This is a modern-English version of Samantha Among the Brethren, Complete, originally written by Holley, Marietta. It has been thoroughly updated, including changes to sentence structure, words, spelling, and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If you click on a paragraph, you will see the original text that we modified, and you can toggle between the two versions.

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SAMANTHA

AMONG THE BRETHREN.

BY

“JOSIAH ALLEN'S WIFE”

(MARIETTA HOLLEY).

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

1890

TO

All Women

WHO WORK, TRYING TO BRING INTO DARK LIVES

WHO WORK, TRYING TO BRING LIGHT INTO DARK LIVES

THE BRIGHTNESS AND HOPE OF A

BETTER COUNTRY,

Better Country

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED.

THIS BOOK IS FOR YOU.

PREFACE.

Again it come to pass, in the fulness of time, that my companion, Josiah Allen, see me walk up and take my ink stand off of the manteltry piece, and carry it with a calm and majestick gait to the corner of the settin' room table devoted by me to literary pursuits. And he sez to me:

Again it happened, in due time, that my partner, Josiah Allen, saw me walk up and take my ink stand off the mantelpiece and carry it with a calm and dignified stride to the corner of the sitting room table I use for my writing. And he said to me:

“What are you goin' to tackle now, Samantha?”

“What are you going to tackle now, Samantha?”

And sez I, with quite a good deal of dignity, “The Cause of Eternal Justice, Josiah Allen.”

And I said, with a fair amount of dignity, “The Cause of Eternal Justice, Josiah Allen.”

“Anythin' else?” sez he, lookin' sort o' oneasy at me. (That man realizes his shortcomin's, I believe, a good deal of the time, he duz.)

“Anything else?” he said, looking a bit uneasy at me. (I think that man is aware of his shortcomings quite a bit of the time.)

“Yes,” sez I, “I lay out in petickuler to tackle the Meetin' House. She is in the wrong on't, and I want to set her right.”

"Yes," I said, "I'm particularly planning to go after the Meeting House. She's in the wrong about it, and I want to set her straight."

Josiah looked sort o' relieved like, but he sez out, in a kind of a pert way, es he set there a-shellin corn for the hens:

Josiah looked somewhat relieved, but he said, in a slightly sassy way, as he sat there shelling corn for the hens:

“A Meetin' House hadn't ort to be called she—it is a he.”

“A Meeting House shouldn't be called she—it's a he.”

And sez I, “How do you know?”

And I said, “How do you know?”

And he sez, “Because it stands to reason it is. And I'd like to know what you have got to say about him any way?”

And he says, “Because obviously it is. And I'd like to know what you think about him anyway?”

Sez I, “That 'him' don't sound right, Josiah Allen. It sounds more right and nateral to call it 'she.' Why,” sez I, “hain't we always hearn about the Mother Church, and don't the Bible tell about the Church bein' arrayed like a bride for her husband? I never in my life hearn it called a 'he' before.”

Sez I, “That 'him' doesn't sound right, Josiah Allen. It sounds more accurate and natural to call it 'she.' Why,” sez I, “haven't we always heard about the Mother Church, and doesn't the Bible say that the Church is dressed like a bride for her husband? I've never in my life heard it called a 'he' before.”

“Oh, wall, there has always got to be a first time. And I say it sounds better. But what have you got to say about the Meetin' House, anyway?”

“Oh, wall, there always has to be a first time. And I think it sounds better. But what do you think about the Meeting House, anyway?”

“I have got this to say, Josiah Allen. The Meetin' House hain't a-actin' right about wimmen. The Founder of the Church wuz born of woman. It wuz on a woman's heart that His head wuz pillowed first and last. While others slept she watched over His baby slumbers and His last sleep. A woman wuz His last thought and care. Before dawn she wuz at the door of the tomb, lookin' for His comin'. So she has stood ever sense—waitin', watchin', hopin', workin' for the comin' of Christ. Workin', waitin' for His comin' into the hearts of tempted wimmen and tempted men—fallen men and fallen wimmen—workin', waitin', toilin', nursin' the baby good in the hearts of a sinful world—weepin' pale-faced over its crucefixion—lookin' for its reserection. Oh how she has worked all through the ages!”

“I have to say this, Josiah Allen. The Meeting House isn't treating women right. The Founder of the Church was born of a woman. It was on a woman’s heart that His head was rested first and last. While others slept, she kept watch over His baby slumbers and His final rest. A woman was His last thought and concern. Before dawn, she was at the entrance of the tomb, looking for His return. So she has stood ever since—waiting, watching, hoping, working for the coming of Christ. Working, waiting for Him to enter the hearts of tempted women and tempted men—fallen men and fallen women—working, waiting, toiling, nurturing goodness in the hearts of a sinful world—crying pale-faced over its crucifixion—looking for its resurrection. Oh, how she has worked all through the ages!”

“Oh shaw!” sez Josiah, “some wimmen don't care about anythin' but crazy work and back combs.”

“Oh shucks!” says Josiah, “some women only care about pointless tasks and big hairstyles.”

I felt took down, for I had been riz up, quite considerble, but I sez, reasonable:

I felt let down because I had been really lifted up, quite a bit, but I said, reasonable:

“Yes, there are such wimmen, Josiah, but think of the sweet and saintly souls that have given all their lives, and hopes, and thoughts to the Meetin' House—think of the throngs to-day that crowd the aisles of the Sanctuary—there are five wimmen to one man, I believe, in all the meetin' houses to-day a-workin' in His name. True Daughters of the King, no matter what their creed may be—Catholic or Protestant.

“Yes, there are women like that, Josiah, but think of the sweet and saintly souls who have dedicated their entire lives, hopes, and thoughts to the Meeting House—consider the crowds today that fill the aisles of the Sanctuary—there are five women for every man, I believe, in all the meeting houses today working in His name. True Daughters of the King, regardless of their beliefs—Catholic or Protestant."

“And while wimmen have done all this work for the Meetin' House, the Meetin' House ort to be honorable and do well by her.”

“And while women have done all this work for the Meeting House, the Meeting House ought to be honorable and treat her well.”

“Wall, hain't he?” sez Josiah.

“Wall, ain't he?” says Josiah.

“No, she hain't,” sez I.

“No, she hasn't,” I said.

“Wall, what petickuler fault do you find? What has he done lately to rile you up?”

“Well, what specific issue do you have? What has he done recently to upset you?”

Sez I, “She wuz in the wrong on't in not lettin' wimmen set on the Conference.”

Sez I, “She was wrong for not allowing women to sit in the Conference.”

“Wall, I say he wuz right,” sez Josiah. “He knew, and I knew, that wimmen wuzn't strong enough to set.”

“Wow, I say he was right,” says Josiah. “He knew, and I knew, that women weren't strong enough to sit.”

“Why,” sez I, “it don't take so much strength to set as it duz to stand up. And after workin' as hard as wimmen have for the Meetin' House, she ort to have the priveledge of settin'. And I am goin' to write out jest what I think about it.”

“Why,” I said, “it doesn't take as much strength to sit as it does to stand up. And after working as hard as women have for the Meeting House, she should have the privilege of sitting. And I am going to write out exactly what I think about it.”

“Wall,” sez Josiah, as he started for the barn with the hen feed, “don't be too severe with the Meetin' House.”

“Wall,” says Josiah, as he headed for the barn with the chicken feed, “don’t be too harsh on the Meeting House.”

And then, after he went out, he opened the door agin and stuck his head in and sez:

And then, after he went out, he opened the door again and stuck his head in and said:

“Don't be too hard on him”

"Don't be too hard on him"

And then he shet the door quick, before I could say a word. But good land! I didn't care. I knew I could say what I wanted to with my faithful pen—and I am bound to say it.

And then he shut the door quickly, before I could say anything. But good grief! I didn't care. I knew I could express what I wanted with my trusty pen—and I’m determined to say it.

JOSIAH ALLEN'S WIFE, Bonny View,
near Adams, New York,
Oct. 14th, 1890.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER 1.

When I first heard that wimmen wuz goin' to make a effort to set on a Conference, it wuz on a Wednesday, as I remember well. For my companion, Josiah Allen, had drove over to Loontown in a Democrat and in a great hurry, to meet two men who wanted him to go into a speculation with 'em.

When I first heard that women were going to make an effort to hold a Conference, it was on a Wednesday, as I clearly remember. My partner, Josiah Allen, had driven over to Loontown in a Democrat and was in a big rush to meet two guys who wanted him to go into a business deal with them.

And it wuz kinder curious to meditate on it, that they wuz all deacons, every one on 'em. Three on 'em wuz Baptis'es, and two on 'em had jined our meetin' house, deacons, and the old name clung to 'em—we spoze because they wuz such good, stiddy men, and looked up to.

And it was kind of interesting to think about it, that they were all deacons, every single one of them. Three of them were Baptists, and two had joined our church as deacons, and the old title stuck with them—we figured it was because they were such good, steady men and were respected.

Take 'em all together there wuz five deacons. The two foreign deacons from 'way beyond Jonesville, Deacon Keeler and Deacon Huffer, and our own three Jonesvillians—Deacon Henzy, Deacon Sypher, and my own particular Deacon, Josiah Allen.

Take them all together, there were five deacons. The two foreign deacons from way beyond Jonesville, Deacon Keeler and Deacon Huffer, and our own three Jonesvillians—Deacon Henzy, Deacon Sypher, and my own particular Deacon, Josiah Allen.

It wuz a wild and hazardous skeme that them two foreign deacons wuz a-proposin', and I wuz strongly in favor of givin' 'em a negative answer; but Josiah wuz fairly crazy with the idee, and so wuz Deacon Henzy and Deacon Sypher (their wives told me how they felt).

It was a wild and dangerous scheme that those two foreign deacons were proposing, and I was strongly in favor of giving them a negative answer; but Josiah was completely obsessed with the idea, and so were Deacon Henzy and Deacon Sypher (their wives told me how they felt).

The idee was to build a buzz saw mill on the creek that runs through Jonesville, and have branches of it extend into Zoar, Loontown, and other more adjacent townships (the same creek runs through 'em all).

The idea was to build a buzz saw mill on the creek that runs through Jonesville and have branches extend into Zoar, Loontown, and other nearby townships (the same creek runs through all of them).

As near as I could get it into my head, there wuz to be a buzz saw mill apiece for the five deacons—each one of 'em to overlook their own particular buzz saw—but the money comin' from all on 'em to be divided up equal among the five deacons.

As best as I could understand, there was going to be a buzz saw mill for each of the five deacons—each one of them overseeing their own specific buzz saw—but the money from all of them would be split equally among the five deacons.

