Part I. Clinical Practicum
Chapter 1. Clinical Practicum in Speech-Language
Pathology: An Overview
Student Learning Outcomes
Clinical Practicum: An Overview
General Preclinic Requirements
e American Speech-Language-Hearing Association
State Licensure Boards
Departments of Education
e National Student Speech-Language-Hearing Association
ASHA Special Interest Groups (SIGs)
State Speech-Language and Hearing Associations
Related Professional Organizations
ASHA Guidelines on Clinical Practicum
Telepractice in Speech-Language Pathology
SLP Clients in the Digital Age
Speech-Language Pathology Assistants (SLPAs)
Clinical Practicum as a Learning Experience
Questions for Self-Assessment
References
Chapter 2. Organization of Clinical Practicum
Student Learning Outcomes
On-Campus Clinical Practicum
O
ff-Campus Practicum Sites
Clinical Internships
Collaborating With Other Professionals
General Administrative Procedures
Clinical Supplies, Materials, and Equipment
Questions for Self-Assessment
References
Chapter 3. Conduct of the Student Clinician
Student Learning Outcomes
General Professional Behavior
ASHA Code of Ethics
Other Codes and Regulations
Questions for Self-Assessment
References
Chapter 4. The Supervisor and the Student Clinician
Student Learning Outcomes
You and Your Supervisor
Quali cations and Requirements of Clinical Supervisors
What to Expect From Your Clinical Supervisor
Off-Campus Clinical Supervision
Responsibilities of the Student Clinician
Questions for Self-Assessment
References
Part II. Clinical Methods in Speech-Language Pathology
Chapter 5. Assessment of Speech and Language Disorders
Student Learning Outcomes
De nition of Terms
Common Assessment Procedures
Assessment Report Writing
Assessment of Ethnoculturally Diverse Persons
Alternative and Integrated Assessment
Working With Interpreters, Translators, and Transliterators
Questions for Self-Assessment
References
Appendix
Chapter 6. Writing Treatment Plans and Progress
Reports
Student Learning Outcomes
Varieties of Clinical Reports
Writing Without Bias
Comprehensive Treatment Plans
Clinical Lesson Plans
Individualized Education Programs
Individualized Family Service Plans
Varieties of Progress Reports
SOAP Notes
Discharge Reports
General Recordkeeping Procedures
Questions for Self-Assessment
References
Appendices
Chapter 7. Target Behaviors Across Disorders
Student Learning Outcomes
Selection of Target Behaviors
Approaches to Target Behavior Selection
Guidelines on Selecting Target Behaviors
Speech Sound Disorders
Language Disorders in Children
Voice Disorders
Disorders of Fluency
Aphasia
Right Hemisphere Disorder
Apraxia of Speech in Adults and Children
Dysarthrias in Adults and Children
Dementia
Traumatic Brain Injury
Hearing Loss
Persons With Complex Communication Needs
Questions for Self-Assessment
References
Chapter 8. Treatment: Core Techniques and Data
Documentation
Student Learning Outcomes
What Is Treatment in Speech-Language Pathology?
Core Treatment Procedures Apply to All Disorders
Treatment of Diverse Individuals
Overview of Treatment
Documenting Client Progress in Evidence-Based Practice
How to Use the Discrete Trial Procedure
How to Baserate Target Behaviors
How to Evoke Target Behaviors
How to Shape New Responses
How to Increase the Frequency of Target Responses
How to Strengthen and Sustain Target Behaviors
Number of Target Behaviors to Be Trained in a Session
Target Behaviors Versus Target Responses
How to Sequence Treatment
How to Increase Response Complexity
Questions for Self-Assessment
References
Appendices
Chapter 9. Reducing Communication Disorders and Behaviors That Interfere With Treatment
Student Learning Outcomes
Behaviors at Interfere With Treatment
Maintaining Causes of Undesirable Behaviors
Direct Strategies for Decreasing Behaviors
Indirect Strategies for Decreasing Behaviors
How to Design an Effective Response Reduction Strategy
Questions for Self-Assessment
References
Chapter 10. Generalization and Maintenance of Target Behaviors
Student Learning Outcomes
Generalization of Target Behaviors
Maintenance of Target Behaviors
Why Treatment Gains Are Not Maintained
Generalization and Maintenance Procedures
Follow-Up Assessments
Questions for Self-Assessment
References
Glossary
Index
is is a text for students in speech-language pathology who are about to begin their clinical practicum. It also offers systematic information for supervisors of clinical practicums. e text describes the various structural, methodological, and ethical aspects of the student clinical practicum and its professional supervision. It enumerates clear expectations for both student clinicians and their clinical supervisors. Divided into two major parts, the book covers both the structural and functional aspects of the clinical practicum and a comprehensive review of assessment and treatment methods. It is based on the view that the clinical practicum is a learning experience for the students, and clinical supervisors are clinical teachers, mentors, and guides.
