"I should have given her a good bowl of thoroughwort tea, when she went
to bed," said her grandmother.
"The kitchen fire isn't out yet; I can steep some thoroughwort now,"
said Aunt Susy, and she forthwith started. She brewed a great bowl of
thoroughwort tea and carried it up to Mehitable. Mehitable's wistful
innocent blue eyes stared up out of the pillows at Aunt Susy and the
bowl.
"What is it?" she inquired.
"A bowl of nice hot thoroughwort tea. You sit up and drink it right
down, like a good little girl."
"I'm not sick, Aunt Susy," Mehitable pleaded, faintly. She hated
thoroughwort tea.
"Well, never mind if you're not. Sit right up. It'll do you good."
Aunt Susy's face was full of loving determination. So Mehitable sat up.
She drank the thoroughwort tea with convulsive gulps. Once in a while
she paused and rolled her eyes piteously over the edge of the bowl.
"Drink it right down," said Aunt Susy.
And she drank it down. There never was a more obedient little girl than
Mehitable Lamb. Then she lay back, and Aunt Susy tucked her up, and went
down with the empty bowl.
"Did she drink it all?" inquired her grandmother.
"Every mite."
"Well, she'll be all right in the morning, I guess. There isn't anything
better than a bowl of good, hot, thoroughwort tea."
The twilight was deepening. The Lamb family were all in the
sitting-room. They had not lighted the lamp, the summer dusk was so
pleasant.
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