They thought there wuz lots of money in the idee. But I wuz very set against it from the first. It seemed to me that to have buzz saws a-permeatin' the atmosphere, as you may say, for so wide a space, would make too much of a confusion and noise, to say nothin' of the jarin' that would take place and ensue. I felt more and more, as I meditated on the subject, that a buzz saw, although estimable in itself, yet it wuz not a spear in which a religious deacon could withdraw from the world, and ponder on the great questions pertainin' to his own and the world's salvation.

They thought there was a lot of money in the idea. But I was very much against it from the start. It seemed to me that having buzz saws permeating the atmosphere, as you might say, over such a large area would create too much confusion and noise, not to mention the disruption that would follow. The more I thought about it, the more I felt that, while a buzz saw is valuable in its own right, it's not something a religious deacon could use to step back from the world and reflect on the important issues related to his own and the world's salvation.

I felt it wuz not a spear that he could revolve round in and keep that apartness from this world and nearness to the other, that I felt that deacons ought to cultivate.

I felt it wasn't a spear that he could rotate around and maintain that distance from this world and closeness to the other, which I believed deacons should develop.

But my idees wuz frowned at by every man in Jonesville, when I ventured to promulgate 'em. They all said, “The better the man, the better the deed.”

But my ideas were looked down upon by every man in Jonesville when I dared to share them. They all said, “The better the man, the better the deed.”

They said, “The better the man wuz, the better the buzz saw he would be likely to run.” The fact wuz, they needed some buzz saw mills bad, and wuz very glad to have these deacons lay holt of 'em.

They said, “The better the man was, the better the buzz saw he would likely run.” The truth was, they really needed some buzz saw mills, and they were very glad to have these deacons take charge of them.

But I threw out this question at 'em, and stood by it—“If bein' set apart as a deacon didn't mean anything? If there wuzn't any deacon-work that they ought to be expected to do—and if it wuz right for 'em to go into any world's work so wild and hazardous and engrossin', as this enterprise?”

But I threw this question at them and stuck to it—“What if being chosen as a deacon didn’t mean anything? What if there wasn’t any deacon work that they should be expected to do—and if it was okay for them to get involved in any worldly job that was so wild, risky, and consuming, like this venture?”

And again they sez to me in stern, decided axents, “The better the man, the better the deed. We need buzz saws.”

And again they said to me in serious, firm tones, “The better the person, the better the action. We need buzz saws.”

And then they would turn their backs to me and stalk away very high-headed.

And then they would turn away from me and walk off with their heads held high.

And I felt that I wuz a gettin' fearfully onpopular all through Jonesville, by my questions. I see that the hull community wuz so sot on havin' them five deacons embark onto these buzz saws that they would not brook any interference, least of all from a female woman.

And I felt like I was becoming really unpopular all over Jonesville because of my questions. I noticed that the whole community was so determined to have those five deacons get involved with these buzz saws that they wouldn't tolerate any interference, especially not from a woman.

But I had a feelin' that Josiah Allen wuz, as you may say, my lawful prey. I felt that I had a right to question my own pardner for the good of his own soul, and my piece of mind.

But I had a feeling that Josiah Allen was, as they say, my rightful target. I believed I had the right to question my own partner for the sake of his soul and my peace of mind.

And I sez to him in solemn axents:

And I said to him in a serious tone:

“Josiah Allen, what time will you get when you are fairly started on your buzz saw, for domestic life, or social, or for religious duties?”

“Josiah Allen, what time will you have once you get going on your buzz saw for home life, social activities, or religious obligations?”

And Josiah sez, “Dumb 'em! I guess a man is a goin' to make money when he has got a chance.” And I asked him plain if he had got so low, and if I had lived with him twenty years for this, to hear him in the end dumb religious duties.

And Josiah says, “Forget them! I guess a man is going to make money when he has the chance.” And I asked him directly if he had really stooped so low, and if I had spent twenty years with him just to hear him dismiss religious duties in the end.

And Josiah acted skairt and conscience smut for most half a minute, and said, “he didn't dumb 'em.”

And Josiah acted scared and guilty for almost half a minute and said, “he didn't do them.”

“What wuz you dumbin'?” sez I, coldly.

“What were you doing?” I said, coldly.

“I wuz dumbin' the idee,” sez he, “that a man can't make money when he has a chance to.”

“I was thinking about the idea,” he said, “that a man can't make money when he has a chance to.”

But I sez, a haulin' up this strong argument agin—

But I say, bringing up this strong argument again—

“Every one of you men, who are a layin' holt of this enterprise and a-embarkin' onto this buzz saw are married men, and are deacons in a meetin' house. Now this work you are a-talkin' of takin' up will devour all of your time, every minute of it, that you can spare from your farms.

“Every one of you men who are getting involved in this venture and diving into this risky business are married and are deacons in a church. Now, the work you’re considering taking on will consume all of your time, every minute you can spare from your farms.”

“And to say nothin' of your wives and children not havin' any chance of havin' any comfort out of your society. What will become of the interests of Zion at home and abroad, of foreign and domestic missions, prayer meetin's, missionary societies, temperance meetin's and good works generally?”

“And not to mention that your wives and kids won’t have any chance to enjoy your company. What will happen to the interests of Zion both at home and abroad, to foreign and domestic missions, prayer meetings, missionary societies, temperance meetings, and good works in general?”

And then again I thought, and it don't seem as if I can be mistaken, I most know that I heerd Josiah Allen mutter in a low voice,

And then I thought again, and it doesn't seem like I can be wrong; I almost know that I heard Josiah Allen mumble in a low voice,

“Dumb good works!”

“Stupid good deeds!”

But I wouldn't want this told of, for I may be mistook. I didn't fairly ketch the words, and I spoke out agin, in dretful meanin' and harrowin' axents, and sez, “What will become of all this gospel work?”

But I wouldn't want this shared, because I might be misunderstood. I didn't quite catch the words, and I spoke out again, with a really harsh and intense tone, and said, “What will happen to all this gospel work?”

And Josiah had by this time got over his skare and conscience smite (men can't keep smut for more'n several minutes anyway, their consciences are so elastic; good land! rubber cord can't compare with 'em), and he had collected his mind all together, and he spoke out low and clear, and in a tone as if he wuz fairly surprised I should make the remark:

And by this point, Josiah had gotten over his scare and guilt (guys can't hold onto guilt for more than a few minutes anyway, their consciences are so flexible; good grief! a rubber band can't compare), and he had gathered his thoughts together, and he spoke softly and clearly, sounding genuinely surprised that I would make the comment:

“Why, the gospel work will get along jest as it always has, the wimmen will 'tend to it.”

“Why, the gospel work will continue just as it always has; the women will take care of it.”

And I own I was kinder lost and by the side of myself when I asked the question—and very anxious to break up the enterprise or I shouldn't have put the question to him.

And I admit I was pretty lost and not myself when I asked the question—and really eager to end the situation or I wouldn't have asked him.

For I well knew jest as he did that wimmen wuz most always the ones to go ahead in church and charitable enterprises. And especially now, for there wuz a hardness arozen amongst the male men of the meetin' house, and they wouldn't do a thing they could help (but of this more anon and bimeby).

For I knew just like he did that women were usually the ones to take the lead in church and charity work. And especially now, because there was a stubbornness growing among the men of the meeting house, and they wouldn’t do anything they could avoid (but more on this later).

There wuz two or three old males in the meetin' house, too old to get mad and excited easy, that held firm, and two very pious old male brothers, but poor, very poor, had to be supported by the meetin' house, and lame. They stood firm, or as firm as they could on such legs as theirs wuz, inflammatory rheumatiz and white swellin's and such.

There were two or three old men in the meeting house, too old to get angry or excited easily, who stood their ground, along with two very religious old brothers who were very poor and had to be supported by the meeting house, and were lame. They stood as firmly as they could with their legs affected by inflammatory rheumatism and white swellings and such.

But all the rest had got their feelin's hurt, and got mad, etc., and wouldn't do a thing to help the meetin' house along.

But everyone else felt hurt, got angry, and wouldn't do anything to help the meeting house progress.

Well, I tried every lawful, and mebby a little on-lawful way to break this enterprise of theirs up—and, as I heern afterwards, so did Sister Henzy.

Well, I tried every legal and maybe a little illegal way to break up their plan—and, as I heard later, so did Sister Henzy.

Sister Sypher is so wrapped up in Deacon Sypher that she would embrace a buzz saw mill or any other enterprise he could bring to bear onto her.

Sister Sypher is so caught up in Deacon Sypher that she would welcome a buzz saw mill or any other business he could throw her way.

“She would be perfectly willin' to be trompled on,” so she often sez, “if Deacon Sypher wuz to do the tromplin'.”

“She would be perfectly willing to be trampled on,” she often says, “if Deacon Sypher were to do the trampling.”

Some sez he duz.

Some say he does.

Wall, in spite of all my efforts, and in spite of all Sister Henzy's efforts, our deacons seemed to jest flourish on this skeme of theirn. And when we see it wuz goin' to be a sure thing, even Sister Sypher begin to feel bad.

Wall, despite all my efforts and all of Sister Henzy's efforts, our deacons seemed to really thrive on this scheme of theirs. And when we saw it was going to be a sure thing, even Sister Sypher started to feel bad.

She told Albina Widrig, and Albina told Miss Henn, and Miss Henn told me, that “what to do she didn't know, it would deprive her of so much of the deacon's society.” It wuz goin' to devour so much of his time that she wuz afraid she couldn't stand it. She told Albina in confidence (and Albina wouldn't want it told of, nor Miss Henn, nor I wouldn't) that she had often been obleeged to go out into the lot between breakfast and dinner to see the deacon, not bein' able to stand it without lookin' on his face till dinner time.

She told Albina Widrig, and Albina told Miss Henn, and Miss Henn told me that she didn't know what to do; it would take away so much of her time with the deacon. She was worried it would consume so much of his time that she wasn’t sure she could handle it. She confided in Albina (and Albina wouldn’t want it shared, nor would Miss Henn, and I wouldn’t either) that she often had to go out into the yard between breakfast and lunch just to see the deacon, as she couldn't wait until lunchtime to see his face.

And when she was laid up with a lame foot it wuz known that the deacon left his plowin' and went up to the house, or as fur as the door step, four or five times in the course of a mornin's work, it wuz spozed because she wuz fearful of forgettin' how he looked before noon.

And when she was stuck at home with a hurt foot, people noticed that the deacon left his plowing and came up to the house, or at least to the doorstep, four or five times during a morning's work. It was assumed it was because she was worried about forgetting what he looked like before noon.

