"Yes, it’s a little baby one, madam, but this will nip it in the bud and save your life. It will take the dollar size, but you know it’s worth it." "Oh yes, I’ll take it," Jane panted. "Put it there in the fence-corner among the weeds, and I’ll come out to-night and get it." "All right," and the flask tinkled against a stone as it slid into its snug hiding-place among the Jamestown weeds nestling close to the rotting rails. "Here’s your money. I reckon we’d better not stand here." And Jane gave it to him with quivering fingers. He folded the bill carefully, thrust it into a greasy wallet, and stooped to close his bag and throw the strap over his shoulder. "Now I’m going on to the next house," he said. "They tell me a curious sort of human specimen lives over thar—old Ann Boyd. Do you know, madam, I heard of that woman’s tantrums at Springtown night before last, and at Barley yesterday. Looks like you folks hain’t got much else to do but poke at her like a turtle on its back. Well, she must be a character! I made up my mind I’d take a peep at ’er. You know a travelling physician like I am can get at folks that sort o’ hide from the general run." Jane Hemingway’s heart sank. Why had it not occurred to her that he might go on to Ann Boyd’s and actually reveal her affliction? Such men had no honor or professional reputation to defend. Suddenly she was chilled from head to foot by the thought that the peddler might even boast of her patronage to secure that of her neighbor—that was quite the method of all such persons. It was on her tongue actually to ask him not to go to Ann Boyd’s house at all, but her better judgment told her that such a request would unduly rouse the man’s curiosity, so she offered a feeble compromise. "Look here," she said, "I want it understood between us that—that you are to tell nobody about me—about my trouble. That woman over there is at outs with all her neighbors, and—and she’d only be glad to—" Jane saw her error too late. It appeared to her now in the bland twinkle of amused curiosity in the stranger’s face. "I understand—I understand; you needn’t be afraid of me," the man said, entirely too lightly, Jane thought, for such a grave matter, and he pushed back the brim of his hat and turned. "Remember the directions, madam, a good brisk rubbing with a flannel rag—red if you’ve got it—soaked in the medicine, twice a day. Good-evening; I’ll be off. I’ve got to strike some house whar they will let me stay all night. I know that old hag won’t keep me, from all I hear."