Part 11

Says I layin’ the table cloth over my left arm, and foldin’ my right and left arm, tryin’ hard to keep some composed (on the outside):

“What are your reasons, Josiah Allen?”

“Oh,” says he in a kind of a blind way—goin’ to grindin’ again,—“I have my reasons, but it haint always best to tell reasons to everybody.”

And jest so he kep’ a grindin’ and a hangin’ back and a actin’. It was a curious time, very. I a standin’ there erect and firm on the stoop, with my table cloth on my left arm and earnestness on my eyebrow, and he half bent, a grindin’ away on that old jack knife, with obstinacy on his brow, a tellin’ me in a blind mysterious way that he had his reasons and wouldn’t tell ’em. Oh! how offish and strange men will act. Truly, truly, doth the poet observe, “that men are wild, and have their spells.”

There Josiah Allen had acted to the Debatin’-school all up in arms about goin’. He knew the nation would expect me to be present. He knew well what a gloom it would cast over the Sentinal if I wasn’t there, a shadder that would spread (as you may say) from pole to pole. Josiah Allen knew all about it; he knew well how I had lotted on makin’ a martyr of myself in the cause of Right and Wimmen, and here he had to baulk in the harness. Truly, men are as contrary creeters as the earth affords, when they are a mind to be. Every married woman will join with me in sayin’, that there are moments in married life, when mules seem to be patterns of yieldin’ sweetness and obligin’ness compared with lawful pardners.

But here, in this tryin’ moment was where mind stepped in to the relief of matter and Samantha. Some wimmen when they see their pardners act so strange and curious, would have give up. Not so Samantha. Here was where the deep and arduous study of her life-time into the heights and depths of the manly mind soared up and triumphed. I didn’t act skairt at all by him, neither did I show out that I was mad—though I was inwardly—to see him act so offish and obstinate. No! I looked down on him a grindin’, and a actin’, with a almost marble calm; and with a resolution nearly cast-iron I concealed my opinion of him and kep’ my tongue in my head, and with a slow, even, and almost majestic tread I turned round and went back into the house, laid my table-cloth on the buttery shelf, and begun my preparations to conquer and to triumph. At jest noon, I called him into the house to as good a dinner as Jonesville ever offered to man or beast.

Again science, philosophy and Samantha conquered. Josiah had got through with the turkey and vegetables of all kinds, and there was a sweet smile on his face as I brought on the cherry puddin’, and a tender, affectionate look to his eyes as he looked up at me when I sot the bowl of sweet sass to eat on it in front of him. Then I knew the time had come, the hour was ripe, and I boldly and confidently tackled him as to what his reasons was. And without a struggle or a murmur he says in gentle axents:

“Samantha, my pantaloons haint suitable to wear to the Sentimental, they are all frayed out round the bottoms, and you can see your face in the knees, they are so shiny, they are as good as lookin’ glasses.”

I felt dretful well to think I had come off conqueror, and awful relieved to think my pardner’s reasons was them I could grapple with and overthrow. I see that my mission could be preformed about, my tower gone off on. And then my companion’s affectionate mean endeared him to me dretfully for the time bein’, and take it altogether I felt so dretful eloquent, I soared right up in half a minute to a height of happiness and eloquence that I hadn’t sot on for days and days, and I broke right out in a noble oriterin’ tone, and as affectionate as they make:

“Josiah Allen that pure and heavenly blossom of True Love never floated down from Eden bowers into this troublesome world, without its whiteness makin’ the soul whiter that it lighted down on. It never warmed the heart with a breath of the heavenly climate it was born in without inspirin’ that heart with a desire and a inspiration to help the beloved object.” Says I firmly, “Store clothes are not a goin’ to part my companion and happiness;” and I added—in still more lofty tones for I felt noble in spirit as I said it—“take the last churnin’ of butter Josiah Allen, and go to Jonesville and git the cloth for a new pair of pantaloons, and I will make them for you or perish on the press board.”

“Well,” says he sweetly, as he helped himself to the sweet sass, “then we will go to the Sentimental.”

(I have give up tryin’ to have Josiah call it anything but Sentimental, because I see plain after arguin’ for several weeks on it, that argument was wasted, and breath spent in vain. He says he has spelt the word over time and again, and studied on it a sight, and he knows it is as near that as anything, and he _will_ call it Sentimental.)