She is a dretful admirin' woman.

She is a truly admirable woman.

She acts dretful reverential and admirin' towards men—always calls her husband “the Deacon,” as if he was the one lonely deacon who was perambulatin' the globe at this present time. And it is spozed that when she dreams about him she dreams of him as “the Deacon,” and not as Samuel (his given name is Samuel).

She acts really respectful and admiring towards men—always calls her husband “the Deacon,” as if he was the only deacon wandering the world right now. And it’s believed that when she dreams about him, she dreams of him as “the Deacon,” not as Samuel (his real name is Samuel).

But we don't know that for certain. We only spoze it. For the land of dreams is a place where you can't slip on your sun-bonnet and foller neighbor wimmen to see what they are a-doin' or what they are a-sayin' from hour to hour.

But we don't know that for sure. We just assume it. The land of dreams is a place where you can't just put on your sun hat and follow your neighbors to see what they're doing or what they're saying from hour to hour.

No, the best calculator on gettin' neighborhood news can't even look into that land, much less foller a neighborin' female into it.

No, the best person for getting neighborhood news can't even see into that area, let alone follow a neighboring woman into it.

No, their barks have got to be moored outside of them mysterious shores.

No, their barks have to be tied up outside those mysterious shores.

But, as I said, this had been spozen.

But, as I said, this had been frozen.

But it is known from actual eyesight that she marks all her sheets, and napkins, and piller-cases, and such, “M. D. S.” And I asked her one day what the M. stood for, for I 'spozed, of course, the D. S. stood for Drusillia Sypher.

But it’s clear from what I’ve seen that she marks all her sheets, napkins, and pillowcases with “M. D. S.” One day I asked her what the M. stood for, since I figured the D. S. must stand for Drusillia Sypher.

And she told me with a real lot of dignity that the initials stood for “Miss Deacon Sypher.”

And she told me with a lot of dignity that the initials stood for "Miss Deacon Sypher."

Wall, the Jonesville men have been in the habit of holdin' her up as a pattern to their wives for some time, and the Jonesville wimmen hain't hated her so bad as you would spoze they all would under the circumstances, on account, we all think, of her bein' such a good-hearted little creeter. We all like Drusilly and can't help it.

Wall, the guys in Jonesville have been showing her off as a role model for their wives for a while now, and the women of Jonesville haven't disliked her as much as you'd think they would under the circumstances, probably because we all believe she's such a good-hearted little creature. We all like Drusilly and there's no denying it.

Wall, even she felt bad and deprested on account of her Deacon's goin' into the buzz saw-mill business.

Wall, even she felt bad and depressed because her Deacon was getting into the buzz sawmill business.

But she didn't say nothin', only wept out at one side, and wiped up every time he came in sight.

But she didn't say anything, just cried to herself, and wiped her tears every time he came into view.

They say that she hain't never failed once of a-smilin' on the Deacon every time he came home. And once or twice he has got as mad as a hen at her for smilin'. Once, when he came home with a sore thumb—he had jest smashed it in the barn door—and she stood a-smilin' at him on the door step, there are them that say the Deacon called her a “infernal fool.”

They say she has never failed to smile at the Deacon every time he comes home. And once or twice he has gotten as mad as a hen at her for smiling. Once, when he came home with a sore thumb—he had just smashed it in the barn door—and she was standing there smiling at him on the doorstep, some say the Deacon called her an “infernal fool.”

But I never have believed it. I don't believe he would demean himself so low.

But I've never believed it. I don't think he would humiliate himself like that.

But he yelled out awful at her, I do 'spoze, for his pain wuz intense, and she stood stun still, a-smilin' at him, jest accordin' to the story books. And he sez:

But he yelled out angrily at her, I guess, because his pain was intense, and she stood there, frozen, smiling at him, just like in the storybooks. And he said:

“Stand there like a——fool, will you! Get me a rag!”

I guess he did say as much as that.

I guess he did say something like that.

But they say she kept on a-smilin' for some time—couldn't seem to stop, she had got so hardened into that way.

But they say she kept on smiling for a while—she just couldn't seem to stop, she had become so used to it.

And once, when her face wuz all swelled up with the toothache, she smiled at him accordin' to rule when he got home, and they say the effect wuz fearful, both on her looks and the Deacon's acts. They say he was mad again, and called her some names. But as a general thing they get along first rate, I guess, or as well as married folks in general, and he makes a good deal of her.

And once, when her face was all swollen up from a toothache, she smiled at him according to the usual routine when he got home, and they say the result was shocking, both for her appearance and the Deacon's behavior. They say he got angry again and called her some names. But generally, they get along pretty well, I suppose, or as well as most married couples do, and he takes her into consideration a lot.

I guess they get along without any more than the usual amount of difficulties between husbands and wives, and mebby with less. I know this, anyway, that she just about worships the Deacon.

I think they manage fine with only the typical challenges that come up between husbands and wives, maybe even fewer. I know for sure that she pretty much idolizes the Deacon.

Wall, as I say, it was the very day that these three deacons went to Loontown to meet Deacon Keeler and Deacon Huffer, to have a conference together as to the interests of the buzz saw mill that I first heard the news that wimmen wuz goin' to make a effort to set on the Methodist Conference, and the way I heerd on't wuz as follows:

Wall, like I said, it was the very day when these three deacons went to Loontown to meet Deacon Keeler and Deacon Huffer for a conference about the buzz saw mill's interests that I first heard the news that women were planning to try and attend the Methodist Conference, and the way I heard about it was like this:

Josiah Allen brought home to me that night a paper that one of the foreign deacons, Deacon Keeler, had lent him. It contained a article that wuz wrote by Deacon Keeler's son, Casper Keeler—a witherin' article about wimmen's settin' on the Conference. It made all sorts of fun of the projeck.

Josiah Allen brought home a paper that night that one of the foreign deacons, Deacon Keeler, had lent him. It contained an article written by Deacon Keeler's son, Casper Keeler—a scathing piece about women sitting on the Conference. It mocked the whole idea in various ways.

We found out afterwards that Casper Keeler furnished nearly all the capital for the buzz saw mill enterprise at his father's urgent request. His father, Deacon Keeler, didn't have a cent of money of his own; it fell onto Casper from his mother and aunt. They had kept a big millinery store in the town of Lyme, and a branch store in Loontown, and wuz great workers, and had laid up a big property. And when they died, the aunt, bein' a maiden woman at the time, the money naturally fell onto Casper. He wuz a only child, and they had brung him up tender, and fairly worshipped him.

We found out later that Casper Keeler provided almost all the money for the buzz saw mill project at his father's strong urging. His father, Deacon Keeler, didn't have a dime to his name; it came to Casper from his mother and aunt. They ran a large millinery store in Lyme and had a branch store in Loontown, and both were hardworking, amassing a considerable fortune. When they passed away, the money, since the aunt was a single woman at the time, naturally went to Casper. He was their only child, and they raised him gently and practically adored him.

They left him all the money, but left a anuety to be paid yearly to his father, Deacon Keeler, enough to support him.

They left him all the money but set up an annuity to be paid yearly to his father, Deacon Keeler, enough to support him.

The Deacon and his wife had always lived happy together—she loved to work, and he loved to have her work, so they had similar tastes, and wuz very congenial—and when she died he had the widest crape on his hat that wuz ever seen in the town of Lyme. (The crape was some she had left in the shop.)

The Deacon and his wife had always been happy together—she loved to work, and he loved that she worked, so they had similar interests and got along really well—and when she passed away, he wore the widest black ribbon on his hat that anyone had ever seen in the town of Lyme. (The ribbon was some she had left in the shop.)

He mourned deep, both in his crape and his feelin's, there hain't a doubt of that.

He mourned deeply, both in his attire and his emotions, there’s no doubt about that.

Wall, Miss Keelerses will provided money special for Casper to be educated high. So he went to school and to college, from the time he was born, almost. So he knew plenty of big words, and used 'em fairly lavish in this piece. There wuz words in it of from six to seven syllables. Why, I hadn't no idee till I see 'em with my own eye, that there wuz any such words in the English language, and words of from four to six syllables wuz common in it.

Wall, Miss Keelerses provided special funds for Casper to get a high education. So, he started school and then went to college almost as soon as he was born. He picked up a lot of big words and used them quite freely in this piece. There were words in it with six to seven syllables. Honestly, I had no idea until I saw them with my own eyes that such words existed in the English language, and words with four to six syllables were common in it.

His father, Deacon Keeler, wouldn't give the paper to my companion, he thought so much of it, but he offered to lend it to him, because he said he felt that the idees it promulgated wuz so sound and deep they ought to be disseminated abroad.

His father, Deacon Keeler, wouldn't give the newspaper to my friend; he valued it too highly, but he offered to lend it to him because he believed that the ideas it presented were so solid and profound that they should be shared more widely.

The idees wuz, “that wimmen hadn't no business to set on the Conference. She wuz too weak to set on it. It wuz too high a place for her too ventur' on, or to set on with any ease. There wuzn't no more than room up there for what men would love to set on it. Wimmen's place wuz in the sacred precinks of home. She wuz a tender, fragile plant, that needed guardin' and guidin' and kep by man's great strength and tender care from havin' any cares and labors whatsoever and wheresoever and howsumever.”

The idea was that women had no place in the Conference. They were considered too weak to be part of it. It was too high a position for them to venture into or to sit with any comfort. There was hardly any room up there for anything but what men would want to occupy. A woman's place was in the sacred confines of home. She was viewed as a delicate, fragile being that needed protection and guidance, kept by a man's strength and gentle care from having any worries or responsibilities at all.

Josiah said it wuz a masterly dockument. And it wuz writ well. It painted in wild, glarin' colors the fear that men had that wimmen would strain themselves to do anything at all in the line of work—or would weaken her hull constitution, and lame her moral faculties, and ruin herself by tryin' to set up on a Conference, or any other high and tottlin' eminence.

Josiah said it was a brilliant document. And it was well written. It vividly illustrated the fear that men had that women would push themselves to do any kind of work—or would weaken their entire constitution, impair their moral judgment, and ruin themselves by trying to take on a Conference or any other high and precarious position.

The piece wuz divided into three different parts, with a headin' in big letters over each one.

The piece was divided into three different parts, with a heading in big letters above each one.

The first wuz, wimmen to have no labors and cares WHATSOEVER;

The first was for women to have no labor or worries whatsoever;

Secondly, NONE WHERESOEVER;

Secondly, NONE WHERESOEVER;

Thirdly, NONE HOWSUMEVER.

