"'Notions; fool's tricks; idees! Take my brother Reuel. He used to
have rheumatiz; had it bad. One day there was a thunder-storm, and
he was out gettin' in his hay, and was struck by lightnin'. Fluid
run along the rake and spit in his face, he used to say. He lost the
use of his eyes and hands for six months, but he never had rheumatiz
again for twenty years. Swore it was the electricity; said he
swallered it, and it got into his system and cured him. What do you
say to that, young feller?'

"'It's an experiment I never tried,' said I. 'I'm not going to
commit myself, Mr. Butters. But that's a good story.'

"'Hold on!' said he; 'that ain't all. 'Bout twenty-five years after
that--Reuel was gettin' on by that time--he was out fishin', and a
squall come up and swamped his boat. He was in the water quite a
spell, and come next day he was all doubled up with rheumatiz. He
was the maddest man you ever see. He wouldn't do a thing, only sit
hunched up in his chair and ask about the weather. It was summer-time,
and good hayin' weather as a rule. Bumbye come a fryin' hot day, and
sure enough we had a thunder-storm in the afternoon. When it was
bangin' away good and solid, Reuel hitched himself out of his chair,
took an iron rake in one hand and a hoe in the other, crep' out of
the house, and went and sat down under a tree in the middle of the
pasture. Wife tried to stop him, but she might as well have tried to
stop the lightnin'. Well, sir, the tree was struck, and Reuel never
had no more rheumatiz. Couldn't tell which was tree and which was him.
That comes of havin' idees.'"

"Dear me!" said Miss Vesta. "What a painful story! His poor wife!"