Well, the very day I finished his trowsers, he broached a new idee to me. We had been a layin’ out to go on the cars, but Josiah says to me, says he:

“What do you say Samantha to goin’ with the old mare, and kinder visitin’ along the road; we have got lots of relations that live all along the way, some on my side, and some on yourn. They’ve all visited us time and again, and we haint never been nigh ’em to visit ’em. What do you say Samantha, to goin’ in our own conveniance.”

“You mean conveyance,” says I firmly.

“Well I said so didn’t I; what do you say to it, Samantha?”

Says I, “I haint a goin’ in that old buggy of ourn.”

Says he, “That buggy was high-toned enough for father, and for grandfather, and it ort to be for us.”

Says I, “It is dangerous Josiah Allen and you know it. Have you forgot,” says I, “how sister Minkley went right down through the bottom the other day when you was a helpin’ her in?” Says I, “It skairt you Josiah Allen, and you know it; the minute you leggo of her, to have her go right down through the bottom, and set down on the ex. It was enough to start anybody.”

“Well, what business has a woman to weigh more’n a ton? I’ve mended it.”

Says I, “Truly in the matter of heft Josiah Allen, let everybody be fully perswaded in their own mind. And she don’t weigh near a ton, she don’t weigh more’n three hundred and fifty.”

“The buggy was good enough for father and grandfather,” he kep’ a arguin’.

“But,” says I in reasonable axents, “them two old men never sot out on towers of Principle. They never sot out as Promiscous Advisors in the cause of Right; if they had, they would have wanted to feel free and promiscous in their minds. They wouldn’t have wanted to feel liable in the loftiest moments of their high mission, to break through and come down acrost a ex. They would have felt that a top buggy was none too high-toned to bear ’em onwards.”

Says he, “It will make talk, Samantha. The neighbors will think we are too loose-principled, and hauty.”

Says I, “The neighbors say now we are too tight to git a new one. I had jest as lives be called too loose, as too tight. And you know,”—says I in reasonable tones, “you know Josiah Allen, that we have got to be called sunthin’ by ’em, anyway. We have got money out at interest, and we are goin’ down the hill of life, and if we can go down any easier in a top buggy, I don’t see why we shouldn’t have it to go in.”

So finally after considerable urgin’, I got Josiah headed towards Jonesville after a top buggy. And I and the Widder Doodle kep’ watch to the winder all day, expectin’ to see the new buggy a comin’ home with Josiah; but he come back at night empty-handed but all worked up with another new idee, and says he:

“What do you say Samantha to buyin’ a phantom,—a pony phantom. The man says they are easier ridin’, easier to get into, and he thought you would like it better than a top buggy. And he said they was all the fashion too.”

But I answered him calmly. “Fashion, or no fashion, I shant ride no _phantom_ Josiah Allen. I shant go to the Sentinal on my lofty mission, a ridin’ a phantom. Though,” says I more mildly, “phantoms may be willin’ critters to go, and easy ridin’, but I don’t seem to have no drawin’ towards ’em. A top buggy is my theme.”

So I held firm, and finally Josiah bought one. It was a second-handed one, and fair lookin’, big and roomy. In shape it wasn’t the height of fashion, bein’ kind o’ bowin’ up at the back, and sort o’ spread out like in front; a curious shape. I never see none exactly like it, before nor sense. They said the man that built it, made up the pattern in his own head, and there hadn’t nobody ever follered it. He died a few weeks after he made it; Thomas Jefferson said he guessed it killed him, the shape was so curious that it skairt the man to death. But it wasn’t no such thing; he had the billerous colic.

Josiah was so perfectly delighted with it that he would go out to the barn and look at it for hours, and I was most afraid he was settin’ his heart too much on it; and I told Thomas Jefferson so, but he told me not to worry; says he, “it wouldn’t be a mite wicked for father to worship it.”

Says I, “Thomas Jefferson do you realize what you are a talkin’ about?” says I, “it scares me to hear you talk so wicked when I brought you up in such a Bible way.”

