HE ADMINISTERS SOOTHING SYRUP
"Calc'late both them young folks was guilty of an error of jedgment when
they up and married each other," said Will Pratt, postmaster of
Coldriver, in the judicial tone which he had affected since his
elevation to office.
"Mean Marthy Norton and Jed Lewis, Will? Referrin' to them especial?"
Scattergood peered after the young couple who had the moment before
passed his hardware store, not walking jovially in the enjoyment of each
other's presence as young married folks should walk, but sullenly and in
silence.
"They be the _i_-dentical ones," Will declared. "Naggin' and quarrelin'
and bickerin' from sunup to milkin' time. Used to do it private like,
but it's been gittin' so lately you can't pass the house without hearin'
'em referrin' to each other mighty sharp and searchin'."
"Um!... Difficulty appears to be what, Will? Got any idee where lies the
seat of the trouble?"
"They jest hain't habitually suited to one another," said Will.
"Whatever one of 'em is fur the tother's ag'in'. Looks like they go to
bed spiteful and wake up acr'monious. 'Tain't like as if Jed was the
breed of feller that beats his wife, or that Marthy was the kind that
looks out of the corner of her eye at drummers stoppin' to the hotel."
"Jest kind of irritate one another, eh?" said Scattergood, thoughtfully.
"Kind of git on each other's nerves, you might say. Um!... I call to
mind when they was married, five year ago. 'Twan't indicated them days.
Jed he couldn't set easy if Marthy wasn't nigh, and Marthy went around
lookin' as if she'd swallered a pin and it hurt if Jed was more 'n forty
rod off. If ever two young folks was all het up over each other, Jed and
Marthy was them young folks.... And 'twan't but five year ago...."
"End by separating" said the postmaster.
"There's the stage a-rattlin' in," Scattergood said, suddenly. "Better
git ready f'r distributin' the mail, Will. G'-by, Will; and, Will, if
'twas me I dunno but what I'd kind of keep my mouth shet about Marthy
and Jed. Outside gabblin' hain't calc'lated to help matters none. G'-by,
Will."
The postmaster recognized his dismissal; he knew that the manner which
had fallen upon Scattergood portended that something was on his mind and
that he wanted to be alone and think, so he withdrew hastily and plodded
across the dusty road to the office of which he was the executive head.
As for Scattergood, he pressed his double chin down upon his bulging
chest, closed his eyes, and gave himself up enthusiastically to looking
like a gigantic figure of discouragement. He waggled his head dubiously.
"Wonder if it kin be laid to my door," he said to himself. "I figgered
they was about made f'r each other, and I brung 'em together....
Somethin's got crossways. Um!... Take them young folks separate, and
you couldn't ask for nothin' better.... Don't understand it a mite....
Anyhow, things has turned out as they be, and what kin I do about it?"
His reinforced chair creaked under the shifting of his great weight as
he bent mechanically to remove his shoes. With his toes imprisoned in
leather, Scattergood's brain refused to function, a characteristic
which greatly chagrined his wife, Mandy--so much so that she had
considered sewing him up in his footwear, as certain mothers in the
community sewed their children in their underwear for the winter.
Scattergood had amassed a fortune that might be called handsome, but it
had not made him effete. His income had never warranted him in
purchasing a pair of socks, so now, upon the removal of his shoepacs,
his toes were fully at liberty to squirm and wriggle in the most
soul-satisfying manner. He sat thus, battling with his problem, until
Pliny Pickett, driver of the stage, and Scattergood's man, rattled up to
the store in his dust-whitened conveyance.
"Afternoon, Scattergood," he said, in a manner which he endeavored to
make as like his employer's as possible.
"Afternoon, Pliny. Successful trip, Pliny? Plenty of passengers? Eh? Any
news down the valley?"
"Done middlin' well. Hain't much news, 'ceptin' that young Widder Conroy
down to Tupper Falls died of somethin' the matter with her stummick and
folks is wonderin' what'll become of her baby."
"Baby? What kind of a baby did she calc'late to have?"
"A he one--nigh onto two year old. Neighbors is lookin' after him."
"Got relatives?"
"Not that anybody knows of."
"Um!... Wasn't passin' Jed Lewis's house, was you?"
"Didn't figger to."
"Wasn't passin' Jed Lewis's, was you?" Scattergood repeated,
insistently.
"I could."
"Um!... If you was to, and if you seen Jed, what was you figgerin' on
sayin' to him?"
