s though the reading
it was unendurable.

She resumed, with an effort:--

"'But got bitten in the arm. At first she made light of the wound,
for the reptile was so small. But it became badly inflamed, and no
doctor was at hand. The black mother of Saku, the baby, prayed to
be allowed to summon the conjurer doctor of the tribe, who would
suck the wound. But Maisie would not have this, so only external
applications were made ...'"

Old Maisie interrupted:--"That is not so," she said. "Roomoro, the
doctor, sucked hard at the bite, and spat out the poison in a hole in
the ground, to bury the evil spirit. But it was no good. Poor Mary Ann
Stennis died a week after. I mind it well."

Ruth thought to herself:--"Is this a feverish dream?" and wavered on the
answer. The tale her mother told of the black medicine-man was
nightmare-like. All this, fifty years ago! Her head swam too much for
speech, reading apart. She could continue, mechanically:--

"' ... Only external applications were made, which proved useless,
as is almost invariably the case with poisonous bites. Next day it
became evident that the poison was spreading up the arm, and a
black runner was despatched to summon me, but he could not cover
the ground in less than three hours, and when he arrived I was on
my way to Bothwell, some twenty miles in another direction, so he
did not overtake me until the evening. I was then detained a day,
so that it was over forty-eight hours before I arrived at
Stennis's. It was then too late for effectual remedy, and my dear
wife died in my arms within a week of the scorpion bite....'"

"That is not true--it was over a week." Was Maisie really alive to the
facts, to be caught by so small a point? She had seen a simple thing
that could be said. That is all the story can think.

Ruth said:--"Here is more--only a little!" and continued:--

"'I am thankful to say that, considering the nature of the case,
her sufferings were slight, and she passed away peacefully,
desiring with her last breath that I should convey to you the
assurance of her unchanged affection.'

"It is untrue--it is untrue!" moaned Maisie. "Mary Ann died in great
pain, from the poison of the bite working in the blood." She seemed to
grasp very little of the facts, for she added:--"But was he not good, to
hide the pain for Phoebe's sake?" Her mind was catching at