LETTERS FROM AN OREGON RANCH
“Tom, has a hen a nose?”
“Heavens, Katharine! how should I know? Not a noticeable one, I guess; at least, not one that she can turn up. Why?”
“Because this book speaks of a hen’s nostrils, which implies a nose, don’t you think? It says sometimes a slight incrustation forms over them, which should be gently removed by their caretaker.”
“Yes,—well, I can tell you right now that it will be an exceedingly frigid day when this caretaker gently removes it.”
Oh, it is so wearing, this trying to instil scientific knowledge into the mind of one who absorbs so little! Sustained, however, by an earnest desire for his enlightenment, I began again timidly,—
“If this patient of yours should happen to be suffering from lung trouble, you should give her a soothing drink.”
“Soothing fiddlesticks!”
“I thought you approved of the teachings of the Agricultural College?”
“Well, isn’t warm melted lard a soothing drink?”
“I have never tried it as a beverage, but with cayenne pepper added, it might, I should think, excoriate even the well-seasoned throat of the terrible Mrs. Quilp. Didn’t it strangle her?”
“It did, Katharine; but it also aroused her from her apathy,—and that is a point gained.”
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