Pliny scratched his head and pondered.
"Calculate I'd mention the heat some, and maybe I might say suthin'
about national politics."
"Wouldn't mention me, would you, Pliny? Don't figger my name might come
up?"
"It might."
"If it did, what 'u'd you say, eh? Hain't no reason for mentionin' that
I might want to talk to him, is there? Hain't said so, have I?"
"You hain't," said Pliny, at last enlightened as to Scattergood's desire
in the matter.
"G'-by, Pliny."
"G'-by, Scattergood."
An hour later Jed Lewis sauntered past the store and stopped. "Pliny
Pickett says you want to see me, Scattergood."
"Said that, did he? Told you I said I wanted to see you?"
"Wa-al, maybe not exactly. Not in so many words. But he kind of hinted
around and pecked around till I figgered that was what the ol' coot was
gittin' at."
"Um!... Didn't tell him nothin' of the kind, but as long's you're here
you might as well set. Hain't seen much of you lately. How's the
hayin'?"
"Too much rain. Got her cocked twice and had to spread her ag'in to
dry."
"Hear any politics talked around, Jed?"
"Nothin' special."
Jed was brief in his answers. He seemed depressed, and conducted himself
like a man who had something on his mind.
"Any fresh news from anywheres?"
"Hain't heard none."
"Hear about the Packinses down to Bailey?"
"Never heard tell of 'em." There was excellent reason for this, because
no such family as the Packinses existed in Bailey or anywhere else, to
Scattergood's knowledge.
"Goin' to separate," said Scattergood.
Jed looked up quickly, bit his lip, and looked down again.
"What fur?" he asked.
"Nobody kin figger out. Jest agreein' to disagree. Can't git along,
nohow. Always naggin' at each other and squabblin' and hectorin'....
Nice young folks, too. Used to set a heap of store by one another. Can't
figger how they come to disagree like they do!"
"Nobody kin figger it out," said Jed, with sudden vehemence. "All to
once you wake up and things is that way, and you dunno how they come to
be. It jest drifts along. Fust you know things has went all to smash."
"Um!... You talk like you knowed somethin' about it."
"Nobody knows more," said the young man, bitterly. He was suddenly
conscious that he wanted to talk about his domestic affairs; that he
wanted to loose the story of his troubles and dwell upon them in all
their ramifications.
"Do tell," said Scattergood, with an inflection of astonishment.
"Marthy and me has about come to the partin' of our roads," said Jed.
"It's come gradual, without our noticin' it, but it's here at last.
Seems like we can't bear the sight of each other--when we git together.
And yit--sounds mighty funny, too--I calc'late to be as fond of Marthy
as ever I was. But the minute we git together we bicker and quarrel till
there hain't no pleasure into life at all."
"All Marthy's fault, hain't it? Kind of a mean disposition, hain't she?"
"No sich thing, Scattergood, and you know it dum well. There didn't use
to be a sweeter-dispositioned girl in the state than Marthy....
Somethin's jest went wrong. They's times when I git mad and it all
looks to be her fault, and then I ketch my own self startin' some
hectorin' meanness. 'Tain't all her fault, and 'tain't all my fault. The
whole sum and substance of it is that we can't git along with each other
no more."
"So you calc'late to separate?"
"Been talkin' it up some."
"Marthy willin'?"
"Hain't neither of us willin'. We fix it up and agree to try over ag'in,
and then, fust thing we know, we're right into the middle of another
squabble. I want Marthy, and I guess Marthy wants me, but we want each
other like we was five year back and not like we be now."
"Been married five year, hain't you?"
"Five year last April."
"Um!... Wa-al, I hope nothin' comes of it, Jed. But if it has to it
will. Better live happy separate than unhappy together.... G'-by, Jed."
Scattergood did not discuss this problem with Mandy, his wife, as it was
his custom to discuss business problems. He did not mention the young
Lewises because the first rule of Mandy's life was "Mind your own
business," and it irritated her beyond measure to see Scattergood poking
his finger into every dish that offered. He did talk the matter over
with Deacon Pettybone, but got little enlightenment for his pains.
"Don't seem natteral," Scattergood said, "f'r young folks to git to
quarrelin' and bickerin' ontil life hain't endurable no longer. 'Tain't
natteral a-tall. Somethin' must be all-fired wrong somewheres."
"It's human nature to quarrel," said the deacon, gloomily. "Nothin'
onusual about it."
