"I was a tellin' her that a hot brick or a flatiron at her feet and another at the small of her back would help. It ain't comfortable jest at first, but she can have the hired girl wrap it in a piece o flannel, and after a while it feels real comfortin'. But I must be goin'. I see you're a lookin' at my bunnet, Mis' Beaumont. It don't look much like what you got on your head, but I work a lot in the garden, and if I don't have somethin' on my head my hair gets all frouzy. A hat don't seem to be the right thing to work in the garden with, and if I do wear one the sun burns the back of my neck when I stoop down; so I got me a bunnet, like I used to wear, and it makes me feel real to home. Good-by, good-by, doctor." She turned to Mrs. Beaumont: "Now, if the boneset tea don't do you no good, let me know. Perhaps your liver is teched a little and it makes you feel bad all over. I got some camomile leaves that's real good fer that. If you want any, I'll be real glad to bring 'em over." She was gone. The doctor looked at his patient and the patient looked at the doctor. Then Mrs. Beaumont put back her head and burst into a gale of laughter, in which the dignified doctor soon joined. They laughed and laughed, the woman wiping her tear-filled eyes. Finally, when she could stop long enough to talk, she said: "Did you ever hear of anything so funny in all your life--a hot brick--or a hot flatiron"--a peal of laugher--"at my feet--another one at the small of my back--Oh, I shall die, I shall surely die!" And she went off into another paroxysm of laughter. When the laughter ceased and the doctor returned to his professional manner, asking her how she felt and starting to feel her pulse, she said: "Doctor, she's cured me. I haven't had a laugh like that for years. It's better than all your medicine. Boneset tea--" and again she was off. Finally, when she had quieted, the doctor said: "I don't know but that her boneset tea is as good as anything else. All you need is a little quiet. You seem better than you were yesterday." "I tell you that I am well! All my system needed was a little shaking up, and Miss Doane has done it for me." The doctor rose to go. "I think that I shall take Miss Doane as a partner. Her herbs or her prescriptions seem to have a better effect than my medicines. Shall I come to-morrow?" "Yes; this may not last. Come to-morrow if you are near, though I am sure I won't need you." As the doctor's hand was on the door he turned: "If I were you, Mrs. Beaumont, I'd send for those camomile leaves." But with all her little acts of neighborliness, and her "baking day" and her attempts to find duties to fill the hours, time began to hang heavily upon the hands of active Drusilla. If she had been of a higher station in life she would have said that she was bored or was suffering from that general complaint of the rich--"enuyee."