contents of a goblet which contained a dark-colored mixture.

"Ize takin' black medshin," said Toddie; "I likes black medshin
awfoo muts."

"What do you make it of?" I asked, with some sympathy, and tracing
parental influence again. When Helen and I were children we spent
hours in soaking liquorice in water and administering it as
medicine.

"Makesh it out of shoda mitsture," said Toddie.

This was another medicine of our childhood days, but one prepared
according to physician's prescription, and not beneficial when
taken ad libitum. As I took the vial--a two-ounce one--I asked:--

"How much did you take, Toddie?"

"Took whole bottoo full--twas nysh," said he.

Suddenly the label caught my eye--it read PAREGORIC. In a second I
had snatched a shawl, wrapped Toddie in it, tucked him under my
arm, and was on my way to the barn. In a moment more I was on one
of the horses and galloping furiously to the village, with Toddie
under one arm, his yellow curls streaming in the breeze. People
came out and stared as they did at John Gilpin, while one old
farmer whom I met turned his team about, whipped up furiously, and
followed me, shouting "Stop thief!" I afterward learned that he
took me to be one of the abductors of Charley Ross, with the lost
child under my arm, and that visions of the $20,000 reward floated