with Mrs. Wiley, years ago, Will Crawford's
kid died of dipthery croup, in spite of two doctors. And when old Aunt
Christina MacAllister heard of it--she was the one brought me round
when I nearly died of pneumonia you know--she was a wonder--no doctor
was a patch on her--they don't hatch her breed of cats nowadays, let me
tell you--she said she could have saved him with her grandmother's
remedy if she'd been there. She told Mrs. Wiley what it was and I've
never forgot it. I've the greatest memory ever--a thing just lies in
the back of my head till the time comes to use it. Got any sulphur in
the house, Susan?'

"Yes, we had sulphur. Susan went down with Mary to get it, and I held
Jims. I hadn't any hope--not the least. Mary Vance might brag as she
liked--she was always bragging--but I didn't believe any grandmother's
remedy could save Jims now. Presently Mary came back. She had tied a
piece of thick flannel over her mouth and nose, and she carried Susan's
old tin chip pan, half full of burning coals.

"'You watch me,' she said boastfully. 'I've never done this, but it's
kill or cure that child is dying anyway.'

"She sprinkled a spoonful of sulphur over the coals; and then she
picked up Jims, turned him over, and held him face downward, right over
those choking, blinding fumes. I don't know why I didn't spring forward
and snatch him away. Susan says it was because it was fore-ordained
that I shouldn't, and I think she is right, because it did really seem
that I was powerless to move. Susan herself seemed transfixed, watching
Mary from the doorway. Jims writhed in those big, firm, capable hands
of Mary--oh yes, she is capable all right--and choked and wheezed--and
choked and wheezed--and I felt that he was being tortured to death--and
then all at once, after what seemed to me an hour, though it really
wasn't long, he coughed up the membrane that was killing him. Mary
turned him over and laid him back on his bed. He was white as marble
and the tears were pouring out of his brown eyes--but that awful livid
look was gone from his face and he could breathe quite easily.

"'Wasn't that some trick?' said Mary gaily. 'I hadn't any idea how it
would work, but I just took a chance. I'll smoke his throat out again
once or twice before morning, just to kill all the germs, but you'll
see he'll be all right now.'

"Jims went right to sleep--real sleep, not coma, as I feared at first.
Mary 'smoked him,' as she called it, twice