It is hoped that students who read this book prior to starting their clinical practicum will be better prepared to meet the exciting and yet oen challenging task of providing ethical and effective services to children and adults with communication disorders. Readers of this book are expected to gain an understanding of the structure of different clinical practicum sites; principles of ethical practices; conduct, behavior, and competencies expected of them; justi able expectations of their clinical supervisors; and the many fundamental principles of assessment and intervention across most disorders of communication. Clinical supervisors, too, may nd the book helpful in creating a productive and exciting clinical practicum experience for their student clinicians.
e Singular Publishing Group published the rst edition of this text in 1992. I am grateful to many instructors who have continuously adopted this book for the clinical practicums for well over 30 years. roughout these three decades, instructors have offered praise and constructive criticism that
have shaped each of the new editions. Instructors who have continued to adopt this text for their student clinicians have reinforced my belief that the book offers a single source of comprehensive information on clinical practicum and supervision. is revision for the seventh edition is done especially in the light of feedback from instructors.
I have kept and expanded the material the instructors have liked and have said that it should be a part of a book like this. Instructors who have adopted the book have generally found it to be a single comprehensive source on clinical methods and practicum. ey have commended the easyto-read writing style in a book that packs a great deal of information. I am grateful for their generous comments and continued adoption.
In the second part, I have revised the clinical methods sections to include new information or expand the existing information on assessment, target behaviors, and treatment strategies for all disorders of communication. e section on clinical practicums in public schools has been expanded to a signi cant extent to re ect current guidelines and practices. e text includes several boxed sections that refer students to speci c guidelines.
The Purposes of the American Speech-Language-Hearing Association
1. Encourage basic scienti c study of the processes of individual human communication with special reference to speech, language, hearing, and related disorders
2. Promote high standards and ethics for the academic and clinical preparation of individuals entering the discipline of communication sciences and disorders
3. Help the professionals acquire new knowledge and skills
4. Promote investigation, prevention, and the diagnosis and treatment of disorders of communication and related disorders
5. Foster improvement of clinical services and intervention procedures concerning such disorders
6. Stimulate exchange of information among persons and organizations and disseminate such information
7. Inform the public about communication sciences and disorders, related disorders, and the professionals who provide services
8. Advocate on behalf of persons with communication and related disorders, and
9. Promote the individual and collective professional interests of the members of the Association
Note: Bylaws of the American Speech-Language-Hearing Association by the American Speech-Language-Hearing Association. (2017a). Available from: http://www.asha.org/policy
ASHA sponsors conferences and workshops to encourage continuing professional education. It collects and disseminates data related to research, clinical service delivery, education, and career opportunities. e organization publishes scienti c journals in which research is reported. e organization establishes accreditation and certi cation procedures that outline minimal standards of education and clinical service delivery. It speci es policies on clinical practice and academic and clinical preparation of students. Two very important documents that stipulate the standards to which a clinician must adhere are the ASHA Code of Ethics and the ASHA Scope of Practice. As a student clinician and future professional, you must understand these documents. e documents present standards that are designed to protect consumers and the professionals who serve them (American Speech-Language-Hearing Association, 2017a). See Chapter 3 for detailed information on the Code of Ethics and other policy documents.
ASHA Accreditation
ASHA’s Council on Academic Accreditation in Audiology and SpeechLanguage Pathology (CAA) accredits academic programs. e CAA develops accreditation standards for graduate programs, evaluates such programs, grants certi cates to accredited programs, maintains a registry of such programs, and provides the registry to the public and other organizations. Accreditation helps prepare graduate students to enter the workforce, safeguards the public’s interests, and encourages university programs to make self-evaluations to effect improvements to their programs.
e CAA comprises 18 voting members who hold a 4-year term: 11 from academic programs, ve clinical practitioners, one additional audiologist, and one public member. A university must request accreditation
Another random document with no related content on Scribd:
"Tut, tut, Vincent! Doris isn't china. She'll not break so vastly easy. Egad, we'll make it three rounds, if you like!"
Vincent smiled. "I did not mean to offend you, Will," he said.
Paca began an apology at once, when Claude interrupted: "If you would permit me, Mr. Trevor, I will ride your horse for you."
The five men and Charles Carroll sat perfectly still and stared. De Mailly, beholding their amazement, and not understanding it, burst into an infectious laugh, at which Sir Charles immediately caught.
"A fine joke, damme, an excellent joke!" he cried.
Claude stopped his laughter at once. "Indeed, gentlemen, it was not a jest. I was quite in earnest, I beg you to believe," he declared.
"Pray, sir, then why did you laugh? I see nothing to laugh at in so serious a matter," remarked Rockwell, with an air of injured dignity.
"'Twas my fault, parson," retorted Fairfield, still smiling; for his humor, though English, was still not yet of the colonial type.
"Then you really make a serious offer to ride Castor in the race?" demanded young Carroll, curiously.
"I offer. It is for Mr. Trevor to refuse me, if he wishes."
