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CHAPTER XII.
ATHOTHIS, TO HIS SURPRISE, REDISCOVERS ONE OF THE
LOST ARTS.
N a large front room, seated in an easy-chair,
was a strong, robust looking man, aged about
sixty years, with flushed face and bloodshot
eyes. This individual gazed around angrily as
the physician approached his chair, and remarked in a
tone of evident irritation : " I thought you would never
come ! My headache 's much worse than yesterday, and
my ears still keep buzzing. I was so dizzy this morning
on rising, that I fairly staggered across the room.
Doctor, you must help my head immediately, or I shall
go mad!"
" Yes," added a pert-looking young woman, standing
at the back of the farmer's chair, bathing his forehead;
"do give my husband some quieting medicine! I'm
fairly tired out waiting on him. He is very cross, and
keeps complaining of numbness in his leg."
" My first wife had more patience than Maria,"
remarked Cioverblossom, chidingly.
" It's a pity she died !" retorted the woman, spitefully.
"You worried the life out of her; but I'm not one of
the meek kind. I never had any patience with old men.
I told you that before you married me."
"If it had not been for those city doctors, Laura -would
have been here to cheer and comfort me now," moaned
the farmer, shaking his head despondingly, while large
tears started from his eyes.
