and very tenderly, and, when the doctor-woman had gone
out, whispered to me that it was a horse-chestnut, and put her in mind
of the days when she dwelt in Boston, a little maid.

"But 'tis not healin' you," I protested, touching a tear which had
settled in the deep hollow of her cheek. "'Tis makin' you sad."

"Oh, no!" said she. "'Tis making me very happy."

"But you is cryin'," said I. "An' I'm thinkin' 'tis because you wisht
you was in Boston."

"No, no!" she cried, her lip trembling. "I'm not wishing that. I've
_never_ wished _that_! I'm glad your father found me and took me where
he wished. Oh, I'm glad of that--glad he found and loved me--glad I gave
myself to his dear care! Why, were I in Boston, to-day, I would not have
my dear, big David, your father, lad, and I would not have your sister,
and I would not have----"

"Me?" I put in, archly.

"Ay," she said, with infinite tenderness, "_you,_ Davy, dear!"

For many days, thereafter, the doctor-woman possessed our house, and
I've no doubt she was happy in her new estate--at table, at any rate,
for there she was garrulent and active, and astoundingly active, with
less of garrulence, on feast days, when my father had pork provided. And
she had a way with the maids in the kitchen that kept the young men from
the door (which my sister never could manage); and I have since been led
to think 'twas because she sought to work her will on Skipper Tommy
Lovejoy, undisturbed by the clatter and quick eyes of young folk. For
Skipper Tommy, to my increasing alarm and to the panic of the twins, who
wished for no second mother, still frequented the kitchen, when the
day's work was done, and was all the while in a mood so downcast, of a
manner so furtive, that it made me sad to talk with him. But by day our
kitchen was intolerable with smells--intolerable to him and to us all
(save to my sister, who is, and ever has been, brave)--while the
doctor-woman hung over the stove, working with things the sight of which
my stomach would not brook, but which my mother took in ignorance,
hoping they would cure her. God knows what medicines were mixed! I would
not name the things I saw. And the doctor-woman would not even have us
ask what use she made of them: nor have I since sought to know; 'tis
best, I think, forgotten.

But my mother got no better.

"Skipper David," said the doctor-woman, at last, "I'm wantin' four
lump-fish."

"Four lump-fish!" my father wondered. "Is you?"