"'Tis not that, monsieur, but you see—it is vastly strange form for a gentleman to ride a track against a jockey. To be plain, M. de Mailly, since you are a stranger to our customs—none of us would do such a thing."
Claude smiled and shrugged. "Thank you, sir, I was aware of the English custom in this case. But I am here to amuse myself. I make you an offer, sir. Examine my weight and my build, and try my riding before you refuse it."
He stood up for the small group to judge his weight, and this they proceeded to do with calm assurance and unsparing observation.
"Not much over five stone, I stake my oath!" remarked Jennings, measuring the slender figure with his eye.
"A shade over. Might train a little," commented Paca.
"Not much strength," whispered Fairfield, dubiously, to Vincent.
"I shall not be pulling the horse in after the first half-minute," observed Claude, quietly.
"Ahum—can you ride?" grunted Rockwell, when there came a pause.
De Mailly flushed. "There is a story that when M. de Voltaire was in London he was asked by a lady if he had ever tried writing verses when he was in love, as was the custom among English gentlemen."
"Well—what then?" retorted the reverend, irritably.
Claude turned and stared at him with such a mixture of scorn and laughter in his eyes that Trevor hastily broke in:
"Of course M. de Mailly rides, and, no doubt, excellently. But perhaps it might not be amiss if he would come out to the plantation in the morning to try my horse. And if you'll all be there to-morrow by—eleven o'clock, we'll examine Castor and give him a mount in my paddock to—"
"To see whether my riding is fit for such a speed," added the proposed jockey, with a mixture of wounded vanity and sarcastic pride. He was beginning to regret rather bitterly his impulsive and wholly generous offer. In time he might become accustomed to English manners. Just now they hurt him more than he would have confessed. His whole early life had been one which had fostered his natural buoyant impulsiveness of spirit, and had made him young beyond his years. It had been called his "pose." But that pose, which was more than half nature, was a singularly unfortunate thing for a man thrown upon the world, in a strange country, among new manners, through which he must find his way. And just now, while the Englishmen concluded various arrangements for their plan, he was struggling with his temper, and only won the battle when Trevor and Rockwell finally rose to
depart. Vincent was returning to the plantation, and the clergyman, with Lucy in his mind, purposed accompanying him.
"Coming, Charles?" asked his cousin.
Fairfield hesitated. The plantation held out no special inducement to him. His blood had been heated, and he was eager for some excitement after a long period of inertia. "I think not, Vincent, since you have company. If Jennings, here, cannot put me up for the night, I'll go up to Mrs. Miriam's, or to Reynolds'."
"I'll ride with you, Trevor. I can cross the river at King's Ferry. My people will expect me to-night. Our town house is shut."
"Very well. I leave you, then, Charles. You'll ride out in the morning with M. de Mailly and Carleton."
"Ay, and me, too," called young Carroll after him. "I'll see Castor rode with the rest of you, and, egad, I'll go to the race as well!"
"We shall be delighted, Charles," replied Vincent, as he left the room.
"Until to-morrow, then. Good-day, sir," said Paca, bowing with courtly politeness to Claude, who liked him thenceforth.
The four who remained in the jockey-club-room sat silent together for some moments after they had been left alone. Then Claude, looking at young Charles, rose.
"Come, Mr. Carroll, since we are making your holiday together, let us go and finish it with a supper at my inn. You will forgive me, messieurs"—he turned to Sir Charles and Jennings—"you will forgive me that I do not propose a party of four. After the excitement of the cock-fight this afternoon, and my ride for to-morrow, we will make our evening quiet. You might be perhaps—how do you say—ennuyé—by it. Where shall we join you tomorrow?" He smiled gently as he beheld the lieutenant regarding him with knitted brows. Indeed, to Fairfield it seemed that the Frenchman had read his mind, and was bound to thwart his hopes of arranging a gentleman's night in Jennings' company.
"Come, come, monsieur, be more lenient. Dine with us at the 'Blue Balls' and join us in a game of écarté later."
"Eh, yes!" cried young Charles, eagerly. "'Twould be vastly more fun!" He pulled de Mailly's sleeve.
"No, no, Charles, not you! It—your father—damme, you ain't out of school yet, you know," stammered Jennings, voicing Fairfield's thought.
Carroll flushed hot with anger, and Claude bit his lip before he answered, quietly: "It is impossible that I should dine with you to-night, gentlemen, though I thank you for your kindness. Mr. Carroll is my guest."
Young Charles looked at him with sulky admiration. He was furious with Jennings, mortally ashamed of his youth, but still appreciative of de Mailly's tact. Fairfield, seeing nothing for it but to accept his disappointment gracefully, rose, seized Jennings by the arm, waved an au revoir to de Mailly, and with a, "Be at the 'Blue Balls' with your beasts at ten in the morning, and we'll ride out together," drew his willing companion away to their favorite night-haunt.
De Mailly looked after them as they passed through the door, and then stood still for an instant, considering. When he turned again to young Charles, the boy's face wore a new expression.