Thirdly, NONE HOWSUMEVER.

The writer then proceeded to say that he would show first, what cares and labors men wuz willin' and anxious to ward offen women. And he proved right out in the end that there wuzn't a thing that they wanted wimmen to do—not a single thing.

The writer then went on to say that he would first demonstrate what concerns and efforts men were willing and eager to prevent women from. And he ultimately proved that there wasn't a single thing they wanted women to do—not a single thing.

Then he proceeded to tell where men wuz willin' to keep their labors and cares offen wimmen. And he proved it right out that it wuz every where. In the home, the little sheltered, love-guarded home of the farmer, the mechanic and the artizen (makin' special mention of the buzz sawyers). And also in the palace walls and the throne. There and every where men would fain shelter wimmen from every care, and every labor, even the lightest and slightest.

Then he went on to explain where men wanted to keep their work and worries away from women. He made it clear that it was happening everywhere. In the home, the small, comforting, love-protected home of the farmer, the mechanic, and the craftsperson (specifically mentioning the buzz sawyers). And also within the palace walls and on the throne. There, and in every where, men would gladly protect women from every worry and every task, even the smallest and easiest ones.

Then lastly came the howsumever. He proceeded to show how this could be done. And he proved it right out (or thought he did) that the first great requisit' to accomplish all this, wuz to keep wimmen in her place. Keep her from settin' on the Conference, and all other tottlin' eminences, fitted only for man's stalwart strength.

Then finally came the however. He went on to explain how this could be done. And he demonstrated pretty clearly (or at least he thought he did) that the first important requirement to achieve all this was to keep women in their place. Keep them from sitting on the Conference and all other lofty positions, which were only meant for a man's strong abilities.

And the end of the article wuz so sort of tragick and skairful that Josiah wept when he read it. He pictured it out in such strong colors, the danger there wuz of puttin' wimmen, or allowin' her to put herself in such a high and percipitous place, such a skairful and dangerous posture as settin' up on a Conference.

And the end of the article was so kind of tragic and scary that Josiah cried when he read it. He imagined it in such vivid detail, the danger there was in putting women, or letting them put themselves in such a high and steep place, such a frightening and risky situation as sitting up on a Conference.

“To have her set up on it,” sez the writer, in conclusion, “would endanger her life, her spiritual, her mental and her moral growth. It would shake the permanency of the sacred home relations to its downfall. It would hasten anarchy, and he thought sizm.” Why, Josiah Allen handled that paper as if it wuz pure gold. I know he asked me anxiously as he handed it to me to read, “if my hands wuz perfectly clean,” and we had some words about it.

“To have her involved with it,” said the writer, in conclusion, “would endanger her life, her spiritual, mental, and moral growth. It would undermine the stability of the sacred family relationships and lead to their downfall. It would accelerate chaos, and he thought it was a big deal.” Why, Josiah Allen treated that paper as if it were pure gold. I know he asked me nervously as he handed it to me to read, “if my hands were perfectly clean,” and we had a little argument about it.

And till he could pass it on to Deacon Sypher to read he kep it in the Bible. He put it right over in Galatians, for I looked to see—Second Galatians.

And until he could pass it on to Deacon Sypher to read, he kept it in the Bible. He placed it right over in Galatians, because I checked to see—Second Galatians.

And he wrapped it up in a soft handkerchief when he carried it over to Deacon Sypherses. And Deacon Sypher treasured it like a pearl of great price (so I spoze) till he could pass it on to Deacon Henzy.

And he wrapped it in a soft handkerchief when he took it over to Deacon Syphers. Deacon Sypher cherished it like a priceless pearl (I guess) until he could pass it on to Deacon Henzy.

And Deacon Henzy was to carry it with care to a old male Deacon in Zoar, bed rid.

And Deacon Henzy was to carry it carefully to an old male Deacon in Zoar, who was bedridden.

Wall, as I say, that is the very first I had read about their bein' any idee promulgated of wimmens settin' up on the Conference.

Wall, as I said, that is the very first I've read about the idea of women taking a stand in the Conference.

And I, in spite of Josiah Allen's excitement, wuz in favor on't from the very first.

And I, despite Josiah Allen's excitement, was in favor of it from the very beginning.

Yes, I wuz awfully in favor of it, and all I went through durin' the next and ensuin' weeks didn't put the idee out of my head. No, far from it. It seemed as if the severer my sufferin's wuz, the much more this idee flourished in my soul. Just as a heavy plow will meller up the soil so white lilies can take root, or any other kind of sweet posies.

Yes, I was really in favor of it, and everything I went through during the next few weeks didn't shake that idea from my mind. No, quite the opposite. It felt like the more I suffered, the more this idea grew in my heart. Just like a heavy plow loosens the soil so white lilies can take root, or any other kind of beautiful flowers.

And oh! my heart! wuz not my sufferin's with Lodema Trumble, a hard plow and a harrowin' one, and one that turned up deep furrows?

And oh! my heart! wasn’t my suffering with Lodema Trumble, a tough ordeal and a troubling one, and one that turned up deep scars?

But of this, more anon and bimeby.

But we'll get back to this later.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER 2.

Wall, it wuz on the very next day—on a Thursday as I remember well, for I wuz a-thinkin' why didn't Lodema's letter come the next day—Fridays bein' considered onlucky—and it being a day for punishments, hangin's, and so forth.

Wall, it was the very next day—on a Thursday, as I clearly remember, because I was thinking about why Lodema's letter didn’t arrive the next day—Fridays are seen as unlucky—and it's a day for punishments, hangings, and so on.

But it didn't, it came on a Thursday. And my companion had been to Jonesville and brung me back two letters; he brung 'em in, leavin' the old mair standin' at the gate, and handed me the letters, ten pounds of granulated sugar, a pound of tea, and the request I should have supper on the table by the time that he got back from Deacon Henzy's.

But it didn't; it arrived on a Thursday. My friend had gone to Jonesville and brought me back two letters. He came in, leaving the old mare standing at the gate, and handed me the letters, ten pounds of granulated sugar, a pound of tea, and asked that I have supper ready on the table by the time he got back from Deacon Henzy's.

(On that old buzz-saw business agin, so I spozed, but wouldn't ask.)

(On that old buzz-saw business again, I guess, but I wouldn't ask.)

Wall, I told him supper wuz begun any way, and he had better hurry back. But he wuz belated by reason of Deacon Henzy's bein' away, so I set there for some time alone.

Wall, I told him dinner had already started anyway, and he should hurry back. But he was late because Deacon Henzy was away, so I sat there for a while by myself.

Wall, I wuz goin' to have some scolloped oysters for supper, so the first thing I did wuz to put 'em into the oven—they wuz all ready, I had scolloped 'em before Josiah come, and got 'em all ready for the oven—and then I set down and read my letters.

Well, I was planning to have some scalloped oysters for dinner, so the first thing I did was put them in the oven—they were all ready, I had prepared them before Josiah arrived, and got them all set for the oven—and then I sat down and read my letters.

Wall, the first one I opened wuz from Lodema Trumble, Josiah's cousin on his own side. And her letter brought the sad and harrowin' intelligence that she was a-comin' to make us a good long visit. The letter had been delayed. She was a-comin' that very night, or the next day. Wall, I sithed deep. I love company dearly, but—oh my soul, is there not a difference, a difference in visitors?

Wall, the first one I opened was from Lodema Trumble, Josiah's cousin on his side. Her letter brought the sad and distressing news that she was coming to stay with us for a long visit. The letter had been delayed. She was coming that very night or the next day. Well, I sighed deeply. I really enjoy having company, but—oh my gosh, isn’t there a difference in visitors?

Wall, suffice it to say, I sithed deep, and opened the other letter, thinkin' it would kind o' take my mind off.

Wall, let’s just say, I sighed deeply and opened the other letter, thinking it would distract me a bit.

And for all the world! I couldn't hardly believe my eyes. But it wuz! It wuz from Serena Fogg. It wuz from the Authoress of “Wedlock's Peaceful Repose.”

And for the love of everything! I could hardly believe my eyes. But it was! It was from Serena Fogg. It was from the author of “Wedlock's Peaceful Repose.”

I hadn't heard a word from her for upwards of four years. And the letter brung me startlin' intelligence.

I hadn't heard a word from her in over four years. And the letter brought me shocking news.

It opened with the unexpected information that she wuz married. She had been married three years and a half to a butcher out to the Ohio.

It started with the surprising news that she was married. She had been married for three and a half years to a butcher in Ohio.

And I declare my first thought wuz as I read it, “Wall, she has wrote dretful flowery on wedlock, and its perfect, onbroken calm, and peaceful repose, and now she has had a realizin' sense of what it really is.”

And I declare my first thought was, as I read it, “Well, she wrote really flowery about marriage and its perfect, unbroken calm and peaceful rest, and now she has a real understanding of what it actually is.”

But when I read a little further, I see what the letter wuz writ for. I see why, at this late day, she had started up and writ me a letter. I see it wuz writ on duty.

But when I read a little further, I see what the letter was written for. I see why, at this late time, she had suddenly started and written me a letter. I see it was written out of duty.

She said she had found out that I wuz in the right on't and she wuzn't. She said that when in the past she had disputed me right up and down, and insisted that wedlock wuz a state of perfect serenity, never broken in upon by any cares or vexations whatsomever, she wuz in the wrong on't.

She said she had realized that I was right and she wasn't. She mentioned that when in the past she had argued with me back and forth, insisting that marriage was a state of complete peace, never disrupted by any worries or annoyances whatsoever, she was mistaken about that.

She said she had insisted that when anybody had moored their barks into that haven of wedded life, that they wuz forever safe from any rude buffetin's from the world's waves; that they wuz exempt from any toil, any danger, any sorrow, any trials whatsomever. And she had found she was mistook.

She said she had insisted that when anyone had docked their boats in that haven of married life, they were forever safe from any rough waves from the world; that they were free from any work, any danger, any sorrow, any trials at all. And she had found she was mistaken.

She said I told her it wuz a first-rate state, and a satisfactory one for wimmen; but still it had its trials, and she had found it so. She said that I insisted its serenity wuz sometimes broken in upon, and she had found it so. The last day at my house had tottled her faith, and her own married experience had finished the work. Her husband wuz a worthy man, and she almost worshipped him. But he had a temper, and he raved round considerable when meals wuzn't ready on time, and she havin' had two pairs of twins durin' her union (she comes from a family on her mother's side, so I had hearn before, where twins wuz contagious), she couldn't always be on the exact minute. She had to work awful hard; this broke in on her serenity.