"Human nature," said Scattergood, "gits blamed f'r a heap of things that
ought to be laid at the door of human cussedness."
"Same thing," said the deacon. "If you're human you're cussed. Used to
be so in the Garden of Eden, and it'll keep on bein' so till Gabriel
blows his final trump."
"'Tain't no more natteral to bicker than 'tis to have dispepsy.
Quarrelin' and hectorin' hain't nothin' but a kind of dispepsy that
attacks families instid of stummicks. In both cases it means somethin'
is wrong."
"Can't cure a unhappy family with a dose of calomel," said the deacon,
acidly.
"Hain't so sure. Bet that identical remedy' u'd fix up three out of ten.
But somethin' else is wrong with them young Lewises. A dose of somethin'
'u'd cure 'em, if only a feller could figger out what 'twas."
"Might try soothin' syrup," said the deacon, with an ironic grin.
"Sounds like it ought to git results.... Soothin' syrup--eh? Have to
tell the boys that one. Soothin' syrup. Perty good f'r an old man. Don't
call to mind makin' no joke like that f'r twenty year."
"Do it often, Deacon," said Scattergood, gravely. "You won't have to
take so much sody followin' meals to sweeten you up.... G'-by,
Deacon.... Soothin' syrup. Um!... I swanny...."
He looked across the square and saw that Pliny Pickett was delighting an
audience with apochryphal reminiscences, doubtless of a gallant and
spicy character. It is characteristic of Scattergood that he waited
until Pliny had reached his climax, shot it off, and was doubled up with
laughter at his own narration, before he lifted up his voice and
summoned the stage driver.
"Hey, Pliny! Step over here a minute."
"Comin'," said Pliny, with alacrity. Then in an aside to his audience:
"See that? Can't let an evenin' pass without a conference with me. Sets
a heap of store by my judgment."
"Sets more store by your laigs," said Old Man Bogle. "They kin run
errants, anyhow."
Pliny hastened across the square, and in careful imitation of
Scattergood said, "Evening Scattergood."
"Evening Pliny. Flow of language good as usual to-night? Didn't meet
with no trouble sayin' what you had to say?"
"Not a mite, Scattergood."
"Come through Bailey to-day?"
"Calculated to."
"Any news?"
"Nary."
"What's become of that What's-his-name baby you was a-tellin' about? The
one that lost his ma and was bein' cared for by neighbors?"
"Nothin' hain't become of him. Calc'late he'll be took to a
institution."
"Um! Likely-lookin' two-year-old, was he? Take note of any blemishes?"
"I hear tell by them that knows as how he was sound in wind and limb."
"Who's keepin' him, Pliny?"
"Mis' Patterson's sort of shuffled him in with her seven. Says she don't
notice no difference to speak of. Claims 'tain't possible f'r eight
childern to be no noisier 'n what seven be."
"Um!... G'-by, Pliny. Ever deal in facts over there to the post office?
Ever have occasion to mention facts?"
"Er--not _reg'lar_ facts, Scattergood. You needn't to worry about my
talkin' too free."
"Seems like a feller that talks as much as you do would _have_ to
mention a fact once in a while. G'-by, Pliny."
It was two or three days later that Postmaster Pratt alluded again to
Martha and Jed Lewis.
"They're gittin' wuss and wuss," he said, with some gratification.
"Last night they was a rumpus you could 'a' heard forty mile. Ended up
by him threatenin' to leave her, and by her tellin' him that if he
didn't she'd lock him out of the house. Looks to me like that family
fracas was about ripe to bust."
"Signs all p'int that way, Will. Too bad, hain't it? There's a reason
f'r it, I calculate. Ever look f'r the reason, Will? Ever think about it
at all?"
"Hain't had no time. Post office keeps me thinkin' night and day."
"Well, I _have_. Figgered a heap."
"Any results, Scattergood?"
"Some--_some_."
"What be they?"
Scattergood's eyes twinkled in the darkness. "I got it all figgered
out," he said, "that them young folks needs a dose of soothin' syrup."
"I want to know," said the postmaster, breathlessly and with
bewilderment. "Soothin' syrup! I swan to man!... Hain't been out in the
heat, have you, Scattergood?"
Scattergood made no reply to this question. He merely waggled his head
and said: "G'-by, Will. G'-by."
Next morning Scattergood walked past the Lewis place. He passed it three
times before he made up his mind whether to go in or not, but finally he
turned through the gate and walked around to the kitchen door. Inside he
saw Martha ridding up the kitchen, not with a morning song on her lips,
but wearing a sullen expression which sat ill on her fine New England
face.
