While he split the tender bark and slipped out the wood he spoke his thoughts slowly: "The five cents a pound I'll get for you is even less, but I love the fragrance and taste.

You don't peel so easy as the willow, but I like to prepare you better, because you will make some miserable little sick child well or you may cool some one's fevered blood.

If ever she has a fever, I hope she will take medicine made from my bark, because it will be strong and pure.

I've half a notion to set some one else gathering the stuff and tending the plants and spend my time in the little laboratory compounding different combinations.

I don't see what bigger thing a man can do than to combine pure, clean, unadulterated roots and barks into medicines that will cool fevers, stop chills, and purify bad blood.