"No, Granny, not a word."
"The dhirty hussy! Saved the boy's life in sphite of their robbin' me an' she ain't human enough to say 'thank ye'—the dhirty hussy! May God forgive her as I do," said the old woman with evident and implacable enmity.
"Fwhat hev ye got thayer? Hivin be praised, they can't kill them all off. They kin cut down the trees, but the flowers comes ivery year, me little beauties—me little beauties!" Yan spread them out. She picked up an Arum and went on. "Now, that's Sorry-plant, only some calls it Injun Turnip, an' I hear the childer call it Jack-in-the-Pulpit. Don't ye never put the root o' that near yer tongue. It'll sure burn ye like fire. First thing whin they gits howld av a greeny the bhise throis to make him boite that same. Shure he niver does it twicet. The Injuns b'ile the pizen out o' the root an' ates it; shure it's better'n starvin'."
Golden Seal (Hydrastis canadensis), the plant she had used for Sam's knee, was duly recognized and praised, its wonderful golden root, "the best goold iver came out av the ground," was described with its impression of the seal of the Wise King.
"Thim's Mandrakes, an' they're moighty late, an' ye shure got thim in the woods. Some calls it May Apples, an' more calls it Kingroot. The Injuns use it fur their bowels, an' it has cured many a horse of pole evil that I seen meself.
"An' Blue Cohosh, only I call that Spazzum-root. Thayer ain't nothin' like it fur spazzums—took like tay; only fur that the Injun women wouldn't live in all their thrubles, but that's something that don't consarn ye. Luk now, how the laves is all spread out like wan wid spazzums. Glory be to the Saints and the Blessed Virgin, everything is done fur us on airth an' plain marked, if we'd only take the thruble to luk.
"Now luk at thot," said she, clawing over the bundle and picking out a yellow Cypripedium, "that's Moccasin-plant wid the Injuns, but mercy on 'em fur bloind, miserable haythens. They don't know nothin' an' don't want to larn it. That's Umbil, or Sterrick-root. It's powerful good fur sterricks. Luk at it! See the face av a woman in sterricks wid her hayer flyin' an' her jaw a-droppin'. I moind the toime Larry's little gurrl didn't want to go to her 'place' an' hed sterricks. They jest sent fur me an' I brung along a Sterrick-root. First, I sez, sez I, 'Get me some b'ilin' wather,' an' I made tay an' give it to her b'ilin' hot. As share as Oi'm a livin' corpse, he very first spoonful fetched her all right. Oh, but it's God's own gift, an' it's be His blessin' we know how to use it. An' it don't do to just go an' dig it when ye want it. It has to be grubbed when the flower ain't thayer. Ye see, the strength ain't in both places to oncet. It's ayther in the flower or in the root, so when the flower is thayer the root's no more good than an ould straw. Ye hes to Hunt fur it in spring or in fall, just when the divil himself wouldn't know whayer to find it.
"An' fwhat hev ye thayer? Good land! if it ain't Skunk's Cabbage! Ye sure come up by the Bend. That's the on'y place whayer that grows."
"Yes," replied Yan; "that's just where I got it. But hold on, Granny, I want to sketch all those and note down their names and what you say about them."
"Shure, you'd hev a big book when I wuz through," said the old woman with pride, as she lit her pipe, striking the match on what would have been the leg of her pants had she been a man.
"An' shure ye don't need to write down what they're good fur, fur the good Lord done that Himself long ago. Luk here, now. That's Cohosh, fur spazzums, an' luks like it; that's Moccasin, fur Highsterricks, an' luks like it; wall, thar's Skunk-root fur both, an' don't it luk like the two o' thim thigither?"
Yan feebly agreed, but had much difficulty in seeing what the plant had in common with the others.
"An' luk here! Thayer ye got Lowbelier, that some calls Injun tobaccer. Ye found this by the crick, an' it's a little airly—ahead o' toime. That's the shtuff to make ye throw up when ye want to. Luk, ain't that lafe the livin' shape of a shtummick?