"Mornin', Marthy," he called.
She looked up and smiled suddenly. The change in her face was
astonishing.
"Mornin', Mr. Baines. Set right down on the porch. ... Let me fetch you
a hot cup of coffee. 'Twon't take but a minute to make."
"Can't stop," said Scattergood. "I was lookin' for Jed."
"Jed's gone," she replied, shortly, the sullen expression returning to
her face. "'He won't be back 'fore noon."
"Uh-huh!... Wa-al, I calc'late I kin keep on drawin' my breath till
then--if you kin. I call to mind the time when you was all-fired oneasy
if Jed got away from you for six hours in a stretch."
"Them times is gone," she said, shortly.
"Shucks!" said Scattergood.
"They be," she said, fiercely. "Hain't no use tryin' to hide it. Jed and
me is about through. Nothin' but fussin' and backbitin' and
maneuvering'. He don't care f'r me no more like he used to, and--"
"You don't set sich a heap of store by him," Scattergood interrupted.
Martha hesitated. "I do," she said, slowly. "But I can't put up with it
no more."
"Jed's fault--mostly," said Scattergood, as one speaks who utters an
accepted fact.
"No more 'n mine," she said, with a sudden flash. "I dunno what's got
into us, Mr. Baines, but we no sooner git into the same room than it
commences. 'Tain't no-body's fault--it jest _is_."
"Um!... Kinder like to have things the way they used to be?"
"Oh, Mr. Baines!" Her eyes filled. "Them first two-three years! Jed was
the best man a woman ever had."
"Hain't drinkin', is he?"
"Never touches a drop."
"Jest his nasty temper," said Scattergood, casually.
"No sich thing.... It's jest happened so. We can't git on, and I'm
through tryin'. One of us is gain' to git out of this house. I've made
up my mind." She started untying her apron. "I'm a-goin' right now.
It'll be off'n my mind then, and I kin sort of git a fresh start. I'm
goin' right now and pack."
"Kind of hasty, hain't you?... Now, Marthy, as a special favor to me I
wish you'd stay, maybe two days more. I got a special reason. If you was
to go this mornin' it 'u'd upset my plans. After Sattidy you kin do as
you like, and maybe it's best you should part. But I do wisht you could
see your way to stayin' till Sattidy."
"I don't see why, Mr. Baines, but if it'll be any good to _you_, I'll
do it. But not a minute after Sattidy--now mind that!"
"Much 'bleeged, Marthy. G'-by, Marthy. G'-by."
On Friday Scattergood was invisible in Coldriver village, for he had
started away before dawn, driving his sway-backed horse over the
mountain roads to the southward. He notified nobody of his going, unless
it was Mandy, his wife, and even to her he did not make apparent his
errand.
Before noon he was in Bailey and stopping before the small white house
in which Mrs. Patterson managed by ingenuity to fit in a husband, a
mother-in-law, an aged father, seven children of her own, the Conroy
orphan, and a constantly changing number of cats. Nobody could have done
it but Mrs. Patterson. The house resembled one of those puzzle boxes
containing a number of curiously sawn pieces of wood, which, once
removed, can be returned and fitted into place again only by some one
who knows the secret.
Scattergood entered the house, remained upward of an hour, and then
reappeared, followed by Mrs. Patterson, seven children, an old man, and
an old woman--and in his arms was a baby whose lungs gave promise of a
healthy manhood.
"Do this much, does he?" Scattergood asked, uneasily.
"Not more 'n most," said Mrs. Patterson.
"Um!... If he lets on to be hungry, what's the best thing to feed him
up on? I got a bag of doughnuts and five-six sandriches and nigh on to
half a apple pie in the buggy."
"Feed him them," said Mrs. Patterson, "and you'll be like to hear some
real yellin'. What he's doin' now hain't nothin' but his objectin' to
you a-carryin' him like he was a horse blanket.... You wait right there
till I git a bottle of milk. And I'll fix you some sugar in a rag that
you kin put into his mouth if he acts uneasy. It'll quiet him right
off."
"Much 'bleeged. Hain't had much experience with young uns. Might's well
start now. Bet me 'n this here one gits well acquainted 'fore we reach
Coldriver."
"'Twouldn't s'prise me a mite," replied Mrs. Patterson, with something
that might have been a twinkle in her tired eyes. "I almost feel I
should go along with you."
