Amabel was a very nervous child, and she was in such terror from her really terrific experience that she threatened to go into convulsions.

Andrew went over for his mother, whom he had always regarded as an incontestable authority about children.

She, after one sharp splutter of wrath at the whole situation, went to work with the resolution of an old soldier.
"Heat some water, quick," said she to Andrew, "and get me a wash-tub." Then she told Fanny to brew a mess of sage tea, and began stripping off Amabel's clothes.
"Let me alone! Mamma, mamma, mamma!" shrieked the child.

She fought and clawed like a little, wild animal, but the old woman, in whose arms great strength could still arise for emergencies, and in whose spirit great strength had never died, got the better of her.
When Amabel's clothing was stripped off, and her little, spare body, which was brown rather than rosy, although she was a blonde, was revealed, she was as pitiful to see as a wound.

Every nerve and pulse in that tiny frame, about which there was not an ounce of superfluous flesh, seemed visible.