"Thayer's the Highbelier; it's a high hairb, an' it's moighty foine fur the bowels when ye drink the dry root.
"Spicewood" [Spicebush, Lindera benzoin], "or Fayverbush, them twigs is great fur tay—that cures shakes and fayver. Shure an' it shakes ivery toime the wind blows.
"That's Clayvers," she said, picking up a Galium. "Now fwhat wud ye think that wuz fur to cure?"
"I don't know. What is it?"
"Luk now, an' see how it's wrote in it plain as prent—yes, an' a sight plainer, fur I can read them an' I can't read a wurrud in a book. Now fwhat is that loike?" said she, holding up the double seed-pod.
"A brain and spinal column," said Yan.
"Och, choild, I hev better eyes than ye. Shure them's two kidneys, an' that's fwhat Clayver tay will cure better'n all the docthers in the wurruld, an' ye hev to know just how. Ye see, kidney thruble is a koind o' fayver; it's hatin', so ye make yer Clayver tay in cold wather; if ye make it o' warrum wather it just makes ye wuss an' acts loike didly pizen. Thayer's Sweatplant, or Boneset" [Eupatorium perfoliatum], "that's the thing to sweat ye. Wanst Oi sane a feller jest dyin' o' dry hoide, wuz all hoidebound, an' the docthers throid an' throid an' couldn't help wan bit, till I guv his mother some Boneset leaves to make tay, an' he sweat buckets before he'd more'n smelt av it, an' the docthers thought they done it theirsilves!" and she cackled gleefully.
"Thayer's Goldthread fur cankermouth, an' Pipsissewa that cures fayver an' rheumatiz, too. It always grows where folks gits them disayses. Luk at the flower just blotched red an' white loike fayver blotches—an' Spearmint, that saves ye if ya pizen yerself with Spaszum-root, an' shure it grows right next it in the woods!
"Thayer's Wormseed fur wurrums—see the 'ittle wurrum on the leaves" [Chenopodium] "an' that thayer is Pleurisy root, an' thayer! well, thayer's the foinest 
hairb that iver God made to grow—that's Cure all. Some things cures wan thing and some cures another, but when ye don't know just what to take, ye make tay o' that root an' ye can't go wrong. It was an Injun larned me that. The poor miserable baste of a haythen hed some larnin', an' the minit he showed me I knowed it was so, fur ivery lafe wuz three in wan an' wan in three, an' had the sign o' the blessed crass in the middle as plain as that biler settin' on the stove."
Thus she chattered away, smoking her short pipe, expectorating on the top of the hot stove, but with true feminine delicacy she was careful each time to wipe her mouth on the back of her skinny arm.
"An' that's what's called Catnip; sure Oi moind well the day Oi furst larned about that. It warn't a Injun nor a docther nor a man at all, at all, that larned me that. It was that ould black Cat, an' may the saints stand bechuxt me an' his grane eyes! Bejabers, sometimes he scares me wid his knowin' ways, but I hev nothin' agin him except that he kills the wee burruds. He koind o' measled all wan winter an' lay around the stove. Whiniver the dooer was open he'd go an' luk out an' then come back an' meow an' wheen an' lay down—an' so he kep' on, gittin' waker an' worser, till the snow wuz gone an' grass come up, an' still he'd go a-lukin' toward the ayst, especially nights. Then thayer come up a plant I had never sane, right thayer, an' he'd luk at it an' luk at it loike he wanted it but didn't dar to. Thar was some foine trays out thayer in thim days afore the ould baste cut thim down, an' wan av thim hed a big limb, so—an' another so—an' when the moon come up full at jest the right time the shaddy made the sign av the crass an' loighted on me dooer, an' after it was past it didn't make no crass. Well, bejabers, the full moon come up at last an' she made the sign of the shaddy crass, an' the ould Cat goes out an' watches an' watches loike he wanted to an' didn't dar to, till that crass drapped fayer onto the hairbs, an' Tom he jumped then an' ate