"I'm very sorry, monsieur, if I've spoiled your night. I should have gone home without you."
Claude started forward impulsively, and drew the boy's arm through his own. "En avant!" he cried, gayly. "Why, Charles, I'd rather you a thousand times over than any other blood in Annapolis. 'Tis a good race, yours. Your father is as gallant a gentleman as I have met, and you are his son. Come then, Charles, we'll drink to you both, to-night, in the oldest Madeira that Mistress Vawse will sell."
At a quarter to eleven o'clock on the following morning a party of three drew rein at the portico of the Trevor house. Young Carroll's holiday was over, and, despite his words to Vincent, he was again under St. Quentin's pleasant sway. Fairfield and Jennings bore visible traces of their manner of
spending the previous night; but Claude's eyes were as bright as a bird's, his hand was steady on the bridle, and his nerves had been toned for the coming trial by a sound night's sleep. A group consisting of Vincent, the four ladies of his household, Will Paca, and George Rockwell, who, to Lucy's dismay, had stopped overnight with his host, greeted the new-comers merrily from the portico. When they had dismounted, and a black had taken their horses, the whole party proceeded leisurely to the rear of the house, past the small barn, the quarters, and the tobacco-houses, to the long, narrow stables, where the many horses for work and pleasure were kept. In front of these stables was a four-acre paddock, fenced off from the general grounds, and only to be entered through a wide gate to the south. Two hundred yards behind this paddock the tobacco-fields began, and the first of them was bounded by a broad ditch full of water, to be used for irrigation in dry seasons.
As the group passed the slave-quarters, Thompson, the overseer, came towards them with the key to the stables. And while Trevor, Paca, and Claude went with him round to the stalls, the rest entered the field itself to wait. The ladies, all of them more or less curious to watch this test of de Mailly's horsemanship, stood still in the open gateway, nervous lest the horse should come too near. In the interval of waiting Rockwell was devoting himself to Lucy, who received his attentions with a coldness all but rude; young Jennings talked with Virginia and her mother, who stood a little to one side; and Fairfield seized the opportunity of conversing in a low tone with Deborah, who, dressed in yellow and blue, was as pretty as the morning itself. She stood leaning close against the fence, all ears for Sir Charles, but not turning her eyes from the closed door of the stable, responding now and then, half absently, to the very personal remarks of her cavalier. She did not perceive a sudden, slow rustle at her side, along the very ruffle of her dress; but suddenly the lieutenant darted forward.
"Good God, Deborah!—Move—"
"What is it?" she cried, startled at his tone.
He was peering along the grass in front of them. "I'd stake my oath —'twas a water-moccasin," he muttered, half to himself.
The girl lifted her petticoats with both hands and shrank close to him. "A water-moccasin! Surely not here—" She stared nervously at the turf, but saw nothing. The snake, if there had been one, was gone.
"Nay—'tisn't there. Don't be frightened. It was a fancy," he rejoined, suspicious of his own eyes.
Deborah might have said more or retreated to Madam Trevor, but for the fact that, at this moment, the stable doors slid open and Castor, with de Mailly on his back, trotted into the field. Will Paca and Vincent followed him on foot and made their way over to the party in the gateway.
Castor, first-born of twin foals, and the one who had all the strength and beauty alike of the two, was an enormous jet-black animal, seventeen hands high, with a long, swinging step and three paces got from no blooded ancestors, but merely through one of those accidents sometimes permitted by the gods. He was an animal fiery enough of temper, and particular about his riders. Vincent Trevor, indeed, had been dubious about the Frenchman's ability even to mount him; but as Claude swung into the saddle and took the reins from the shining black neck, all doubts were forgotten. Castor turned his head, glanced at the man who sat him so easily, and neighed with satisfaction. As they trotted together into the paddock Claude rode in the French fashion, as though he were part of the horse, never rising in the saddle.
"Egad, he knows how!" observed Rockwell to Madam Trevor, as Castor came round the field towards them.
"I vow I've seen nothing so pretty," assented that lady, good-humoredly. "Eh, Lucy?"
"I much prefer the English fashion," retorted Lucy, irritably.
"How d' ye like him, Vincent?" asked his cousin, as the horse broke into a canter.
"Very well."
"The fellow knows his business, I think," observed Will Paca, dryly.
"His business!—You don't think—" Trevor raised his brows.
Paca shrugged.
"I protest, Will!" cried Charles Fairfield, warmly. "The man is a gentleman. I stake my oath on it. I've played with him, and I know."
"Oh—I ask pardon. I did not know your acquaintance was intimate," rejoined the other at once, with a proper manner, and Fairfield was satisfied. At the same time he felt a light touch on his arm, and, turning, he found Deborah looking at him with a light in her eyes.
"I'm so glad you said it," she whispered. "He is a gentleman."
But, while Fairfield carried her hand to his lips, he felt, in some way, that her speech had not brought him unmitigated pleasure.
