ten, while his own trees were
growing; and there his noble deportment and his lordly way with money made
an impression on Aunt Barbree, who had already heard talk of his
capabilities.

So--as I was saying--one day, being near upon driven to her wits' end,
Aunt Barbree marched the boy up to Hi-jeen Villa (as the new great house
was called), and begged for Dr. Clatworthy's advice; "for I do believe,"
she wound up, "the boy is sinking into a very low state of despondency."

"And so should I be despondent," said the doctor, eyeing Nandy, "if I had
that number of pimples and didn't know a sure way to cure them."

"Fresh fruit don't seem to do no good," said Aunt Barbree, "though I've
heard it confidently recommended."

The doctor made Nandy take off his shirt. "Why," said he,
enthusiastic-like, "the boy's a perfect treasure!"

"You think so?" said Aunt Barbree, a bit dubious, not quite catching his
drift.

"A case, ma'am, like this wouldn't yield to fresh fruit, not in ten years.
It's throwing away your time. Mud is the cure, ma'am--mud-bathing and
constant doses of sulphur-water, varied with a plenty of exercise to open
the pores of the skin."

"Sulphur-water?" Aunt Barbree had used it now and then upon her
fruit-trees, to keep away mildew. She doubted Nandy's taking kindly to
it. "He's easier led, sir, than driven," she said.

"My good woman," said the doctor, "you leave him to me. I'll take up this
case for nothing but the honour and glory of it. He shall board and lodge
here and live like a fighting-cock, and not a penny-piece to pay.
As for curing him--if it'll give you any confidence, look at my
complexion, ma'am. What d'ye think of it?"

"Handsome, sure 'nough," said Aunt Barbree.

"Satin, ma'am--complete satin!" said the doctor. "And I'm like that all
over."

"Well to be sure, if Nandy don't object--" said Aunt Barbree,
hurried-like.

Nandy thought that to live for a while in a fine house and be fed like a
fighting-cock would be a pleasant change; and so the bargain was struck.

Poor lad, he repented it before the first week was out. He couldn't abide
the mud-baths, which he took in the garden, planted up to the chin in a
ring with a dozen old gentlemen, stuck out there like cabbages, and with
Clatworthy planted in the middle and haranguing by the hour, sometimes on
politics and Napoleon Bonaparte, sometimes on education, but oftenest on
his system and the good they ought to be deriving from