"Reuel Slocum! what _do_ you mean ?" "Sounds curus, don't it ?" returned Mr.Slocum.

"But it's a fact that it's a great cure for rheumatiz.

A grea-at cure! Why, there's Barzillay Smith, over to Peat's Corner, has kerried a potato in his pocket for five years,--not the same potato, y' know; changes 'em when they begin to sprout,--and he hesn't hed a touch o' rheumatism all that time.

Not a touch! tol' me so himself." "Had he ever hed it before ?" asked Dame Hartley.
"I d'no as he hed," said Mr.Slocum, "But his father hed; an' his granf'ther before him.

So ye see--" But here Hilda uttered a long sigh of weariness and impatience; and Dame Hartley, with a penitent glance at her, bade good-morning to the victim of rheumatism, gave old Nancy a smart slap with the reins, and drove off down the wood-road.
"My dear child," she said to Hilda as they jogged along, "I ought not to have kept you waiting so long, and you tired with your ride in the cars.
But Reuel Slocum lives all alone here, and he does enjoy a little chat with an old neighbor more than most folks; so I hope you'll excuse me." "It is of no consequence, thank you," murmured Hildegarde, with cold civility.