"Nonsense, nonsense," said I, my eyes earnestly fixed upon my open medical case. "I suppose a mustard-plaster on the back of her neck--" "Wouldn't do at all," I interrupted. "Wait a minute, now--yes--I know what I will do: I will give her sodium bromide--ten grains." "`Which will hit if it's a deer and miss if it's a calf' as the hunter said?" inquired Uncle Beamish. "It will certainly not injure her," said I, "and I am quite sure it will be a positive advantage. If there has been cerebral disturbance, which has subsided temporarily, it will assist her to tide over the interim before its recurrence." "All right," said Uncle Beamish, "give it to me, and I'll be off. It's time I showed up ag'in." He did not stay up-stairs very long this time. "No symptoms yit, but the patient looked at me as if she wanted to say somethin'; but she didn't git no chance, for the old lady set herself down as if she was planted in a garden-bed and intended to stay there. But the patient took the medicine as mild as a lamb." "That is very good," said I. "It may be that she appreciates the seriousness of her ewe better than we do." "I should say she wants to git well," he replied. "She looks like that sort of a person to me. The old woman said she thought we would have to stay awhile till the storm slackened, and I said, yes, indeed, and there wasn't any chance of its slackenin' to-night; besides, I wanted to see the patient before bedtime." At this moment the door opened and the servant-woman came in. "She says you are to have supper, and it will be ready in about half an hour. One of you had better go out and attend to your horse, for the man is not coming back to-night." "I will go to the barn," said I, rising. Uncle Beamish also rose and said he would go with me. "I guess you can find some hay and oats," said the woman, as we were putting on our coats and overshoes in the kitchen, "and here's a lantern. We don't keep no horse now, but there's feed left." As we pushed through the deep snow into the barn, Uncle Beamish said: "I've been tryin' my best to think where we are without askin' any questions, and I'm dead beat. I don't remember no such house as this on the road." "Perhaps we got off the road," said I. "That may be," said he, as we entered the barn. "It's a straight road from Warburton to the pike near my sister's house, but there's two other roads that branch off to the right and strike the pike further off to the east. Perhaps we got on one of them in all that darkness and perplexin' whiteness, when it wasn't easy to see whether we were keepin' a straight road or not." The horse neighed as we approached with a light. "I would not be at all surprised," said I, "if this horse had once belonged here and that was the reason why, as soon as he got a chance, he turned and made straight for his old home."