Meantime Claude, who had lost all consciousness of an audience in his joy at being again upon the back of a fine animal, was increasing the pace of his steed. The long, light steps multiplied in number, the black hoofs flew faster yet, till the on-lookers marvelled at the ease of the tremendous speed, and Will Paca shook his head as he thought of his Doris and her rider.
"I'll give you three lengths start on the track, Will," cried Trevor, as de Mailly flew by for the fourth time, never moving a hair's-breadth in the saddle.
"Egad, he'll need it!" put in Sir Charles.
Deborah, her cheeks slightly flushed, moved to one side where she could watch without interruption. She saw Claude pass the stable and reach the far corner of the paddock. There something happened. A thing which looked, at the distance, like a black thread, shot suddenly up from the ground and struck at Castor's leg as he passed. The horse gave a quick, terrified plunge, which made de Mailly reel in the saddle, and then the animal, maddened with fear, started forward like a whirlwind. He had reared completely about and was running frantically towards the open gateway. At the beginning there had been a slight scream from Lucy, and now the men, their faces very pale, pulled the women quickly away from the opening. Deborah moved of
her own accord, her eyes fixed fast on the horse, for she had seen what started its flight. In an instant horse and rider had flashed, comet-like, out at the gate, and, as they passed, Deborah knew that de Mailly had looked at her, and she had seen something very like a smile cross his set lips. Beyond the gate the horse veered again and made towards the south, in the direction of the tobacco-fields.
"HORSE AND RIDER HAD FLASHED OUT AT THE GATE"
Claude saw, with relief, that he had an apparently unobstructed space before him. It was all that he could do now to keep himself on the horse, who no longer went at an even gait, but varied his gallop with leaps and plunges caused by pain. He was utterly beyond all control. Claude lay over on his back, both hands twisted in the long mane, his eyes half closed, breathing with some difficulty, but quite sure of himself so long as his way was clear. Suddenly, however, as he caught a glimpse of the fields beyond, his heart rose into his throat, and then sank again with a sensation which made him dizzy. A hundred yards ahead was a twenty-foot ditch of water, which no living horse could clear. If Castor saw it, and had still sense of his own, he might turn off. If not, the horse was lost, and Claude himself must take desperate chances. Many things flashed through his mind in the ensuing seconds. Most vividly of all the figure of Deborah, as he had seen her a moment before, stood out before him. Then for one more instant his mind was a white blank. They were ten yards from the stream now, and the horse was moving straight on. Mechanically, Claude took his left foot from the stirrup and swung it over Castor's back. For one frightful instant he lay full along the animal. Then, not very much aware of what he was doing, he had let himself over the side, felt solid ground whirl under his feet, and knew that all was well with him. A moment later he vaguely heard the heavy splash and the human-like scream that told of the good animal's death. Not very long after that he was looking into Vincent's face, and, as a brandy flask was held out to him, he murmured, with as much feeling as he was capable of just then:
"Monsieur, I shall never be able to express to you my regret. I have not an idea how it occurred. Believe me—"
But Vincent was actually laughing as he replied: "My dear sir, when a poisonous snake sends its fangs into your horse's leg, its rider need offer no excuse for being run away with. And, 'pon my soul, for the sake of learning how to ride as you have done, I'd sacrifice every beast that ever was stalled on this place.—Eh, Charlie?"
And from behind came Fairfield's voice, crying heartily, "Egad, when I am released from the colonies, I'll go and live in a French training-school till I do learn!"
It was an hour later, and the excitement was over, when the Reverend George Rockwell ventured to address Will Paca on the same subject: "To tell the truth, my dear sir, I confess that I believe there must have been some truth in your suggestion in the field that our—French friend knew more than a gentleman does of horses."
Paca turned slowly about and looked at him. There was no answer made in words; but at times looks are expressive of inexpressible things.
CHAPTER V
Sambo
According to the laws of colonial hospitality, Claude stayed all day and overnight at the Trevor house. To tell the truth, he was scarcely fit for removal, for the reaction from his nervous strain sent him, early in the afternoon, to the chamber prepared for him, from which he emerged at ten o'clock next morning with many apologies for tardiness on his tongue. He saw no one, however, to whom to deliver them. The house was deserted. Finding his way, after a search through the empty hall and parlor, into the sunny breakfast-room, he discovered there a single place set at the table, and Adam lounging in the doorway. The slave straightened and saluted him upon his entrance.
"Sit down, sah—sit down. I'll bring yo' breakfast right away."
Upon this, he darted from the house and disappeared down the path towards the kitchen, to return in two or three minutes with a large tray upon which stood a variety of smoking dishes. This he set before the guest, who proceeded to discuss them with a light appetite. While he ate he pondered, uneasily, on how he was expected to take his departure. In this matter Adam came presently to his assistance.
"Pa'don, Mas' de Mailly, but Mas' Vincent wait this mo'n till nine t' see you, den he ride out to the fields an' tell me t' say t' he be back fo' dinne' at noon; ask yo' health den."