"G'-by, Mrs. Patterson," said Scattergood, hastily, and he climbed into
his buggy clumsily, placing the baby on the seat beside him, and holding
it in place with his left arm. "G'-by."
The buggy rattled off. The baby hushed suddenly and began to look at the
horse.
"Kind of come to your senses, eh?" said Scattergood. "Now you and me's
goin' to git on fine if you jest keep your mouth shet. If you behave
yourself proper I dunno but what I kin find a stick of candy f'r you
when we git there."
Presently Scattergood looked down to find the baby asleep. He drove
slowly and cautiously, whispering what commands he felt were
indispensable to his horse. This delightful situation continued for
upward of two hours, and Scattergood said to himself that folks who
bothered about traveling with infants must be very easily worried.
"Jest as soon ride with this one clean to the Pacific coast," he said.
And then the baby awoke. It blinked and looked about it; it rubbed its
eyes; it stared severely up at Scattergood; it opened its mouth
tentatively, closed it again, and then--and then it uttered such an
ear-piercing, long-drawn shriek that the old horse jumped with fright.
"Hey, there!" said the startled Scattergood. "Hey! what's ailin' you
now?"
The baby closed his eyes, clenched his fists, kicked out with his legs,
and gave himself up whole-heartedly to the exercise of his voice.
"Quit that," said Scattergood. "Now listen here; that hain't no way to
behave. You won't git that candy--"
Louder and more piercing arose the baby's cries. Scattergood dropped the
reins, lifted the baby to his knee, and jounced it up and down
furiously, performing an act which he imagined to be singing, a thing he
had heard was interesting and soothing to babies. It did not even
attract this one's attention.
"Sufferin' heathen!" Scattergood said. "What in tunket was it that woman
said I sh'u'd do? Hain't they no way of shuttin' him off? Look-ee here,
young feller, you jest quit it.... B'jing! here's my watch. You kin
listen to it tick."
The baby tried the watch on his toothless gums, found it not to his
taste, and flung it from him with such vehemence that it would have
suffered permanent injury but for the size and strength of the silver
chain which attached it to Scattergood. The cries became more maddening.
Scattergood was not hungry, so it did not occur to him that the infant
might be thinking of food. He dandled it, he whistled, he sang, he
pointed out the interesting attributes of his horse, and promised to
direct attention to a rabbit or even a deer in a moment, but nothing
availed. Perspiration was pouring down Scattergood's face, and his
expression was that of a man who devoutly wishes he were far otherwise
than he is.
Half an hour of this seemed to Scattergood like the length of a sizable
day--and then he remembered the milk. Frantically he fished it out of
the basket and thrust it toward the young person, who did with it what
seemed right to him, and, with a gurgle of satisfaction, settled down to
business. Scattergood sighed, wiped his forehead, and revised his
opinion of folks who were worried at the prospect of travel with an
infant.
The rest of that drive was a nightmare to Scattergood. When the baby
yelled he was in torment. When the baby slept he was in torment lest he
wake it, so that it would commence again to cry. He sweat cold and he
sweat hot, and he wished wishes in his secret heart and blamed himself
for many things--chief of which was that he had not brought Mandy along
to bear the brunt of the adventure.
But at last, long after nightfall, with baby fast asleep, Scattergood
drove into Coldriver by deserted and circuitous roads. He stopped his
horse in a dark spot on the edge of the village, and, with the baby
cautiously held in his arms, he slunk through back ways and short cuts
to the house where Jed and Martha Lewis made their home. With meticulous
stealth he passed through the gate, laid the baby on the doorstep, rang
the bell long and determinedly, and then, with astonishing quiet and
agility, hid himself in the midst of a clump of lilacs.
The door opened, and a light shone through upon the squirming bundle
that lay upon the step. A tentative cry issued from the baby; a bass
exclamation issued from Jed Lewis. "My Gawd! Marthy, somebody's left a
baby here!"
Martha pushed past her husband and lifted the baby in her arms. She said
no word, but Scattergood could see her press it close, and, in the
light that came through the door, could see the expression of her face.
It satisfied him.
"What we goin' to do with the doggone thing?" Jed demanded.
Martha pushed past him into the house, and he followed, wordless,
closing the door after them.... Scattergood remained for some time, and
then slunk away....
Postmaster Pratt gave the news to Scattergood in the morning.
