"I dunno's there's any use in gittin' a real dinner, jest you an' me,
an' you not workin' either. Folks say there's more danger of eatin' too
much'n too little. Gilman Lane, though, he kep' eatin' less an' less,
an' his stomach dried all up, till 'twa'n't no bigger'n a bladder. Look
here, you! I shouldn't wonder a mite if you'd got some o' them stomach
troubles along with your cold. You 'ain't acted as if you'd relished a
meal o' victuals for nigh onto ten days. Soon as I git my hands out o'
the flour, I'll look in the doctor's book, an' find out. My! how het up
I be!" She wiped her hands on the roller towel, and unpinned the little
plaid shawl drawn tightly across her shoulders, Its removal disclosed a
green sontag, and under that manifold layers of jacket and waist. She
was amply protected from the cold. "I dunno's I ought to ha' stirred up
rye'n' Injun," she went on, returning to her vigorous tossing and
mixing at the table. "Some might say the steam was bad for your lungs.
Anyhow, the doctor's book holds to't you've got to pick out a dry
climate, if you don't want to go into a decline. Le' me see! when your
Aunt Mattie was took, how long was it afore she really gi'n up? Arter
she begun to cough, I mean?"

Cyrus moved uneasily.

"I dunno," he said, hastily. "I never kep' the run o' such things."

But Mirandy, pouring her batter into the pan, heeded him no more than
was her wont.

"I s'pose that was real gallopin' consumption," she said, with relish."
I must ask Sister Sarah how long 'twas, next time I see her. She set it
down with the births an' deaths."