"Well, I reckon getting under that ether was the toughest part of the job," Jane smiled. "I took one deep whiff of it, and I give you my word I thought the pesky stuff had burnt the lining out of my windpipe. But Dr. Putnam told me he’d give it to me more gradual, and he did. It still burnt some, but it begun to get easy, and I drifted off into the pleasantest sleep, I reckon, I ever had. When I come to and found nobody in the room but a girl in a white apron and a granny’s cap, I was afraid they had decided not to operate, and, when I asked her if there’d been any hitch, she smiled and said it was all over, and I wouldn’t have nothing to do but lie still and pick up." "It’s wonderful how fine they’ve got things down these days," commented Sam. "Ten years ago folks looked on an operation like that as next to a funeral, but it’s been about the only picnic Jane’s had since she was flying around with the boys." The subject of this jest joined the others in a good-natured laugh. "There was just one thing on my mind to bother me," she said, somewhat more seriously, "and that was wondering who gave that money to Virginia. Naturally a thing like that would pester a person, especially where it was such a big benefit. I’ve been at Virginia to tell me, or give me some hint so I could find out myself, but the poor child looks awfully embarrassed, and keeps reminding me of her promise. I reckon there isn’t but one thing to do, and that is to let it rest." "There’s only one person round here that’s _got_ any spare money," said Sam Hemingway, quite with a straight face, "and it happens, too, that she’d like to have a thing like that done." "Why, who do you mean, Sam?" His sister-in-law fell into his trap, as she sat staring at him blandly. "Why, it’s Ann Boyd—old Sister Ann. She’d pay for a job like that on the bare chance of the saw-bones making a miss-lick and cutting too deep, or blood-pizen settin’ in." "Don’t mention that woman’s name to me!" Jane said, angrily. "You know it makes me mad, and that’s why you do it. I tried to keep a humble and contrite heart in me down there; but, folks, I’m going to confess to you all that the chief joy I felt in getting my health back was on account of that woman’s disappointment. I never mentioned it till now, but that meddlesome old hag actually knew about my ailment long before I let it out to a soul. Like a fool, I bought some fake medicine from a tramp peddler one day, and let him examine me. He went straight over to Ann Boyd’s and told her. Oh, I know he did, for she met me at the wash-hole, during the hot spell, when water was scarce, and actually gloated over my coming misfortune. She wouldn’t say what the ill-luck was, but I knew what she was talking about and where she got her information."