"Somebody went and left a baby on to Jed Lewis's stoop last night," he
declared. "Hain't nobody been able to identify it. Nary a mark nor a
sign on to it no place. ... Whatever possessed anybody to leave a baby
_there_ of all places?"
"I want to know!" exclaimed Scattergood. "Girl er boy?"
"Boy, I'm told."
"What's Jed say?"
"Hain't sayin' much. Jest sets and kind of hangs on to his head, and
every once in a while he gits up and looks at the baby and then goes
back to holdin' his head."
"How about Marthy?"
"Marthy," said Postmaster Pratt. "I can't make out about Marthy, but I
heard her a-singin' this mornin' 'fore breakfast. Fust time I heard her
sing for more 'n a year."
"Might 'a' been singin' to the baby," Scattergood suggested.
"Naw, it was while she was gittin' breakfast. Jest the time she and Jed
quarrels most powerful."
During the day all of Coldriver called to see the mysterious infant.
Nobody could give a clue to its identity, and it was decided unanimously
that it had been brought from a distance. As to the intentions of the
Lewises regarding its disposition, they were noncommittal. It was
universally accepted as fact, however, that the baby would be sent to
an institution.
Thereupon Scattergood called upon the First Selectman.
"What's the town goin' to do about that baby?" he demanded.
"Taxpayers'll be wantin' to know. Seems like the town's liable f'r its
support."
"Calculate we be.... Calculate we be. I been figgerin' on what steps to
take."
"Better go across to Jed's and notify 'em," said Scattergood. "They'll
be expectin' you to take action prompt. I'll go 'long with you."
They walked down the street and rapped at the Lewises' door.
"Come on official business," said the First Selectman, pompously, to
Jed, "connected with that there foundlin'."
Martha came hastily into the room. "What you want?" she demanded, in a
dangerous voice.
"Come to tell you we would take that baby off'n your hands and send it
to a institution. Git it ready, and we'll take it to-morrer."
"Take that baby!... Did you hear him, Jed Lewis? Did you hear that man
say as how he was goin' to take away my baby?" She stumbled across the
room to Jed and clutched the lapels of his coat. Scattergood noticed
with some pleasure that Jed's arm went automatically about her waist.
"Make 'em git out, Jed. Tell 'em they can't take this baby.... You want
we should keep it, don't you, Jed?... We wanted one. You know how we
wanted one.... You're goin' to let us keep it, hain't you, Jed?"
Jed put Martha aside gently and walked over to a makeshift crib in the
corner, where the baby was asleep, where he stood for a moment looking
down at it with a curious expression. Then he turned suddenly, strode to
the door, opened it, and pointed. "Git!" he said to the First Selectman
and Scattergood.
"Jed ... Jed ... darlin'," Martha cried, and as Scattergood passed out
he saw from the corner of his eye that she was sobbing on her husband's
hickory shirt and that he was patting her back with awkward gentleness.
"Looked a mite like Jed wanted we should go," said Scattergood.
"I'll have the law on to him. He'll be showed that he can't stand up to
the First Selectman of this here town, I'll--"
"You'll go home and set down in the shade and cool off," said
Scattergood, merrily, "and while you're a-coolin' you might sort of
thank Gawd that there's sich things as human bein's with human feelin's,
and that there's sich things as babies ...that sometimes gits themselves
left on the right doorstep.... G'-by, Selectman. G'-by."
A week later Scattergood was passing the Lewis home early in the
evening. In the side yard was a hammock under the trees which had been
unoccupied this year past, but to-night it was occupied again. Martha
was there with the baby against her breast, and Jed was there, his arm
tightly about his wife, and one of the baby's hands lying on his
calloused palm.... As Scattergood watched he saw Jed bend clumsily and
kiss the tiny fingers ... and Martha turned a trifle and smiled up into
her husband's eyes.
Scattergood passed on, blinking, perhaps because dust had gotten in his
eyes. He stopped at the post office and spoke to Postmaster Pratt.
"Call to mind my speakin' of soothin' syrup and Jed Lewis and his wife?"
he asked.
"Seems like I mind it, Scattergood."
"Jest walk past their house, Postmaster. Calc'late you'll see I figgered
clost to right.... Marthy's a-sittin' there with Jed in the hammick,
and they're a-holdin' on their lap the doggondest best soothin' syrup
f'r man and wife that any doctor c'u'd perscribe.... Calculate it's one
of them nature's remedies.... Go take a look, Postmaster.... G'-by."