NATIVE DOCTORS 



of them, think that a medicine good for one thing 

 must be equally good for another. A man came in 

 one day, and asked for some of " the red-coloured 

 medicine." 



I asked him, " What is the matter with you ? " 



He simply said, " Kujanna (never mind), I want 

 some of the red medicine." 



" No," I said, " not unless I am sure that it is the 

 sort you need : tell me what ails you." 



" I have sprained my shoulder," he said. 



" Then the red medicine that you are talking 

 about will not be of any use to you : it is not 

 illingajomik for sprained shoulders." 



" Atsuk," he went on, " my mate outside says that 

 he thinks that red medicine must be the quickest 

 kind, for it mended his pain. Give me the red sort." 



Our old friend Maria voiced another side of 

 the native simplicity when she came shuffling in 

 one day, bursting with the dignity of her new 

 position. Poor old soul, she had been married only 

 a few days before to a worthy old fellow who was 

 coming to the end of his days, and who had long 

 been casting about for a wife to share his solitude. 

 Maria was concerned for the old man. " I want 

 knee-medicine," she said, "knee-medicine for the 

 old man." 



Visions of the poor old fellow tumbling over 

 the stones outside his door and hurting his knees 

 came into my mind. 



" How did he hurt his knees ? " I asked her. 



" He has not hurt his knees at all." 



More visions, this time of a poor old man 

 crippled with rheumatism. 



" Is the medicine for the pains in his knees ? " 



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