She said I told her it was a great state and a good one for women; but it still had its challenges, and she had experienced that. She said I insisted its calmness was sometimes interrupted, and she had found that to be true. The last day at my house had shaken her belief, and her own marriage experience had confirmed it. Her husband was a good man, and she almost worshipped him. But he had a temper, and he would get really upset when meals weren’t ready on time, and since she had given birth to two sets of twins during their marriage (she comes from a family on her mother’s side, where twins were common), she couldn’t always be exact to the minute. She had to work really hard; this disrupted her peace.

Her husband devotedly loved her, so she said; but still, she said, his bootjack had been throwed voyalent where corns wuz hit onexpected.

Her husband loved her devotedly, or so she said; but still, she mentioned that his bootjack had been thrown violently where it hurt unexpectedly.

Their souls wuz mated firm as they could be in deathless ties of affection and confidence, yet doors had been slammed and oaths emitted, when clothin' rent and buttons tarried not with him. Strange actions and demeanors had been displayed in hours of high-headedness and impatience, which had skaired her almost to death before gettin' accustomed to 'em.

Their souls were bonded as tightly as they could be in everlasting ties of love and trust, yet doors had been slammed and oaths tossed out, with clothing torn and buttons not waiting for him. Odd behaviors and actions were shown during moments of pride and impatience, which had scared her nearly to death before she got used to them.

The four twins broke in also on her waveless calm. They wuz lovely cherubs, and the four apples of her eyes. But they did yell at times, they kicked, they tore round and acted; they made work—lots of work. And one out of each pair snored. It broke up each span, as you may say. The snorin' filled each room devoted to 'em.

The four twins also disrupted her peaceful calm. They were adorable little angels and the center of her attention. But they did scream sometimes, they kicked, they ran around and were lively; they created a lot of work. And one from each set snored. It disrupted every moment, you could say. The snoring filled every room dedicated to them.

He snored, loud. A good man and a noble man he wuz, so she repeated it, but she found out too late—too late, that he snored. The house wuz small; she could not escape from snores, turn she where she would. She got tired out with her work days, and couldn't rest nights. Her husband, as he wuz doin' such a flourishin' business, had opened a cattle-yard near the house. She wuz proud of his growin' trade, but the bellerin' of the cattle disturbed her fearfully. Also the calves bleating and the lambs callin' on their dams.

He snored, loudly. He was a good man and a noble man, she reminded herself, but she discovered too late—too late—that he snored. The house was small; she could not escape from the snores, no matter how she turned. She was worn out from her long workdays and couldn't rest at night. Her husband, being successful in his business, had opened a cattle yard near the house. She was proud of his growing trade, but the bellowing of the cattle disturbed her greatly. Also, the calves bleating and the lambs calling for their mothers added to the noise.

It wuz a long letter, filled with words like these, and it ended up by saying that for years now she had wanted to write and tell me that I had been in the right on't and she in the wrong. I had been megum and she hadn't. And she ended by sayin', “God bless me and adoo.”

It was a long letter, filled with words like these, and it ended by saying that for years now she had wanted to write and tell me that I had been right and she had been wrong. I had been good and she hadn’t. And she ended by saying, “God bless me and goodbye.”

The fire crackled softly on the clean hearth. The teakettle sung a song of welcome and cheer. The oysters sent out an agreeable atmosphere. The snowy table, set out in pretty china and glassware, looked invitin', and I set there comfortable and happy and so peaceful in my frame, that the events of the past, in which Serena Fogg had flourished, seemed but as yesterday.

The fire crackled softly in the clean fireplace. The teakettle hummed a tune of welcome and cheer. The oysters filled the air with a pleasant vibe. The pristine table, arranged with nice china and glassware, looked inviting, and I sat there feeling comfortable, happy, and at peace, so much so that the events of the past, when Serena Fogg was thriving, seemed like just yesterday.

I thought it all over, that pleasant evenin' in the past, when Josiah Allen had come in unexpected, and brung the intelligence to me that there wuz goin' to be a lectur' give that evenin' by a young female at the Jonesville school-house, and beset me to go.

I thought it all over, that nice evening in the past, when Josiah Allen came in unexpectedly and brought me the news that there was going to be a lecture that evening by a young woman at the Jonesville schoolhouse, and urged me to go.

And I give my consent. Then my mind travelled down that pleasant road, moongilded, to the school-house. It stopped on the door-step while Josiah hitched the mair.

And I give my consent. Then my mind drifted down that nice road, lit up by the moon, to the schoolhouse. It paused on the doorstep while Josiah tied up the mare.

We found the school-house crowded full, fur a female lecturer wuz a rarity, and she wuz a pretty girl, as pretty a girl as I ever see in my life.

We found the schoolhouse completely packed because a female lecturer was a rarity, and she was a pretty girl, as pretty a girl as I have ever seen in my life.

And it wuz a pretty lecture, too, dretful pretty. The name of the lecture wuz, “Wedlock's Peaceful and Perfect Repose.”

And it was a beautiful lecture, really beautiful. The title of the lecture was, “Wedlock's Peaceful and Perfect Repose.”

A pretty name, I think, and it wuz a beautiful lecture, very, and extremely flowery. It affected some of the hearers awfully; they wuz all carried away with it. Josiah Allen wept like a child durin' the rehearsin' of it. I myself didn't weep, but I enjoyed it, some of it, first rate.

A nice name, I think, and it was a beautiful lecture, very much so, and extremely flowery. It really touched some of the audience; they were all completely moved by it. Josiah Allen cried like a child during the rehearsal of it. I didn't cry myself, but I enjoyed part of it a lot.

I can't begin to tell it all as she did, 'specially after this length of time, in such a lovely, flowery way, but I can probably give a few of the heads of it.

I can't really explain it all like she did, especially after so much time, in such a beautiful, detailed way, but I can probably share a few key points.

It hain't no ways likely that I can give the heads half the stylish, eloquent look that she did as she held 'em up, but I can jest give the bare heads.

It’s not likely that I can give the heads the same stylish, eloquent look that she did when she held them up, but I can at least show the bare heads.

She said that there had been a effort made in some directions to try to speak against the holy state of matrimony. The papers had been full of the subject, “Is Marriage a Failure, or is it not?”

She said that there had been an effort in some areas to speak out against the sacred institution of marriage. The papers had been full of the topic, “Is Marriage a Failure, or Isn’t It?”

She had even read these dreadful words—“Marriage is a Failure.” She hated these words, she despised 'em. And while some wicked people spoke against this holy institution, she felt it to be her duty, as well as privilege, to speak in its praise.

She had even read those terrible words—“Marriage is a Failure.” She hated those words, she despised them. And while some wicked people spoke against this sacred institution, she felt it was her duty, as well as her privilege, to speak in its praise.

I liked it first rate, I can tell you, when she went on like that. For no living soul can uphold marriage with a better grace that can she whose name vuz once Smith.

I liked it a lot, I can tell you, when she went on like that. Because no living person can support marriage with more elegance than she whose name was once Smith.

I love Josiah Allen, I am glad that I married him. But at the same time, my almost devoted love doesn't make me blind. I can see on every side of a subject, and although, as I said heretofore, and prior, I love Josiah Allen, I also love megumness, and I could not fully agree with every word she said.

I love Josiah Allen, and I'm glad that I married him. But at the same time, my almost devoted love doesn’t blind me. I can see all sides of a topic, and although, as I mentioned before, I love Josiah Allen, I also appreciate complexity, and I couldn’t fully agree with everything she said.

But she went on perfectly beautiful—I didn't wonder it brought the school-house down—about the holy calm and perfect rest of marriage, and how that calm wuz never invaded by any rude cares.

But she went on perfectly beautiful—I couldn't believe it brought the schoolhouse down—about the sacred peace and complete relaxation of marriage, and how that peace was never disturbed by any annoying worries.

How man watched over the woman he loved; how he shielded her from every rude care; kept labor and sorrow far, far from her; how woman's life wuz like a oneasy, roarin', rushin' river, that swept along discontented and onsatisfied, moanin' and lonesome, until it swept into the calm sea of Repose—melted into union with the grand ocian of Rest, marriage.

How the man looked after the woman he loved; how he protected her from every harsh worry; kept work and sadness far, far away from her; how a woman's life was like a restless, roaring, rushing river, flowing along discontented and unsatisfied, moaning and lonely, until it finally merged into the calm sea of peace—blending into the vast ocean of rest, marriage.

And then, oh! how calm and holy and sheltered wuz that state! How peaceful, how onruffled by any rude changes! Happiness, Peace, Calm! Oh, how sweet, how deep wuz the ocian of True Love in which happy, united souls bathed in blissful repose!

And then, oh! how calm, sacred, and protected that state was! How peaceful, how untroubled by any harsh changes! Happiness, Peace, Calm! Oh, how sweet, how deep was the ocean of True Love in which happy, united souls soaked in blissful rest!

It was dretful pretty talk, and middlin' affectin'. There wasn't a dry eye in Josiah Allen's head, and I didn't make no objection to his givin' vent to his feelin's, only when I see him bust out a-weepin' I jest slipped my pocket-handkerchief 'round his neck and pinned it behind. (His handkerchief wuz in constant use, a cryin' and weepin' as he wuz.) And I knew that salt water spots black satin awfully. He had on a new vest.

It was really beautiful talk, and quite moving. There wasn't a dry eye in Josiah Allen's head, and I didn't mind him expressing his feelings, but when I saw him start crying, I just slipped my handkerchief around his neck and pinned it behind. (His handkerchief was in constant use, with all the crying and weeping he was doing.) And I knew that saltwater stains black satin terribly. He was wearing a new vest.

Submit Tewksbury cried and wept, and wept and cried, caused by remembrances, it wuz spozed. Of which, more anon, and bimeby.

Submit Tewksbury cried and wept, and wept and cried, supposedly because of memories. More on that later.

And Drusilly Sypher, Deacon Sypherses wife, almost had a spazzum, caused by admiration and bein' so highly tickled.

And Drusilly Sypher, Deacon Syphers's wife, nearly had a fit from excitement and being so incredibly amused.

I myself didn't shed any tears, as I have said heretofore. And what kep' me calmer wuz, I knew, I knew from the bottom of my heart, that she went too fur, she wuzn't megum enough.

I didn't cry, as I've mentioned before. What kept me calmer was that I knew, deep down, that she went too far; she wasn't reasonable enough.

And then she went on to draw up metafors, and haul in illustrations, comparin' married life and single—jest as likely metafors as I ever see, and as good illustrations as wuz ever brung up, only they every one of 'em had this fault—when she got to drawin' 'em, she drawed 'em too fur. And though she brought the school-house down, she didn't convince me.

