“Just the thing!” said Dr. Strong heartily. “Will you bring it, Mrs. Sharpless? I hope you’ve included your comment on events as well as the events themselves.” “My opinions are generally pronounced enough so that I can remember ‘em, young man,” returned Mrs. Sharpless, as she departed for the desired volumes. “That last remark of yours sounded a little like making fun of Grandma,” suggested Mr. Clyde, as the door closed after her. “Far from it,” retorted Dr. Strong quickly. “Can’t you see that she’s a born diagnostician? She’s got the sixth sense sticking out all over her. Women more often have it than men. When a doctor has it, and sometimes when he’s only able to counterfeit it, he becomes great and famous.” “Now that you speak of it, I remember my wife’s saying that when she was a girl and lived in the country, her mother was always being sent for in cases of illness.” Dr. Strong nodded. “Heretical though it is to say so, I would rather have the diagnosis of such a woman, in an obscure case, than of many a doctor. She learns in the school of experience.” Here, Mrs. Sharpless returned, carrying several diaries. “These go five years back,” said she. “You’ll find ‘em pretty complete. We’ve had our fair share of trouble; measles, whooping-cough,—I thought Betsy was going to bark her poor little head off,—mumps, and chicken-pox. I nursed ‘em through, myself.” “All of them?” “All of ‘em didn’t have all the things because Tom Clyde sent the rest away when one of ‘em came down. All nonsense, I say. Better let ‘em get it while they’re young, and have done with it.” “One of the worst of the old superstitions,” said Dr. Strong quietly. “Don’t tell me, young man! Doctor or no doctor, you can’t teach me about children’s diseases. There isn’t any of those measly and mumpy ones that I’m afraid of. Bobs _did_ scare me, though, with that queer attack of his.” “Bobs,” explained Mr. Clyde, “is Robin, one of the eight-year-old twins.” “Tell me about the attack.” “When _was_ it?” said the grandmother, running over the leaves of a selected diary. “Oh, here it is. Last March. It was short and sharp. Only lasted three days; but the child had a dreadful fever and pretty bad cramps.” “Anything else?” “Why, yes; though that idiot of a cousin of Tom’s snubbed me when I told him about it. The boy seemed kind of numb and slow with his hands for some time after.” “And now?” So sharp came the question that Mr. Clyde glanced at the speaker, not without apprehension. “Nothing left of it that I can see.” “What had you in mind?” asked Mr. Clyde of the doctor, curiously. “Speaking technically, anterior poliomyelitis.” Grandma Sharpless laughed comfortably. “I’ve noticed that a very long name like that usually means a sore toe or a pimple behind your ear. It’s the short names that bring the undertaker.” “Shrewdly said, but exception noted,” said Dr. Strong.