Says he, “There is where I got it, mother. I got it out of the Bible; you know it says you shall not worship anything that is in the shape of anything on earth, or in the heavens, or in the waters under the earth. And that is why it would be perfectly safe for father to worship the buggy.”

I see through it in a minute; though I never should have thought on it myself. What a mind that boy has got; he grows deep every day.

Josiah said he couldn’t leave the colt to home, as the old mare would be liable to turn right round in the road with us any time, and start back for home; but I told him that when anybody sot off on a tower as a martyr and a Promiscous Advisor, a few colts more or less wasn’t a goin’ to overthrow ’em and their principles. Says I, we will hitch the colt to the old mare, Josiah Allen, and march onwards nobly in the cause of Right.

But still there was a kind of a straggler of a thought hangin’ round the age of my mind, to worry me a very little; and I says to my Josiah dreamily:

“I wonder if they’ll be glad to see us. Anything but bringin’ trouble onto folks, because they are unfortunate enough to be born cousins to you, unbeknown to them.”

“But,” says Josiah, “we owe a visit to every one on ’em, and some on ’em two or three.”

And so we did. They had all of ’em visited us years ago, more or less on ’em out of every family. There was Zebulin Coffin’ses wife and four of his boys; Philander Spicer’ses wife and Philander—they all made us long visits; and Serepta Simmons—she that was Serepta Smith—made it her home with mother and me for years before she was married—we helped to bring her up on a bottle. And then there was Delila, Melankton Spicer’ses wife had visited us with Philander’ses folks when they was first married; she was Philander’s wife’s sister. We had promised to pay their visits back, and laid out to, but it hadn’t seemed to come right, somehow. But now, everything seemed to promise fair for a first-rate time for us and them. We would be journeyin’ onwards towards the Sentinal, and the cause of Right. Our clothes (now Josiah had got some new pantaloons and I a new dress) would look well, and almost foamin’. We had a beautiful top buggy, and take it altogether, it did truly seem almost as Josiah said, that we was havin’ our good things all on earth. But anon, or a very little after, a new question come up; what should we do with the Widder Doodle; she didn’t want to go, and she didn’t want to stay. And so, what should we do with her to do right?

I am sot on doin’ by the Widder as I would wish to be done by if I should come onto the town and have to be took in and done for; and so day and night this deep and wearin’ thought kep’ a hauntin’ me—though I tried to keep cool on the outside—“she don’t want to go, and she don’t want to stay; and so what shall I do with the Widder Doodle?”

THE WIDDER AND WIDOWER.

Solomon Cypher is a widower! Yes, he has lost his wife with the tyfus; she was a likely woman, had a swelled neck, but that wasn’t nothin’ ag’inst her; I never laid it up ag’inst her for a minute. I told Thomas J. when he brought me the news, that I wished he and I was as likely a woman as she was, and says I still more warmly, “if the hull world was as likely a woman as she was, there wouldn’t be so much cuttin’ up, and actin’ as there is now.” And says I, “Thomas J., it stands us in hand to be prepared.”

But somehow it is awful hard to git that boy to take a realizin’ sense of things; his morals are dretful sound, but a good deal of the time he is light and triflin’ in his demeanor and his talk; and his mind don’t seem to be so stabled as I could wish it to be.

Now I don’t s’pose there would anybody believe me, but the very next day but one after Nancy Cypher’ses death, that boy begun to laugh at his aunt Doodle about the relict. I told him I never see anything in my hull life so wicked and awful, and I asked him where he s’posed he’d go to.

He was fixin’ on a paper collar to the lookin’ glass, and he says in a kind of a chirk way, and in a fine polite tone: “I s’pose I shall go to the weddin’.”

Good land! you might jest as well exhort the wind to stop blowin’ when it is out on a regular spree, as to stop him when he gits to behavin’. But I guess he got the worst of it this time, I guess his aunt Doodle skairt him—she took on so when he sejested the idee of her marryin’ to another man.

She bust right out cryin’, took out her snuff handkerchief, and rubbed her eyes with both hands, her elbo’s standin’ out most straight; she took it awful.

“Oh Doodle! Doodle!” says she, “what if you had lived to hear your relict laughed at about marryin’ to another man. What agony it would have brung to your dear linement; I can’t bear it, I can’t. Oh! when I think how he worshipped the ground I walked on; and the neighbors said he did; they said he thought more of the ground than he did of me: but he didn’t, he worshipped us both. And what would his feelin’s be if he’d lived to see his Widder laughed at about another man.”

