When she was chewing it she
nodded and grunted, as though critically tasting and relishing it.
My father was a steadfast enthusiast on religious matters, and, of
course, attended almost every sort of church-meeting, especially
revival meetings. They were occasionally held in summer, but mostly
in winter when the sleighing was good and plenty of time available.
One hot summer day father drove Nob to Portage and back, twenty-four
miles over a sandy road. It was a hot, hard, sultry day's work, and
she had evidently been over-driven in order to get home in time for
one of these meetings. I shall never forget how tired and wilted she
looked that evening when I unhitched her; how she drooped in her
stall, too tired to eat or even to lie down. Next morning it was plain
that her lungs were inflamed; all the dreadful symptoms were just the
same as my own when I had pneumonia. Father sent for a Methodist
minister, a very energetic, resourceful man, who was a blacksmith,
farmer, butcher, and horse-doctor as well as minister; but all his
gifts and skill were of no avail.
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