You don't know me; you never knew my heart. No man knows my history. I cannot tell it; I shall never undertake it. I don't blame anyone for not believing my history. If I had not experienced what I have, I could ot have believed it myself." (p. vii)

The eight-year old Joseph seemed to recover well enough, though slowly, until one day Lucy was terrified to discover huge infections breaking out upon his shoulder and leg. Herb poultices were as unavailing as the usual prayers, and Lucy finally called in a physician. He bled the boy, plied him with purges, and probed his ugly sores. When the leg infection refused to heal, he talked of amputation, but Lucy fought against the saw and knife with a fury that annoyed but checked the barber-surgeon. He had to content himself with chiseling out a piece of bone below the...