And then she started creating metaphors and pulling in illustrations, comparing married life to being single—just as likely metaphors as I’ve ever seen, and as good illustrations as anyone could come up with. The only problem with all of them was that when she went to explain them, she took them too far. And even though she got a big reaction from everyone, she didn’t convince me.

Once she compared single life to a lonely goose travellin' alone acrost the country, 'cross lots, lonesome and despairin', travellin' along over a thorny way, and desolate, weighed down by melancholy and gloomy forebodin's, and takin' a occasional rest by standin' up on one cold foot and puttin' its weery head under its wing, with one round eye lookin' out for dangers that menaced it, and lookin', also, perhaps, for a possible mate, for the comin' gander—restless, wobblin', oneasy, miserable.

Once she compared single life to a lonely goose traveling alone across the country, over empty fields, feeling lonesome and hopeless, making its way along a thorny path, desolate and weighed down by sadness and dark thoughts, stopping occasionally to rest by standing on one cold foot and tucking its weary head under its wing, with one eye peeking out for any dangers that might threaten it, and looking, perhaps, for a possible mate, a coming gander—restless, wobbly, uneasy, miserable.

Why, she brought the school-house down, and got the audience all wrought up with pity, and sympathy. Oh, how Submit Tewksbury did weep; she wept aloud (she had been disappointed, but of this more bimeby).

Why, she brought the schoolhouse down and got the audience all worked up with pity and sympathy. Oh, how Submit Tewksbury cried; she cried out loud (she had been disappointed, but more on that later).

And then she went on and compared that lonesome voyager to two blissful wedded ones. A pair of white swans floatin' down the waveless calm, bathed in silvery light, floatin' down a shinin' stream that wuz never broken by rough waves, bathed in a sunshine that wuz never darkened by a cloud.

And then she continued to compare that lonely traveler to two happily married people. A pair of white swans gliding down the smooth, calm waters, illuminated by silvery light, drifting down a shining river that was never disturbed by rough waves, surrounded by sunshine that was never overshadowed by a cloud.

And then she went on to bring up lots of other things to compare the two states to—flowery things and sweet, and eloquent.

And then she started mentioning a bunch of other things to compare the two states—beautiful things, sweet things, and poetic ones.

She compared single life to quantities of things, strange, weird, melancholy things, and curius. Why, they wuz so powerful that every one of 'em brought the school-house down.

She compared single life to various things—strange, weird, melancholy, and curious. They were so powerful that each one brought the schoolhouse down.

And then she compared married life to two apple blossoms hangin' together on one leafy bough on the perfumed June air, floatin' back and forth under the peaceful benediction of summer skies.

And then she compared married life to two apple blossoms hanging together on a leafy branch in the fragrant June air, swaying gently under the calm blessing of summer skies.

And she compared it to two white lambs gambolin' on the velvety hill-side. To two strains of music meltin' into one dulcet harmony, perfect, divine harmony, with no discordant notes.

And she compared it to two white lambs frolicking on the soft hillside. To two melodies blending into one sweet harmony, perfect, divine harmony, with no off-key notes.

Josiah hunched me, he wanted me to cry there, at that place, but I wouldn't. He did, he cried like an infant babe, and I looked close and searchin' to see if my handkerchief covered up all his vest.

Josiah hunched over me; he wanted me to cry right there, but I wouldn't. He did cry, like a baby, and I looked closely to see if my handkerchief covered all of his vest.

He didn't seem to take no notice of his clothes at all, he wuz a-weepin' so—why, the whole schoolhouse wept, wept like a babe.

He didn't seem to pay any attention to his clothes at all; he was crying so much—why, the whole schoolhouse cried, cried like a baby.

But I didn't. I see it wuz a eloquent and powerful effort. I see it was beautiful as anything could be, but it lacked that one thing I have mentioned prior and before this time. It lacked megumness.

But I didn't. I see it was an eloquent and powerful effort. I see it was beautiful as anything could be, but it lacked that one thing I've mentioned before. It lacked megumness.

I knew they wuz all impressive and beautful illustrations, I couldn't deny it, and I didn't want to deny it. But I knew in my heart that the lonely goose that she had talked so eloquent about, I knew that though its path might be tegus the most of the time, yet occasionally it stepped upon velvet grass and blossomin' daisies. And though the happy wedded swans floated considerable easy a good deal of the time, yet occasionally they had their wings rumpled by storms, thunder storms, sudden squalls, and et cetery, et cetery.

I knew they were all impressive and beautiful illustrations; I couldn't deny it, and I didn't want to deny it. But I knew in my heart that the lonely goose she had spoken so eloquently about, even though its path was tough most of the time, occasionally walked on soft grass and blooming daisies. And even though the happily married swans floated pretty easily most of the time, they also had their wings ruffled by storms, thunderstorms, sudden gusts, and so on, and so forth.

And I knew the divine harmony of wedded love, though it is the sweetest that earth affords, I knew that, and my Josiah knew it—the very sweetest and happiest strains that earthly lips can sing.

And I knew the beautiful harmony of married love, even though it is the sweetest thing this world offers. I knew that, and my Josiah knew it—the very sweetest and happiest melodies that human lips can sing.

Yet I knew that it wuz both heavenly sweet, and divinely sad, blended discord and harmony. I knew there wuz minor chords in it, as well as major, I knew that we must await love's full harmony in heaven. There shall we sing it with the pure melody of the immortals, my Josiah and me. But I am a eppisodin', and to continue and resoom.

Yet I knew that it was both incredibly sweet and deeply sad, a mix of discord and harmony. I knew there were minor chords in it, as well as major ones. I understood that we must wait for love's complete harmony in heaven. There, my Josiah and I will sing it with the pure melody of the immortals. But I’m getting sidetracked, so let’s get back to the point.

Wall, we wuz invited to meet the young female after the lecture wuz over, to be introduced to her and talk it over.

Well, we were invited to meet the young woman after the lecture was over, to be introduced to her and discuss it.

She wuz the Methodist minister's wive's cousin, and the minister's wife told me she wuz dretful anxious to get my opinion on the lecture. I spoze she wanted to get the opinion of one of the first wimmen of the day. For though I am fur from bein' the one that ort to mention it, I have heard of such things bein' said about me all round Jonesville, and as far as Loontown and Shackville. And so, I spoze, she wanted to get hold of my opinion.

She was the cousin of the Methodist minister's wife, and the minister's wife told me she was really eager to get my thoughts on the lecture. I guess she wanted the perspective of one of the prominent women of the time. Although I'm definitely not the one who should be mentioned, I've heard people say things like that about me all around Jonesville, as well as in Loontown and Shackville. So, I assume she wanted to hear my opinion.

Wall, I wuz introduced to her, and I shook hands with her, and kissed her on both cheeks, for she is a sweet girl and I liked her looks.

Well, I was introduced to her, and I shook her hand and kissed her on both cheeks because she’s a sweet girl and I liked how she looked.

I could see that she was very, VERY sentimental, but she had a sweet, confidin', innocent look to her, and I give her a good kissin' and I meant it. When I like a person, I do like 'em, and visy-versey.

I could see that she was really, really sentimental, but she had a sweet, trusting, innocent look to her, so I gave her a good kiss and I meant it. When I like someone, I really like them, and the same goes for the opposite.

But at the same time my likin' for a person mustn't be strong enough to overthrow my principles. And when she asked me in her sweet axents, “How I liked her lecture, and if I could see any faults in it?” I leaned up against Duty, and told her, “I liked it first-rate, but I couldn't agree with every word of it.”

But at the same time, my liking for someone shouldn’t be strong enough to compromise my principles. And when she asked me in her sweet accent, “How did you like my lecture, and do you see any faults in it?” I leaned on my sense of Duty and told her, “I thought it was great, but I couldn't fully agree with everything in it.”

Here Josiah Allen give me a look sharp enough to take my head clear off, if looks could behead anybody. But they can't.

Here, Josiah Allen gave me a look so sharp it could take my head clean off, if looks could actually behead anyone. But they can't.

And I kept right on, calm and serene, and sez I, “It wuz very full of beautiful idees, as full of 'em as a rose-bush is full of sweetness in June, but,” says I, “if I speak at all I must tell the truth, and I must say that while your lecture is as sweet and beautiful a effort as I ever see tackled, full of beautiful thoughts, and eloquence, still I must say that in my opinion it lacked one thing, it wuzn't mean enough.”

And I continued on, calm and serene, and said, “It was full of beautiful ideas, as full of them as a rosebush is full of sweetness in June, but,” I said, “if I say anything at all, I have to tell the truth, and I have to say that while your lecture is the sweetest and most beautiful effort I’ve ever seen tackled, full of beautiful thoughts and eloquence, I must also say that in my opinion it lacked one thing: it wasn't critical enough.”

“Mean enough?” sez she. “What do you mean?”

“Mean enough?” she said. “What do you mean?”

“Why,” sez I, “I mean, mean temperature, you know, middleinness, megumness, and whatever you may call it; you go too fur.”

“Why,” I said, “I mean average temperature, you know, medium-ness, balance, and whatever you want to call it; you’re going too far.”

She said with a modest look “that she guessed she didn't, she guessed she didn't go too far.”

She said with a modest expression, “I guess I didn’t; I guess I didn’t go too far.”

And Josiah Allen spoke up, cross as a bear, and, sez he, “I know she didn't. She didn't say a word that wuzn't gospel truth.”

And Josiah Allen spoke up, as grumpy as a bear, and he said, “I know she didn’t. She didn’t say anything that wasn’t the absolute truth.”

Sez I, “Married life is the happiest life in my opinion; that is, when it is happy. Some hain't happy, but at the same time the happiest of 'em hain't all happiness.”

Sez I, “Married life is the happiest life, in my opinion; that is, when it’s happy. Some aren’t happy, but at the same time, the happiest of them aren’t all happiness.”

“It is,” sez Josiah (cross and surly), “it is, too.”

“It is,” says Josiah (grumpy and irritable), “it is, too.”

And Serena Fogg said, gently, that she thought I wuz mistaken, “she thought it wuz.” And Josiah jined right in with her and said:

And Serena Fogg said gently that she thought I was mistaken, “she thought it was.” And Josiah joined right in with her and said:

“He knew it wuz, and he would take his oath to it.”

“He knew it was, and he would swear to it.”

But I went right on, and, sez I, “Mebby it is in one sense the most peaceful; that is, when the affections are firm set and stabled it makes 'em more peaceful than when they are a-traipsin' round and a-wanderin'. But,” sez I, “marriage hain't all peace.”

