Jerome himself as illustration,
gave him a lesson in bleeding and cupping, which was considered
indispensable in the ordinary practice of that day. "Dun'no' what the
doctor would say," Jake Noyes told Jerome, "an' I dun'no' as I much
care, but I'd jest as soon ye'd keep it dark. Rows ain't favorable to
the action of the heart, actin' has too powerful stimulants in most
cases, an' I had an uncle on my mother's side that dropped dead. But
I feel as if the doctor had ground the face of the poor about long
enough; it's about time somebody dulled his grindstone a little. He's
just foreclosed that last mortgage on John Upham's place, an' they've
got to move. Mind ye, J'rome, I ain't sayin' this to anybody but you,
an' I wouldn't say it to you if I didn't think mebbe you could do
something to right what he'd done wrong. If he won't do it himself,
somebody ought to for him. Tell ye what 'tis, J'rome, one way an'
another, I think considerable of the doctor. I've lived with him a
good many years now. I've got some books I'll let ye take any time. I
calculate you mean to do your doctorin' cheap."

"Cheap!" replied Jerome, scornfully. "Do you think I would take any
pay for anything I could do? Do you think _that's_ what I'm after?"

Jake Noyes nodded. "Didn't s'pose it was, J'rome. Well, there'll be
lots of things you can't meddle with; but there's no reason why you
can't doctor lots of little ails--if folks are willin'--an' save 'em
money. I'll learn ye all I know, on the doctor's account. I want it
to balance as even as he thinks it does."

The result of it all was that Jerome Edwards became a sort of free
medical adviser to many who were too poor to pay a doctor's fees, and
had enough confidence in him. Some held strenuously to the opinion
that "he knew as much as if he'd studied medicine." He was in
requisition many of the hours when he was free from his shoemaker's
bench; and never in the Uphams was there a sick man needing a watcher
who did not beg for Jerome Edwards.

Chapter XIX

In these latter years Ann Edwards regarded her son Jerome with pride
and admiration, and yet with a measure of disapproval. In spite of
her fierce independence, a lifetime of poverty and struggle against
the material odds of life had given a sordid taint to her character.
She would give to the utmost out of her penury, though more from
pride than benevolence; but when it came to labor without hire, that
she did not understand.

"I