She sobbed like a infant babe; and I come to the buttery door with my nutmeg grater in my hand, and winked at Thomas Jefferson two or three times, not to say another word to hurt her feelin’s. They was real firm and severe winks and he knew I meant ’em, and he took up one of his law books and went to readin’, and I went back to makin’ my fruit cake and cherry pies. But I kep’ one eye out at her, not knowin’ what trouble of mind would lead her into; she kep’ her snuff handkerchief over her eyes and groaned bad for nearly nine moments I should judge, and then she spoke out from under it:

“Do you think Solomon Cypher is good lookin’ Tommy?”

“Oh! from fair to middlin’,” says Thomas J.

And then she bust out again: “Oh what a linement my Doodle had on him; how can I think of any other man. I can’t! I can’t!” And she groaned the hardest she had yet. And I come to the buttery door again, and shook my head and winked at Thomas Jefferson again, severer and more reprovin’ winks than they was before, and more of ’em; and he, feelin’ sorry I guess for what he had done, got up and said he guessed he’d go out to the barn, and help his father. Josiah was puttin’ some new stanchils in the stable.

Thomas J. hadn’t much more’n got to the barn, and I had finished my cake, and had jest got my hands into the pie crust a mixin’ it up, when there come a knock to the door, and my hands bein’ in the dough, the Widder stopped groanin’ for the time bein’, and opened it. It was Solomon Cypher himself come to borry my bombazeen dress and crape veil for some of the mourners. Bein’ engaged and busy, I thought I wouldn’t go out till I had finished my pies; he and the Widder bein’ some acquainted. He hadn’t sot but a few minutes when he spoke up, and says he:

“This is a dretful blow to me, Widder;” and he hit himself a knock in the stomach so you could hear it all over the house—for he has got so used to public life and its duties, that he makes gestures right along every day, good enough for anybody, and this was; it would have knocked anybody down that wasn’t in the practice.

“A _hard_ blow,” says he peltin’ himself again right in his breast.

“Yes,” says sister Doodle, puttin’ her snuff handkerchief to her eyes. “I can feel to sympathize with you, I know what feelin’s I felt when I lost Doodle.”

Not a word does she say about brother Timothy, but I hold firm and so does Josiah; we do well by the Widder.

Says he, “I believe you never see the corpse.”

“No,” says she, “but I have heerd her well spoke of; sister Samantha was a sayin’ jest before you come in, that she was a likely woman.”

“She was!” says he a smitin’ himself hard, “she was; my heart strings was completely wrapped round that woman; not a pair of pantaloons have I hired made sense we was both on us married to each other; nor a vest. I tell you it is hard to give her up Widder; dretful hard; she was healthy, savin’, equinomical, hard workin’, pious; I never realized how much I loved that woman;” says he in a heart broken tone, “I never did till I see I must give her up and hire a girl at 2 dollars a week; and they waste more’n their necks are worth.” Here he stopped a minute and sithed, and she sithed, so loud that I could hear ’em plain into the buttery; and then he went on in still more melancholly and despairin’ tones.

“I tell you I have seen trouble for the last month Widder. It’s only four weeks ago yesterday, that I lost the best cow I had, and now my wife is dead; I tell you it cuts me right down Widder, it makes me feel dretful poor.”

I could tell by his voice that he was jest ready to bust out cryin’; Solomon takes her death hard, dretful. Here they both sithed again so powerful that they seemed more like groans than common sithes; and then he continued on:

“It seems Widder as if my heart will bust,” and I could see as I went acrost the buttery for the rollin’ pin, that he had laid his left hand over his heart, as if he was holdin’ it inside of his vest by main strength; “it seems as if it _must_ bust, it is so full of tender memories for that woman. When I think how she would git up and build fires in the winter—”

“That is jest what I love to do,” says sister Doodle, “I always built fires for my Doodle.”

“Did you Widder?” says he, and his tone seemed to be some chirker than it was. “I wish you had been acquainted with the corpse, I believe you would have loved each other like sisters.”

