this will cure you as quick as anything."
"Suppose it doesn't?" said Sam.
"Then I shall bring you up some castor-oil in two hours."
Castor-oil! This was even worse than wormwood-tea, and Sam's heartsank within him.
"The old woman's too much for me," he thought, with a sigh.
"Come, take the tea," said Mrs. Hopkins. "I can't wait here all day."
Thus adjured, Sam made a virtue of necessity, and, shutting his eyes,gulped down the wormwood. He shuddered slightly when it was all done,and his face was a study.
"Well done!" said Mrs. Hopkins. "It's sure to do you good."
"I think I'd have got well without," said Sam. "I'm afraid it won'tagree with me."
"If it don't," said Mrs. Hopkins, cheerfully, "I'll try somecastor-oil."
"I guess I won't need it," said Sam, hastily.
"It was awful," said Sam to himself, as his nurse left him alone. "I'drather hoe potatoes than take it again. I never see such a terribleold woman. She would make me do it, when I wasn't no more sick thanshe is."
Mrs. Hopkins smiled to herself as she went downstairs.
"Served him right," she said to herself. "I'll l'arn him to be sick.Guess he won't try it again very soon."
Two hours later Mrs. Hopkins presented herself at Sam's door. He hadbeen looking out of the window; but he bundled into bed as soon as heheard her. Appearances must be kept up.
"How do you feel now, Sam?" asked Mrs. Hopkins.
"A good deal better," said Sam, surveying in alarm a cup of some awfuldecoction in her hand.
"Do you feel ready to go to work again?"
"Almost," said Sam, hesitating.
"The wormwood-tea did you good, it seems; but you're not quite wellyet."
"I'll soon be well," said Sam, hastily.
"I mean you shall be," said his visitor. "I've brought you some moremedicine."
"Is it tea?"
"No, castor-oil."
"I don't need it," said Sam, getting up quickly. "I'm well."
"If you are not well enough to go to work, you must take some oil."
"Yes, I am," said Sam. "I'll go right out into the field."
"I don't want you to go unless you are quite recovered. I'm sure theoil will bring you 'round."
"I'm all right, now," said Sam, hastily.
"Very well; if you think so, you can go to work."
Rather ruefully Sam made his way to the potato-field, with his hoe onhis shoulder.
"Tea and castor-oil are worse than work," he thought. "The old woman'sgot the best of me, after all. I wonder whether she knew I was makin'believe."
On this point Sam could not make up his mind. She certainly seemed inearnest, and never expressed a doubt about his being really sick. Butall the same, she made sickness very disagreeable to him, and he feltthat in future he should not pretend sickness when she was at home. Itmade him almost sick to think of the bitter tea he had already drunk,and the oil would have been even worse.
The deacon looked up as he caught sight of Sam.
"Have you got well?" he asked innocently, for he had not been asclear-sighted as his wife in regard to the character of Sam's malady.
"Yes," said Sam, "I'm a good deal better, but I don't feel quite sostrong as I did."
"Mebbe it would be well for you to fast a little," said the deacon, inall sincerity, for fasting was one of his specifics in case ofsickness.
"No, I don't think it would," said Sam, quickly. "I'll feel better bysupper-time."
"I hope you will," said the deacon.
"I wish I had a piece of pie or somethin' to take the awful taste outof my mouth," thought Sam. "I can taste that wormwood jist as plain! Iwonder why such things are allowed to grow."
For the rest of the afternoon Sam worked unusually well. He was underthe the deacon's eye, and unable to get away, though he tried at leastonce. After they had been at work for about an hour, Sam saidsuddenly, "Don't you feel thirsty, Deacon Hopkins?"
"What makes you ask?" said the deacon;
"Because I'd jist as lieves go to the house and get some water," saidSam, with a very obliging air.
"You're very considerate, Samuel; but I don't think it's healthy todrink between meals."
"Supposin' you're thirsty," suggested Sam, disappointed.
"It's only fancy. You don't need drink railly. You only think you do,"said the deacon, and he made some further remarks on the subject towhich Sam listened discontentedly. He began to think his situation avery hard one.
"It's work--work all the time," he said to himself. "What's the goodof workin' yourself to death? When I'm a man I'll work only when Iwant to."
Sam did not consider that there might be some difficulty in earning aliving unless he were willing to work for it. The present discomfortwas all he thought of.
At last, much to Sam's joy, the deacon gave the signal to return tothe house.
"If you hadn't been sick, we'd have got through more," he said; "butto-morrow we must make up for lost time."
"I hope it'll rain to-morrow," thought Sam. "We can't work in therain."
At supper the wormwood seemed to give him additional appetite.
"I'm afraid you'll make yourself sick again,
Samuel," said thedeacon.
"There aint no danger," said Sam, looking alarmed at the suggestion."I feel all right now."
"The wormwood did you good," said Mrs. Hopkins, drily.
"I wonder if she means anything," thought Sam