"So I'm to stay till this afternoon?" asked Claude, in some surprise.
"Yes, sah," responded the slave, and his prompt tone settled the matter.
Claude, who had quite finished his meal, rose and strolled idly to the door which looked out upon the garden. At the far end of this, among her roses, was Madam Trevor. De Mailly did not recognize her at the distance, but he turned suddenly to the slave who was clearing the table.
"Can you tell me, Adam, where Mistress Travis will be at this hour?"
"Miss Deb? Oh, she's mos' like at de still-room." He went over to the door. "See li'l house dere cross the ya'd? She's mos' like dere."
"Thank you." Claude nodded to the man and went out of the house, around the terrace, and so through the yard towards the small building whose surrounding lilac-bushes were all in seed. Here on the step, alone and disconsolate, sat Sambo, Deborah's favorite little darky.
Sambo was very forlorn this morning. A strong appreciation of the woe of this wretched life had come to his spirit under the guise of an empty stomach. All of three hours ago Thompson, the overseer, discovered him in the climacteric moment of a glorious charge on the chickens in the runs. An entire flock of fat, white pullets were in full flight before this single son of Ethiopia, whose triumphant war-cry had unfortunately reached the quarters. Thereupon Thompson, who had no soul for the sublime, seized the conqueror by the tail of his tow-linen toga and dragged him from the field to his parental cabin, where, in the presence of Chloe, his mother, a most telling rebuke was administered. The mother's heart hardened towards the small sinner, and he had been driven outside in the very face of bacon spluttering over the fire and beans baking fragrantly in the embers. After an unhappy wandering, he at last sought the homely protection of Deborah and the stillroom. Deborah, too, had left him, with the promise, however, of getting him
something to eat when she returned. So here, in melancholy resignation, sat Sambo, as Claude approached.
"Can you tell me where Mistress Deborah is?" repeated de Mailly.
"She'm gone to Huckleberry Swamp," vouchsafed the stoic.
"Um—" Claude reflected. Huckleberry Swamp sounded definite, but he was unfamiliar with the country. "Where is that?" he inquired, meekly.
Sambo swept a black thumb over one shoulder, back of his head. "Dat way."
Again Claude hesitated, finally venturing the request: "Could you, perhaps, show me a little of the way?"
"You'm goin' fin' Miss Deb?"
Claude bowed.
"I'll come."
The small figure rose suddenly, descended from his dais, and put one small black fist trustfully into de Mailly's. Claude looked down into the childish face, with its round pate covered with black, woolly, hair, and a gentle light came into his eyes. He was fond of children.
The swamp appeared to be some distance away. The child's steps were short, and Claude would not hurry him. At last, however, they came upon a narrow, grassy lane, bordered on either side by a tangle of vines and bushes, at the end of which was the so-called swamp—a marsh nearly dry at this season, save for a pool in its very centre. Upon the edge of this they paused. Before them was a waste wherefrom sprang a few saplings, some young willows, a tangle of flaming tiger-lilies, and a host of those plants which grow in damp places. Claude saw no sign of a human being, but Sambo presently sprang forward.
"Deh she is!" he cried, running into the brush. Claude followed rapidly, coming at last in sight of her whom he sought.
Deborah knelt upon the damp ground, bending over a plant which she was minutely examining. Claude had seen it and its flower often enough, he thought. The stem was perhaps three feet high, with long, narrow, spotted leaves, and clusters of small purplish flowers. These were what Deborah was studying, and on her flushed face was an expression which Claude had not beheld before. Startled by Sambo's appearance, she looked up.
"Oh, good-morning!" she said, rising, and extending her hand.
"One finds you in curious places," he observed, bending over it.
"It is my work. Has Dr. Carroll come this morning?"
"He had not when I left the house."
"He will, though, I think. Are we to go back now?"
"Not until you are quite ready, mademoiselle."
"I'm ready. I must take this with me." From a little bag hanging at her side she drew a small pruning-knife and two pieces of cotton cloth. Having cut the stem of the plant before her, she wrapped about it one square of the cloth and took it up in her left hand.
"Permit me to carry it for you."
"Hold it, then, where the cloth is."
"Why? Surely it is not unsafe to touch?" He looked at her curiously.
"I don't know. Some things are. This is a spotted-hemlock. I fancied it a water plant, but 'tis another variety. I will test it to-day, if the doctor doesn't come. Oh! Here is something more to take home." Down in the soil at their feet grew two large fungi, which bore a slight resemblance to table mushrooms, but were far more beautiful than they. The umbrella-shaped cups were of a brilliant scarlet color, fading inwards, in gracefully curving lines, to a pale centre. A faint acrid odor emanated from them as Deborah knelt and cut them deftly at the ground's edge. Taking them up in her cloth, she held them a little away from her face.
"What's dose, Miss Deb?" inquired Sambo, eying them admiringly.