But I kept going and said, “Maybe in one way it’s the most peaceful; that is, when the feelings are strong and stable, they make things more peaceful than when they’re wandering around. But,” I said, “marriage isn’t all peace.”

Sez Josiah: “It is, and I'll swear to it.”

Sez Josiah: “It is, and I swear to it.”

Sez I, goin' right on, cool and serene, “The sunshine of true love gilds the pathway with the brightest radiance we know anything about, but it hain't all radiance.”

Sez I, going right on, cool and calm, “The sunshine of true love lights up the path with the brightest glow we know anything about, but it’s not all glow.”

“Yes, it is,” sez Josiah, firmly, “it is, every mite of it.”

“Yes, it is,” says Josiah, firmly, “it is, every bit of it.”

And Serena Fogg sez, tenderly and amiably, “Yes, I think Mr. Allen is right; I think it is.”

And Serena Fogg says, gently and kindly, “Yes, I think Mr. Allen is right; I think it is.”

“Wall,” sez I, in meanin' axcents, awful meanin', “when you are married you will change your opinion, you mark my word.”

“Wall,” I said, with a lot of attitude, really serious, “once you get married, you’ll see things differently, just you wait.”

And she said, gently, but persistently, “That she guessed she shouldn't; she guessed she was in the right of it.”

And she said, softly but firmly, “I suppose I shouldn't; I guess I'm in the right about this.”

Sez I, “You think when anybody is married they have got beyend all earthly trials, and nothin' but perfect peace and rest remains?”

Sez I, “You really think that when someone gets married, they’ve escaped all earthly challenges and only have perfect peace and relaxation left?”

And she sez, gently, “Yes, mem!”

And she says, gently, “Yes, ma'am!”

“Why,” sez I, “I am married, and have been for upwards of twenty years, and I think I ought to know somethin' about it; and how can it be called a state of perfect rest, when some days I have to pass through as many changes as a comet, and each change a tegus one. I have to wabble round and be a little of everything, and change sudden, too.

“Why,” I said, “I am married and have been for over twenty years, and I think I should know something about it; how can it be called a state of perfect rest when some days I go through as many changes as a comet, and each change is a challenging one? I have to wobble around and be a little of everything, and change suddenly, too.

“I have to be a cook, a step-mother, a housemaid, a church woman, a wet nurse (lots of times I have to wade out in the damp grass to take care of wet chickens and goslins). I have to be a tailoress, a dairy-maid, a literary soarer, a visitor, a fruit-canner, a adviser, a soother, a dressmaker, a hostess, a milliner, a gardener, a painter, a surgeon, a doctor, a carpenter, a woman, and more'n forty other things.

“I have to be a cook, a stepmom, a housekeeper, a church member, a wet nurse (I often wade out in the damp grass to care for wet chicks and goslings). I have to be a seamstress, a dairy worker, a writer, a visitor, a fruit canner, a counselor, a comforter, a dressmaker, a hostess, a hat maker, a gardener, a painter, a surgeon, a doctor, a carpenter, a woman, and more than forty other things.

“Marriage is a first-rate state, and agreeable a good deal of the time; but it haint a state of perfect peace and rest, and you'll find out it haint if you are ever married.”

“Marriage is a great situation, and it's nice most of the time; but it’s not a state of perfect peace and rest, and you’ll realize that when you get married.”

But Miss Fogg said, mildly, “that she thought I wuz mistaken—she thought it wuz.”

But Miss Fogg said, gently, “that she thought I was mistaken—she thought it was.”

“You do?” sez I.

“You do?” I said.

“Yes, mem,” sez she.

“Yes, ma'am,” she said.

I got up, and sez I, “Come, Josiah, I guess we had better be a-goin'.” I thought it wouldn't do no good to argue any more with her, and Josiah started off after the mair. He had hitched it on the barn floor.

I got up and said, "Come on, Josiah, I think we should get going." I figured it wouldn't help to argue with her any further, and Josiah headed off to get the mare. He had tied it up on the barn floor.

She didn't seem willin' to have me go; she seemed to cling to me. She seemed to be a good, affectionate little creetur. And she said she would give anything almost if she could rehearse the hull lecture over to me, and have me criticise it. Sez she:

She didn't seem willing to let me go; she seemed to cling to me. She seemed to be a good, affectionate little creature. And she said she would give just about anything if she could go over the whole lecture with me again and have me critique it. She said:

“I have heard so much about you, and what a happy home you have.”

“I've heard so much about you and how happy your home is.”

“Yes,” sez I, “it is as happy as the average of happy homes, any way.”

“Yes,” I said, “it’s as happy as any average happy home, anyway.”

And sez she, “I have heard that you and your husband wuz just devoted to each other.” And I told her “that our love for each other wuz like two rocks that couldn't be moved.”

And she said, “I’ve heard that you and your husband are completely devoted to each other.” I replied, “Our love for each other is like two rocks that can’t be moved.”

And she said, “On these very accounts she fairly hankered after my advice and criticism. She said she hadn't never lived in any house where there wuz a livin' man, her father havin' died several months before she was born; and she hadn't had the experience that I had, and she presumed that I could give her several little idees that she hadn't thought on.”

And she said, “For these reasons, she really craved my advice and feedback. She mentioned that she had never lived in a house with a living man, since her father had passed away several months before she was born; and she didn’t have the experiences I had, so she figured I could share some insights she hadn’t considered.”

And I told her calmly “that I presumed I could.”

And I told her calmly, "I figured I could."

It seemed that her father died two months after marriage, right in the midst of the mellow light of the honeymoon, before he had had time to drop the exstatic sweetness of courtship and newly-married bliss and come down into the ordinary, everyday, good and bad demeanors of men.

It seemed that her father passed away two months after the wedding, right in the middle of the warm glow of the honeymoon, before he had a chance to let go of the ecstatic joy of courtship and newlywed happiness and step into the ordinary, everyday, good and bad behaviors of men.

And she had always lived with her mother (who naturally worshipped and mentally knelt before the memory of her lost husband) and three sentimental maiden aunts. And they had drawed all their knowledge of manhood from Moore's poems and Solomon's Songs. So Serena Fogg's idees of men and married life wuz about as thin and as well suited to stand the wear and tear of actual experience as a gauze dress would be to face a Greenland winter in.

And she had always lived with her mother (who naturally idolized and mentally bowed down to the memory of her lost husband) and three sentimental aunts. They had drawn all their knowledge of manhood from Moore's poems and Solomon's Songs. So Serena Fogg's ideas about men and married life were just as flimsy and as well-suited to withstand the challenges of real life as a gauze dress would be to face a Greenland winter.

And so, after considerable urgin' on her part (for I kinder hung back and hated to tackle the job, but not knowin' but that it wuz duty's call), I finally consented, and it wuz arranged this way:

And so, after a lot of encouragement from her (since I was hesitant and didn’t really want to take on the task, but not knowing if it was my responsibility), I finally agreed, and it was set up like this:

She wuz to come down to our house some day, early in the mornin', and stay all day, and she wuz to stand up in front of me and rehearse the lecture over to me, and I wuz to set and hear it, and when she came to a place where I didn't agree with her I wuz to lift up my right hand and she wuz to stop rehearsin', and we wuz to argue with each other back and forth and try to convince each other.

She was supposed to come over to our house one day, early in the morning, and stay all day. She was to stand in front of me and practice her lecture, and I would listen. When she got to a part I didn’t agree with, I would raise my right hand, and she would stop practicing. Then we would argue back and forth and try to convince each other.

And when we got it all arranged Josiah and I set out for home, I calm in my frame, though dreadin' the job some.

And when everything was sorted out, Josiah and I headed home. I felt calm, even though I was a bit anxious about the task ahead.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER 3.

But Josiah Allen wuz jest crazy over that lecture—crazy as a loon. He raved about it all the way home, and he would repeat over lots of it to me. About “how a man's love was the firm anchor that held a woman's happiness stiddy; how his calm and peaceful influence held her mind in a serene calm—a waveless repose; how tender men wuz of the fair sect, how they watched over 'em and held 'em in their hearts.”

But Josiah Allen was just crazy about that lecture—crazy as a loon. He raved about it all the way home, and he would repeat a lot of it to me. About “how a man's love was the strong anchor that kept a woman's happiness steady; how his calm and peaceful influence held her mind in a serene calm—a waveless repose; how tender men were toward the fair sex, how they looked after them and held them in their hearts.”

“Oh,” sez he, “it went beyond anything I ever heard of. I always knew that men wuz good and pious, but I never realized how dumb pious they wuz till to-night.”

“Oh,” he said, “it went beyond anything I’ve ever heard of. I always knew that men were good and religious, but I never realized how foolishly religious they were until tonight.”

“She said,” sez I, in considerable dry axents—not so dry as I keep by me, but pretty dry—“No true man would let a woman perform any manuel labor.”

“She said,” I replied, in quite a dry tone—not as dry as I usually am, but still pretty dry—“No real man would let a woman do any manual labor.”

“Wall, he won't. There ain't no need of your liftin' your little finger in emanuel labor.”

“Well, he won't. There's no need for you to lift a finger in manual labor.”

“Manuel, Josiah.”

"Manuel, Josiah."

“Wall, I said so, didn't I? Hain't I always holdin' you back from work?”

"Well, I said that, didn't I? Haven't I always been holding you back from working?"

“Yes,” sez I. “You often speak of it, Josiah. You are as good,” sez I, firmly, “full as good as the common run of men, and I think a little better. But there are things that have to be done. A married woman that has a house and family to see to and don't keep a hired girl, can't get along without some work and care.”

“Yeah,” I said. “You talk about it a lot, Josiah. You’re just as good,” I said, firmly, “just as good as most men, and I think a bit better. But there are things that need to be done. A married woman with a house and family to take care of and no hired help can’t manage without some work and attention.”

“Wall I say,” sez he, “that there hain't no need of you havin' a care, not a single care. Not as long as I live—if it wuzn't for me, you might have some cares, and most probable would, but not while I live.”

“Let me tell you,” he says, “there’s no reason for you to worry, not a single bit. As long as I’m around—if it weren’t for me, you might have some worries, and you probably would, but not while I’m here.”

I didn't say nothin' back, for I don't want to hurt his feelin's, and won't, not if I can help it. And he broke out again anon, or nearly anon—

I didn't say anything back because I didn't want to hurt his feelings, and I won't, not if I can help it. And he started up again shortly after—

“Oh, what a lecture that wuz. Did you notice when she wuz goin' on perfectly beautiful, about the waveless sea of married life—did you notice how it took the school house down? And I wuz perfectly mortified to see you didn't weep or even clap your hands.”