Sister Doodle took her snuff handkerchief down from her face and says she in a more cheerful tone:

“You must chirk up, Mr. Cypher; you must look forred to happier days.”

“Yes,” says he, “I know there is another spear, and I try to keep it in view, and hang my hopes upon it; a spear where hired girls are unknown, and partin’s are no more.”

“I can’t _bear_ hired girls,” says sister Doodle. “I wouldn’t have one round when _I_ was a keepin’ house.”

“Can’t you bear hired girls?” says Solomon. “You make me feel better, Widder, than I did feel when I come in here! You chirk me up Widder! I believe you look like the corpse; you look out of your eyes as she looked out of hern. Oh what a woman that was; she knew her place so well; you couldn’t have _hired_ her to vote; she said she’d drather dig potatoes any time—she was as good as a man at that, when I’d git kinder belated with my work; she’d dig as fast as I could any day.”

“I _love_ to dig potatoes,” says the Widder.

“I _do_ feel better,” says Solomon. “I know I don’t feel nigh so cast down as I did.”

“And no money wouldn’t hire _me_ to vote.”

“You _do_ look like her,” says he bustin’ out in a real convinced tone, “I _know_ you do; I can see it plainer and plainer. You make me think on her.”

“Well,” says she “then you must think on me all you can. Think on me anytime it’s agreeable to you; it don’t make no difference when; any time, day or night; don’t be delicate about it at all. I’ll be glad if I can chirk you up that way, or any other.”

“You have; you have chirked me up Widder; I feel better than I did when I come in here.”

“Well then you must come real often and be chirked up. I haint nothin’ to do hardly, and I may jest as well be a chirkin’ you up as not, and better.”

“I will come,” says he.

“Well, so do; come Sunday nights or any time when it is the handiest to you.”

“I will, Widder, I will;” says he.

I can’t say but what my mind put out this deep question to myself as I stood there a hearin’ sister Doodle go on;

“Samantha, ort times ort is how many?” And though I answered back to myself calmly and firmly, “ort;” still, thinks’es I to myself, she is a clever critter, and what little sense she has got runs to goodness—and that is more than you can say of some folks’es sense—some folks’es runs to meanness every mite of it; I went out and got my dress and veil. I felt sorry for Solomon, very; and as I handed ’em to him, I says, tryin’ to comfort him:

“She was a likely woman, and I haint a doubt but what she is better off now.”

But he didn’t seem to like it, though I spoke with such good motives. He spoke up real crank:

“I don’t know about that; I don’t know about her bein’ better off, I did well by her.”

I heerd my pies a sozzlin over in the oven bottom, and I hastened to their rescue, and Solomon started off. The Widder, that clever critter, went to the door, and as he went down the door step, I didn’t hear jest what she said to him—bein’ a turnin’ my pies at the time—but I heerd his answer; it was this:

“I feel better than I did feel.”

I thought considerable that afternoon (to myself) what clever streaks the Widder Doodle did have in her, (considerin’ her sense) when all of a sudden she give me another sample of it. We got to talkin’ about the Sentinal and though my demeanor was calm, and my mean considerable cool, the old question would come up in my mind: “What shall I do with the Widder Doodle; what _can_ I do with a Widder that don’t want to go, and don’t want to stay?”

The question was a goarin’ me (inwardly) the very minute when she spoke up, and says to me that she would stay to home and keep house for me; she wanted to.

But says I, “I hate to have you stay here sister Doodle; I am afraid you’ll git lonesome; you haint seemed to think you could, and I hate to put it on you. You know Thomas J. will be to Jonesville more’n half his time, and our tower will be a long one.” Says I, “visitin’, as we shall all along the way to the Sentinal, it will be the longest tower ever gone off on by us; and I am afraid you’ll be lonesome, sister Doodle; I am awful ’fraid you will.” Says she:

“Sister Samantha I want to be lonesome if it is a goin’ to be any accomodation to you; it will be a real treat to me to be lonesome. I never seemed to feel so willin’ to be lonesome in my hull life before.”

And as she wouldn’t take no for an answer, it was settled that she should stay and keep house. A cleverer critter (considerin’ her sense) never walked the earth than sister Doodle, and so I told Josiah.

HOW SEREPTA CARRIED THE MEETIN’ HOUSE.