"A sort of mushroom, Sambo. Oh, a most excellent dinner dish they'd make!" she added, laughing.
And hungry Sambo heard her. Were these pretty things good to eat? He had seen not a few of them in the grass about the roads and fields. Here was a breakfast ready for him. He considered a little, the idea of cooking not entering his head. Neither Deborah nor de Mailly knew when he ceased to follow them, it merely occurring to them by the time they reached home that Sambo had not been with them for some time. Claude, who had found the way long in coming, deemed it only too short on the return. And Deborah, demurely realizing that she was perfectly happy, continued to talk to him in that tranquil manner which, from its apparent indifference and selfpossession, seemed such an anomaly, considering her youth.
"May I ask the use of this?" asked de Mailly, curiously, holding out the spray of spotted-hemlock.
"I don't know its use. 'Tis what I am going to try to find out if the doctor does not come this morning. I am ignorant if it is as poisonous as waterhemlock. I will try to learn."
Claude bit his lip. "And if the doctor does come?"
"It will be most interesting. We are to try the effect of two alkaloids in one system, and I must note the different symptoms, the combined result, and the complications which ensue from the interaction."
"You give these—poisons—to some beast. Is it not so?"
Deborah hesitated for a little, finally replying, quietly, "A cat."
"And he will no doubt die?"
"No—perhaps not. That is our hope, monsieur. If we could discover one thing which might counterbalance the effect of another, can you not see that it might some time serve to save men's lives? It is unbecoming in me to speak of it, but did you not know that the liquid given you as medicine for
your fever I distilled from the plant called monkshood? And did not that medicine help to restore you to health? And yet, sir, it was a virulent poison, ten drops of which would kill an animal."
De Mailly looked at the girl in surprise. She was certainly unlike any woman that he had ever met. "Forgive me," he said, earnestly. "I did not understand you. I do admire and respect this work of yours. My gratitude— how shall I express it? There is, indeed, little that one can say to the preserver of his life—"
"Please, don't!" she cried, impulsively, and then stopped. He was regarding her so earnestly, and his look said so much more than his tongue had ever done, that she found no words at her command. So they fell into silence as once more they approached the house.
Dr. Carroll, returning on the day before from his shooting, and, wearied by the dulness of Annapolis in mid-summer, kept his promise and came out to see Deborah. He found her, ignorant of his arrival, preparing her retort for the distillation of the water-hemlock, while Claude, willingly pressed into service, had gone to the kitchen to obtain a lighted coal for the tripod of charcoal. An addition to the equipment of the room had recently been made. Beside the cupboard in the corner stood a good-sized cage, its top and bottom made of pine boards held together by narrow wooden slats nailed upon all four sides. Within this prison of the condemned sat a half-grown tortoise-shell tabby, presented yesterday to the establishment by Sambo. As Deborah took up her hemlock and with careful hands began to strip away its leaves and blossoms, she glanced now and then at her prisoner with an expression half of pity and half of speculative interest. The animal looked very comfortable on its bed of grass, its toilet just completed, with slow eyes blinking at the light; never a suspicion in its head of a possible swift death at the hands of the slender girl at the table yonder. The stillness was interrupted by the entrance of the doctor.
"Good-morning to you, Mistress Debby! At work, eh? Oho! Waterhemlock!"
"No. This is Maculatum. See the leaves—spotted. Is this as poisonous as the other, do you think?"
The doctor chuckled. "Thou'rt a born botanist, Debby. This poisonous? 'Tis historic. Socrates died by it. 'Tis as well obtained by crushing in alcohol, though. Did you bring the root? Now that was carelessness. The root is most virulent—delightfully virulent. You should be sent back to get it, only that I am not here to distil this morning.—Ah, Monsieur Claude! Good-day! Are you turned neophyte?"
Claude, with a shovelful of embers, had halted in the doorway. At Carroll's question he smiled and came forward. "I should be glad if I might stay and look on. I am wofully ignorant in these matters."
Deborah took the shovel from his hands, emptying its contents carefully into the tripod. "Thank you. Be seated, if you care to watch us."
"By all means, sit yonder, de Mailly, and look on. Miss Travis is preparing some Conium maculatum for distillation, though she will get a poor result from the mere leaves and flowers. And behold in me, monsieur, the conscienceless wretch about to destroy life in that hapless pussy, for the mere gratification of criminal instinct.—What's this, Deborah?"
The doctor's change of tone was so sudden and so marked that the girl turned quickly about to behold him standing over the fungi which she had placed at the far end of the table.
"That? Madam uses it sometimes for fly-poison. I purposed inquiring of you if the alkaloid could be extracted."
Carroll shook his head gravely. "It doesn't need extraction. The whole thing is replete with poison. 'Tis amanita muscaria, the deadliest of all fungi. Have you seen the symptoms?"
Deborah shook her head.
