Chapter 15
Gerald Brower, who was a baby when I came to live at Faraway, and wasnow eleven, had caught a cold in seed time, and he had never quiterecovered. His coughing had begun to keep him awake, and one night itbrought alarm to the whole household. Elizabeth Brower was up early inthe morning and called Uncle Eb, who went away for the doctor as soonas light came. We ate our breakfast in silence. Father and mother andGrandma Bisnette spoke only in low tones and somehow the anxiety intheir faces went to my heart. Uncle Eb returned about eight o'clock andsaid the doctor was coming. Old Doctor Bigsby was a very great man inthat country. Other physicians called him far and wide for consultation.I had always regarded him with a kind of awe intensified by the aroma ofhis drugs and the gleam of his lancet. Once I had been his patient andthen I had trembled at his approach. When he took my little wrist inhis big hand, I remember with what reluctance I stuck out my quiveringtongue, black, as I feared with evidences of prevarication.
He was a picture for a painter man as he came that morning erect in hisgig. Who could forget the hoary majesty of his head--his 'stovepipe'tilted back, his white locks flying about his ears? He had a longnose, a smooth-shaven face and a left eye that was a trifle turned. Histhoughts were generally one day behind the calendar. Today he seemed tobe digesting the affairs of yesterday. He was, therefore, absentminded,to a degree that made no end of gossip. If he came out one day withshoe-strings flying, in his remorse the next he would forget his collar;if one told him a good joke today, he might not seem to hear it, buttomorrow he would take it up in its turn and shake with laughter.
I remember how, that morning after noting the symptoms of his patient,he sat a little in silent reflection. He knew that colour in the cheek,that look in the eye--he had seen so much of it. His legs were crossedand one elbow thrown carelessly over the back of his chair. We all satlooking at him anxiously. In a moment he began chewing hard on hisquid of tobacco. Uncle Eb pushed the cuspidor a bit nearer. The doctorexpectorated freely and resumed his attitude of reflection. The clockticked loudly, the patient sighed, our anxiety increased. Uncle Eb spoketo father, in a low tone, whereupon the doctor turned suddenly, witha little grunt of enquiry, and seeing he was not addressed, sank againinto thoughtful repose. I had begun to fear the worst when suddenly thehand of the doctor swept the bald peak of benevolence at the top ofhis head. Then a smile began to spread over his face. It was as if somefeather of thought had begun to tickle him. In a moment his head wasnodding with laughter that brought a great sense of relief to all of us.In a slow, deliberate tone he began to speak:
'I was over t' Rat Tupper's t'other day,' said he, 'Rat was sitting withme in the door yard. Purty soon a young chap came in, with a scythe,and asked if he might use the grindstun. He was a new hired man fromsomewhere near. He didn't know Rat, an' Rat didn't know him. So Rat o'course had t' crack one o' his jokes.
'"May I use yer grindstun?" said the young feller.
'"Dunno," said Rat, "I'm only the hired man here. Go an' ask Mis'Tupper."
'The ol' lady had overheard him an' so she says t' the young feller,"Yes--ye can use the grindstun. The hired man out there'll turn it ferye."
'Rat see he was trapped, an' so he went out under the plum tree, wherethe stun was, an' begun t' turn. The scythe was dull an' the youngfeller bore on harder'n wuz reely decent fer a long time. Rat begun t'git very sober lookin'.
'"Ain't ye 'bout done," said he.
'"Putty nigh," said the young feller bearin' down a leetle harder allthe time.
'Rat made the stun go faster. Putty soon he asked agin, "Ain't ye doneyit?"
'"Putty nigh!" says the other, feeling o' the edge.
'"I'm done," said Rat, an' he let go o' the handle. "I dunno 'bout thescythe but I'm a good deal sharper'n I wuz."
'"You're the hired man here ain't ye?" said the young feller.
'"No, I ain't," said Rat. "'D rather own up t' bein' a liar than turnthat stun another minnit."
As soon as he was fairly started with this droll narrative the strainof the situation was relieved. We were all laughing as much at hisdeliberate way of narration as at the story itself.
Suddenly he turned to Elizabeth Brower and said, very soberly, 'Will youbring me some water in a glass?'
Then he opened his chest of medicine, made some powders and told us howto give them.
'In a few days I would take him into the big woods for a while,' hesaid. 'See how it agrees with him.'
Then he gathered up his things and mother went with him to the gig.
Humour was one of the specifics of Doctor Bigsby. He was always a poorman. He had a way of lumping his bills, at about so much, in settlementand probably never kept books. A side of pork paid for many a longjourney. He came to his death riding over the hills one bitter day notlong after the time of which I write, to reach a patient.
The haying over, we made ready for our trip into the woods. Uncle Eb andTip Taylor, who knew the forest, and myself, were to go with Gerald toBlueberry Lake. We loaded our wagon with provisions one evening and madeready to be off at the break of day.