opened. The smell of flaxseed reproduces every horror of Davy's first
attack. After the man has grown used to the flaxseed he begins to
detect the odor of stramonium. The pan is dry. Carry it back to the
stove and put some hot water in it. But look at Davy first.

"Esther, how is he?"

"I think he is growing better, David."

"The room here is not warm enough. Let us carry him back where the
stove is."

The cook is on the stairs and beholds the little cortege. "Lord!
Lord!" she wails, and the housekeeper silences the cry. "They carry
them like that at the hospital," the frightened woman explains. "But
they are always dead!"

In the kitchen sits a woman, visiting the cook. Her face is the very
picture of trouble. She rocks her body as she talks.

"I buried seven," she says.

"Seven children?"

"Yes, and every one with membrainyous croup. They may call it what
they please. Ah! I know; I know!"

She rocks her body, and laughs almost a silly laugh.

"Every one of them had a terrible attack, and then was well for a week.