"Then you shall. I mind me I had a case of them many years ago—a family ate them at supper. All four died.* There was no help that I or any one else had to give. Such agony I have never seen. The effect is not apparent for from four to nine hours after eating, though internal dissemination of the poison must begin at once. After the case I mentioned, I experimented a good deal with them. Time does not seem to affect their
power. After four months' keeping I knew one of them to cause death to a dog in ten hours. Would you care to try this to-day on your cat there, Deborah, in conjunction with one of the liquids?"
* This case is taken from a medical journal of 1877
Deborah did not reply at once, and Claude hoped that she would decline the proposition. Her answer was a question: "Will you stay, doctor, till the fungus acts? I couldn't distinguish the different symptoms alone."
The doctor reflected. "'Tis eleven now. By four the thing should be under way. I'll get home by six. Yes, I'll stay."
"Then let us give it at once."
"Very well. What will you combine with it?"
Deborah went to the cupboard and surveyed her array of phials. Finally, selecting one filled with a clear, white liquid, with less sediment at the bottom than most of her mixtures contained, she brought it over to Dr. Carroll.
"What is it?" he asked.
"It is from nightshade. I made it a week ago."
"Atropine. Symptoms? Can you give them?"
Claude looked at her closely as she made reply:
"I gave forty drops to a cat. It seemed to be quiet for about three-quarters of an hour. Then it tried to mew, but that was hard for it. The muscles of its throat were strained. After a little it began to bite at things in the cage. Its eyes were large, and the pupils full, as if it were in the dark. It drank all I
would give it, but could not swallow easily. Then there came spasms. Finally it fell asleep, and died three hours after the dose."
The doctor nodded with satisfaction, but Deborah, glancing at de Mailly from beneath her lids, saw him look at her in strong displeasure. Instantly she flushed and her head straightened defiantly back.
"Monsieur, I do not think that you will enjoy our experiments here this morning. Will you be so obliging as to join my cousins, Virginia and Lucy, in some pleasanter occupation?"
There was a note of piqued command in the tone which Claude, who knew women well, would have disobeyed in any other case. Now, however, he made no reply, but rose in grave silence, bowed to her, and left the room.
"On my life, that was not a gallant thing," observed Carroll, placidly, when their sensitive guest had crossed the yard.
Deborah made no answer. She was more deeply hurt than she would have believed possible, and she did not choose that her voice should betray her. Crossing again to the cupboard, she took from its lowest shelf a deepbowled horn spoon, with which she knelt before the cat's cage. In the mean time the doctor had been occupied in cutting the fungus into small cubes. These, together with the atropine, he took over to his pupil, who was now on the floor with the cat in her lap. She took the amanita quietly from her companion's hands, placed one piece in the creature's mouth, and manipulated its throat till it swallowed convulsively.
"How much should it have?" she inquired, grimly.
"About six pieces to a spoonful of this," returned her mentor, holding up the atropine.
Unflinchingly Deborah finished her task, and then, hastily replacing the prisoner in its cage, she fastened the little door. Carroll, who had looked on without comment, helped her to rise from the floor, and silently noted the fact that her hands were very cold.
"Come now to the house and rest," he said, with quiet persuasion.
She looked a little surprised. "Surely not. I will stay here and watch. Besides, there is the hemlock;" she nodded towards the little heap of flowers and leaves by the retort. "I will distil that. The fire is ready."
"No, Debby. You're tired. Hark you, the poisons will certainly not show for half an hour, if they do then. It is probable that the muscaria will retard the action of the atropine for a much longer time. Then you must have your full wits about you, for 'twill be the most interesting thing we've done. Come now, as your physician, I insist."
But though Charles Carroll's will was strong, that of Deborah Travis was stronger. He tried persuasion, command, and entreaty, finally becoming angry, and so losing the battle; for, having called her a stubborn hussy, there was nothing for it but to march off alone to the house. The girl saw him go with a sore heart, and then, doggedly determined, returned to her work, the pleasure of it gone for the first time in her life. When, after a while, Sambo strolled thoughtfully in from the fields, she greeted him with positive delight.
The little boy seated himself, Turk-fashion, beside the tripod, to watch the water just beginning to bubble in the body of the retort. It was an occupation which he dearly loved, and in the observation of which he was a privileged mortal, for Deborah allowed but few in her work-room. During the process of distillation she was regarded by Sambo as some one who had risen for the time to supernatural heights. She was quite a different person from the Miss Deb whom he knew ordinarily out-of-doors. On every occasion, however, he had been wont to talk unceasingly either to her or to himself when in her company. To-day she wondered at his silence. His interest in the action of the retort was as great as ever, but every effort to draw him into conversation failed. So, after a time, Deborah, her closest attention demanded by the approaching end of the distillation, when the purest alkaloid would come from her plant, ceased also to speak, and, indeed, almost forgot his presence. The liquid had been filtered, bottled, and set aside for its second vaporizing, when she suddenly recollected that in the morning she had promised to get something for the little negro to eat. It was sufficient cause for his silence.
