A Patent Medicine Testimonial
by
“You might as well try to move the rock of Gibraltar as attempt to change Uncle Abimelech’s mind when it is once made up,” said Murray gloomily.
Murray is like dear old Dad; he gets discouraged rather easily. Now, I’m not like that; I’m more like Mother’s folks. As Uncle Abimelech has never failed to tell me when I have annoyed him, I’m “all Foster.” Uncle Abimelech doesn’t like the Fosters. But I’m glad I take after them. If I had folded my hands and sat down meekly when Uncle Abimelech made known his good will and pleasure regarding Murray and me after Father’s death, Murray would never have got to college–nor I either, for that matter. Only I wouldn’t have minded that very much. I just wanted to go to college because Murray did. I couldn’t be separated from him. We were twins and had always been together.
As for Uncle Abimelech’s mind, I knew that he never had been known to change it. But, as he himself was fond of saying, there has to be a first time for everything, and I had determined that this was to be the first time for him. I hadn’t any idea how I was going to bring it about; but it just had to be done, and I’m not “all Foster” for nothing.
I knew I would have to depend on my own thinkers. Murray is clever at books and dissecting dead things, but he couldn’t help me out in this, even if he hadn’t settled beforehand that there was no use in opposing Uncle Abimelech.
“I’m going up to the garret to think this out, Murray,” I said solemnly. “Don’t let anybody disturb me, and if Uncle Abimelech comes over don’t tell him where I am. If I don’t come down in time to get tea, get it yourself. I shall not leave the garret until I have thought of some way to change Uncle Abimelech’s mind.”
“Then you’ll be a prisoner there for the term of your natural life, dear sis,” said Murray sceptically. “You’re a clever girl, Prue–and you’ve got enough decision for two–but you’ll never get the better of Uncle Abimelech.”
“We’ll see,” I said resolutely, and up to the garret I went. I shut the door and bolted it good and fast to make sure. Then I piled some old cushions in the window seat–for one might as well be comfortable when one is thinking as not–and went over the whole ground from the beginning.
Outside the wind was thrashing the broad, leafy top of the maple whose tallest twigs reached to the funny grey eaves of our old house. One roly-poly little sparrow blew or flew to the sill and sat there for a minute, looking at me with knowing eyes. Down below I could see Murray in a corner of the yard, pottering over a sick duck. He had set its broken leg and was nursing it back to health. Anyone except Uncle Abimelech could see that Murray was simply born to be a doctor and that it was flying in the face of Providence to think of making him anything else.
From the garret windows I could see all over the farm, for the house is on the hill end of it. I could see all the dear old fields and the spring meadow and the beech woods in the southwest corner. And beyond the orchard were the two grey barns and down below at the right-hand corner was the garden with all my sweet peas fluttering over the fences and trellises like a horde of butterflies. It was a dear old place and both Murray and I loved every stick and stone on it, but there was no reason why we should go on living there when Murray didn’t like farming. And it wasn’t our own, anyhow. It all belonged to Uncle Abimelech.