“Oh, it’ll dy—I know it will,” ses Mary. “Maybe its only sick at its little stummick, muther,” ses sister Carline, “and some sut tea is the best thing in the world for that, they say.” “And if it’s the thrash, some catnip tea will drive it out in half a ower,” ses the old woman. “Prissy, make some catnip tea, quick as you can.” “And have some water warmed to bathe its little feet in,” ses sister Kesiah; “for maybe its spasomy.” “Oh dear, see how it winks its eyes!” ses Mary. “That ain’t nothing uncommon, dear,” ses her muther. “Now it’s twitchin’ its little lims again. Oh, it will dy, I know it will.” “Wouldn’t some saffron tea be good for it?” ses Miss Carline. “Poor little dear!” “Yes, and a musterd poultice for its little bowels,” ses the old woman. By this time all the niggers on the place was up gettin’ hot-baths, and teas, and musterd poultices, and ingun-juice, and Lord knows what all, for the baby. Muther and the galls was flyin’ about like they was crazy, and I was so tarrified myself that I didn’t know which eend I stood on. In the hurryment and confusion, Aunt Katy upsot the tea-kittle and scalded little Moses, and he sot up a yell in the kitchin loud enuff to be heard a mile, and I knocked the lamp off the table, and spilled the oil all everything, tryin’ to turn round three ways at the same time. After breakin’ two or three cups and sassers, and settin’ Mary’s night-cap afire with the candle, old Miss Stallins made out to git a tea-spoonful of sut tea in the baby’s mouth, hot enuff to scald its life out, and then ther was such another to-do as nobody ever did hear before. “Wa!—wa-ya!—ke-wa!—ke-wa-ah!” went the baby. “Good gracious! mother, the tea’s bilin’ hot,” ses sister Carline. “My lord! Prissy, hain’t you got no better sense? What upon yeath did you give it to me so hot for?” ses the old woman when she put her finger in the cup. “Miss Kesiah tell me pour bilin’ water on it,” ses Prissy, with her eyes as big as sassers. “Wa-ya! ke-wa-ah! ke-wa!” ses the baby, kickin’ and fistin’ away like all rath. “Whar’s the draps, Joseph? Git the draps, it must be colicky,” ses old Miss Stallins. I got the parrygorrick as quick as I could, and tried to pour out five draps, as she told me. But my hand trimbled so I couldn’t drap it to save me. “Give it to me, Joseph,” ses she; “you’s too agitated.” And she tuck the vial, and poured half of it on her lap, tryin’ to hit the spoon—the poor old woman’s eyes is so bad. Then she told sister Carline to drap it—but both the galls was ’fraid they mought pour too much. So Mary had to do it herself. Then the next difficulty was to git it in the baby’s mouth, and when they did git it thar, it liked to choke it to deth before it could swaller it.