“Yes, I know it's so,” replied the doctor.
“Then what makes you say it ain't a wonder?”
“Because it's a thing; anybody could do,” replied the doctor.
“No,” replied the doctor, “rotate a dislocated joint into place. When Sol Shreave caught his ax in the grapevine he twisted the ball on the big hone of his arm out of the socket of the shoulder, and when the School-teacher took hold of his arm and rotated it around in the right way it went back into place.”
The miller crossed her hands over her apron. She took hold of the palm of her left with the fingers of her right. She gave her head a little jerk. Her eyebrows contracted.
She remained for a moment looking down at the mill porch, then she looked up.
“Doctor,” she said, “did you ever hear of anybody that was dead bein' brought back to life?”
“Yes,” said the doctor, “I have heard of it ever since I could remember.”
“_No_,” said the doctor. “It never has happened. When you're dead, you're dead.”
The doctor took a watch out of his pocket. It was a heavy, old, silver watch, tied to his waistcoat buttonhole with a buckskin string. He opened it, examined it for a moment, then snapped the lid and thrust it back into his pocket. When he looked around the miller was standing in the roadside beside the horse.
“Doctor,” she said, “I'm a-goin' to tell you somethin' that I never told anybody.”
“About what I've just said,” replied the woman.
The doctor reflected for an instant, then he remembered. He shifted his position in the saddle. His voice showed annoyance.
“What cock-an'-bull story have you got a-hold of now?” he said.
“It's no cock-an'-bull story,” replied the miller. “It's the God's truth.”
The doctor made a deprecating gesture with his crooked arm.
“Now, look here, Sal,” lie said, “I haven't time to listen to all the tales you've heard.”
“It ain't anything I've heard,” replied the miller.
“Now, Sal,” said the doctor, “don't begin to tell me something you thought you saw.”
“I'm not a-goin' to tell you somethin' that I thought I saw. I'm a-goin' to tell you something that I did see.”
“All right,” said the doctor, “go on and tell it. What did you see?”
“Well,” she said, “one Saturday the School-teacher come down here to help me, an' he brought Mary Jane's little hoy with him. He's awful little. He ain't two yet. The School-teacher left him with me while he went down under the mill to fix one of the wheel paddles. Well, Martha was gone an' there was nobody here but me to 'tend things. An' I got to movin' around and forgot the little boy. An' when I went to look for him--I hope I may die!--if he wasn't a-layin' drown-ded at the bottom of the millrace. Lord-amighty! I was crazy. I jumped in an' got him out, an' begun to holler for the School-teacher to come. But he was dead. I knowed he was dead. His little lips was blue, an' his poor little hands was cold.”