On my arrival I went to a hotel and told the landlord I wanted to stay there till the next day, when a conductor whom I knew would be going to Meredith Bridge; that I was going with him, and that he would probably pay my bill at the hotel.  “All right,” said the landlord, and he gave me my supper and a room.  The next noon my friend, the conductor, came and when I first spoke to him he did not recognize me; I told him who I was, but to ask me no questions as to how I came to appear in those old clothes, and to be so poor; I wanted to borrow five dollars, and to go with him to Meredith Bridge.  He greeted me very cordially, handed me a ten-dollar Bill—­twice as much as I asked for—­said he was not going to the Bridge till next day, and told me meanwhile, to go to the hotel and make myself comfortable.

I went back to the hotel, paid my bill, stayed there that day and night, and the next morning “deadheaded,” with my friend the conductor to Meredith Bridge.  Everybody knew me there.  The hotel-keeper made me welcome to his house, and said I could stay as long as I liked.

“Say, dew ye ever cure anybody, Doctor?” asked my old friend, the landlord, and he laughed and nudged me in the ribs, and asked me to take some of his medicine from the bar, which I immediately did.

I was at home now.  But the object of my visit was to see if I could not collect some of my old bills in that neighborhood, amounting in the aggregate to several hundred dollars.  They were indeed old bills of five or six years’ standing, and I had very little hope of collecting much money.  I went first to Lake Village, and called on Mr. John Blaisdell, the husband of the woman whom I had cured of the dropsy, in accordance, as she believed at the time, with her prophetic dream.  Blaisdell didn’t know me at first; then he wanted to know what my bill was; I told him one hundred dollars, to say nothing of six years’ interest; he said he had no money, though he was regarded as a rich man, and in fact was.

“But sir,” said I, “you see me and how poor I am.  Give me something on account.  I am so poor that I even borrowed this overcoat from the tailor in the village, that I might present a little more respectable appearance when I called on my old patients to try to collect some of my old bills.  Please to give me something.”

But he had no money.  He would pay for the overcoat; I might tell the tailor so; and afterwards he gave me a pair of boots and an old shirt.  This was the fruit which my “blossom” of years before brought at last.  I saw Mrs. Blaisdell, but she said she could do nothing for me.  She had forgotten what I had done for her.

Of all my bills in that vicinity, with a week’s dunning, I collected only three dollars; but a good friend of mine, Sheriff Hill, went around and succeeded in making up a purse of twenty dollars which he put into my hands just as I was going away.  My old landlord wanted nothing for my week’s board; all he wanted was to know “if I ever cured anybody;” and when I told him I did, “sometimes” he insisted upon my taking more of his medicine, and he put up a good bottle of it for me to carry with me on my journey.