clock. It _was_ late! Eight, and past, and Hetty had not called us. What
could be the matter?

Down I flew to find out what ailed Aunt Hetty. She was usually an early
riser.

Before I reached her room, which was on the same floor with the kitchen,
I heard groans issuing from it, and Hetty's voice saying: "Dear me! Oh,
dear me!" in the most despairing, agonizing tones. Hetty always makes
the most of a "misery in her bones."

"What is it, aunty?" I asked, peering into the room, which she _would_
keep as dark as a pocket.

"De misery in my bones, child! De ole king chills! Sometimes I'm up!
Sometimes I'm down!"

The bed shook under the poor thing, and I ran out to ask Patrick to go
for the doctor, while I made the fire, and called the girls to help
prepare breakfast.

First in order after lighting the fire, which being of wood blazed up
directly that the match was applied to the kindlings, came the making of
the corn-meal gruel.

A tablespoonful of corn meal wet with six tablespoonfuls of milk, added
one by one, gradually, so that the meal is quite free from lumps. One
pint of boiling water, and a little salt. You must stir the smooth
mixture of the meal and milk into the boiling water. It will cool it a
little, and you must stir it until it comes to a boil, then stand it