“Oh, what a lecture that was. Did you notice when she was going on perfectly beautifully about the waveless sea of married life—did you notice how it brought the schoolhouse down? And I was completely embarrassed to see you didn't cry or even clap your hands.”

“Wall,” sez I, firmly, “when I weep or when I clap, I weep and clap on the side of truth. And I can't see things as she duz. I have been a-sailin' on that sea she depictured for over twenty years, and have never wanted to leave it for any other waters. But, as I told her, and tell you now, it hain't always a smooth sea, it has its ups and downs, jest like any other human states.”

“Wall,” I said firmly, “when I cry or when I clap, I cry and clap for the sake of truth. And I can't see things the way she does. I’ve been sailing on that sea she described for over twenty years, and I’ve never wanted to leave it for any other waters. But, as I told her and I’m telling you now, it’s not always a smooth sea; it has its ups and downs, just like any other human experiences.”

Sez I, soarin' up a very little ways, not fur, for it wuz too cold, and I was too tired, “There hain't but one sea, Josiah Allen, that is calm forever, and one day we will float upon it, you and me. It is the sea by which angels walk and look down into its crystal depths, and behold their blessed faces. It is the sea on whose banks the fadeless lilies blow—and that mirrors the soft, cloudless sky of the Happy Morning. It is the sea of Eternal Repose, that rude blasts can never blow up into billows. But our sea—the sea of married life—is not like that, it is ofttimes billowy and rough.”

Sez I, soaring up just a little ways, not far, because it was too cold, and I was too tired, “There’s only one sea, Josiah Allen, that is calm forever, and one day we will float on it, you and me. It’s the sea where angels walk and look down into its clear depths, seeing their blessed faces. It’s the sea on whose shores the everlasting lilies bloom—and that reflects the soft, cloudless sky of the Happy Morning. It’s the sea of Eternal Rest, where harsh winds can never whip it into waves. But our sea—the sea of married life—is not like that; it’s often choppy and rough.”

“I say it hain't,” sez he, for he was jest carried away with the lecture, and enthused.

“I say it isn’t,” he said, completely caught up in the lecture and excited.

“We have had a happy time together, Josiah Allen, for over twenty years, but has our sea of life always been perfectly smooth?”

“We’ve had a great time together, Josiah Allen, for over twenty years, but has our journey through life always been perfectly smooth?”

“Yes, it has; smooth as glass.”

“Hain't there never been a cloud in our sky?”

“Haven't there ever been any clouds in our sky?”

“No, there hain't; not a dumb cloud.”

“No, there isn't; not a single dumb cloud.”

Sez I, sternly, “There has in mine. Your wicked and profane swearin' has cast many and many a cloud over my sky, and I'd try to curb in my tongue if I was in your place.”

Sez I, sternly, “There has been in mine. Your awful and disrespectful swearing has cast many shadows over my sky, and I’d try to hold back my tongue if I were you.”

“'Dumb' hain't swearin',” sez he. And then he didn't say nothin' more till anon, or nearly at that time, he broke out agin, and sez he:

“'Dumb' isn't swearing,” he said. And then he didn't say anything more until shortly after that, when he suddenly spoke up again and said:

“Never, never did I hear or see such eloquence till to-night I'll have that girl down to our house to stay a week, if I'm a living Josiah Allen.”

“Never, never have I heard or seen such eloquence until tonight. I’ll have that girl over to our house to stay for a week, if I’m alive, Josiah Allen.”

“All right,” sez I, cheerfully. “I'd love to have her stay a week or ten days, and I'll invite her, too, when she comes down to rehearse her lecture.”

“All right,” I said cheerfully. “I’d love for her to stay a week or ten days, and I’ll invite her when she comes down to practice her lecture.”

Wall we got home middlin' tired, and the subject kinder dropped down, and Josiah had lots of work come on the next day, and so did I, and company. And it run along for over a week before she come. And when she did come, it wuz in a dreadful bad time. It seems as if she couldn't have come in a much worse time.

Well, we got home pretty tired, and the topic kind of faded away, and Josiah had a lot of work to do the next day, and so did I, along with company. It went on like that for over a week before she finally showed up. And when she did come, it was at a really bad time. It seemed like she couldn't have arrived at a worse moment.

It wuz early one mornin', not more than nine o'clock, if it wuz that. There had come on a cold snap of weather unexpected, and Josiah wuz a-bringin' in the cook stove from the summer kitchen, when she come.

It was early one morning, not more than nine o'clock, if that. A cold snap had arrived unexpectedly, and Josiah was bringing in the cook stove from the summer kitchen when she came.

Josiah Allen is a good man. He is my choice out of a world full of men, but I can't conceal it from myself that his words at such a time are always voyalent, and his demeanor is not the demeanor that I would wish to have showed off to the public.

Josiah Allen is a good man. He’s my pick among a world full of men, but I can’t hide from myself that his words at times are always sharp, and his attitude isn't the kind I would want to present to others.

He wuz at the worst place, too. He had got the stove wedged into the entry-way door, and couldn't get it either way. He had acted awkward with it, and I told him so, and he see it when it wuz too late.

He was in the worst spot, too. He had gotten the stove stuck in the entryway door and couldn't move it either way. He had been clumsy with it, and I pointed it out to him, and he realized it when it was too late.

He had got it fixed in such a way that he couldn't get into the kitchen himself without gettin' over the stove, and I, in the course of duty, thought it wuz right to tell him that if he had heerd to me he wouldn't have been in such a fix. Oh! the voyalence and frenzy of his demeanor as he stood there a-hollerin'. I wuz out in the wood-house shed a-bilin' my cider apple sass in the big cauldron kettle, but I heard the racket, and as I come a-runnin' in I thought I heard a little rappin' at the settin'-room door, but I didn't notice it much, I wuz that agitated to see the way the stove and Josiah wuz set and wedged in.

He had it set up so that he couldn't get into the kitchen without climbing over the stove, and I, fulfilling my duty, thought it was right to tell him that if he had listened to me, he wouldn't be in such a mess. Oh, the anger and chaos of his behavior as he stood there shouting. I was out in the shed boiling my apple cider sauce in the big pot, but I heard the commotion, and as I ran in, I thought I heard a slight knocking at the sitting room door, but I didn't pay much attention to it; I was too worked up seeing how the stove and Josiah were stuck and jammed in.

There the stove wuz, wedged firm into the doorway, perfectly sot there. There wuz sut all over the floor, and there stood Josiah Allen, on the wood-house side, with his coat off, his shirt all covered with black, and streaks of black all over his face. And oh! how wild and almost frenzied his attitude wuz as he stood there as if he couldn't move nor be moved no more than the stove could. And oh! the voyalence of the language he hurled at me acrost that stove.

There was the stove, wedged tightly in the doorway, perfectly positioned there. There was soot all over the floor, and there stood Josiah Allen, on the wood-house side, with his coat off, his shirt covered in black, and streaks of black on his face. And wow! how wild and nearly frantic his attitude was as he stood there, as if he couldn’t move or be moved any more than the stove could. And wow! the violence of the language he threw at me across that stove.

“Why,” sez I, “you must come in here, Josiah Allen, and pull it from this side.”

“Why,” I said, “you have to come in here, Josiah Allen, and pull it from this side.”

And then he hollered at me, and asked me:

And then he shouted at me and asked me:

“How in thunder he was a goin' to get in.” And then he wanted to know “if I wanted him squshed into jelly by comin' in by the side of it—or if I thought he wuz a crane, that he could step over it or a stream of water that he could run under it, or what else do you think?” He hollered wildly.

“How on earth was he going to get in?” And then he wanted to know “if I wanted him crushed into jelly by coming in from the side—or if I thought he was a crane, that he could step over it, or a stream of water that he could run under, or what else do you think?” He shouted loudly.

“Wall,” sez I, “you hadn't ort to got it fixed in that shape. I told you what end to move first,” sez I. “You have moved it in side-ways. It would go in all right if you had started it the other way.”

“Wall,” I said, “you shouldn’t have tried to fix it like that. I told you which end to move first,” I continued. “You moved it sideways. It would have gone in just fine if you had started it the other way.”

“Oh, yes! It would have been all right. You love to see me, Samantha, with a stove in my arms. You love it dearly. I believe you would be perfectly happy if you could see me a luggin' round stoves every day. But I'll tell you one thing, if this dumb stove is ever moved either way out of this door—if I ever get it into a room agin, it never shall be stirred agin so much as a hair's breadth—not while I have got the breath of life in me.”

“Oh, yes! It would have been fine. You love seeing me, Samantha, with a stove in my arms. You love it so much. I honestly think you’d be totally happy if you could watch me hauling stoves around every day. But let me tell you something: if this stupid stove ever gets moved out of this door—if I ever get it into a room again, it’s never going to be moved even a little bit—not while I’m still breathing.”

Sez I, “Hush! I hear somebody a-knockin' at the door.”

Sez I, “Shh! I hear someone knocking at the door.”

“I won't hush. It is nothin' but dumb foolishness a movin' round stoves, and if anybody don't believe it let 'em look at me—and let 'em look at that stove set right here in the door as firm as a rock.”

“I won't be quiet. It's just plain silly messing around stoves, and if anyone doesn't believe it, they should look at me—and look at that stove sitting right here in the doorway, as solid as a rock.”

Sez I agin in a whisper, “Do be still, and I'll let 'em in, I don't want them to ketch you a talkin' so and a-actin'.” “Wall, I want 'em to ketch me, that is jest what I want 'em to do. If it is a man he'll say every word I say is Gospel truth, and if it is a woman it will make her perfectly happy to see me a-swelterin' in the job—seven times a year do I have to move this stove back and forth—and I say it is high time I said a word. So you can let 'em in just as quick as you are a mind to.”

"Again, I whispered, 'Please be quiet, and I'll let them in. I don’t want them to catch you talking like that.' 'Well, I actually want them to catch me; that’s exactly what I want. If it’s a man, he’ll say everything I say is the absolute truth, and if it’s a woman, it’ll make her really happy to see me struggling with this job—seven times a year I have to move this stove back and forth—and I think it's about time I spoke up. So you can let them in whenever you’re ready.'"

Sez I, a whisperin' and puttin' my finger on my lip:

Sez I, whispering and putting my finger on my lips:

“Won't you be still?”

"Can you please be quiet?"

“No, I won't be still!” he yelled out louder than ever. “And you may go through all the motions you want to and you can't stop me. All you have got to do is to walk round and let folks in, happy as a king. Nothin' under the heavens ever made a woman so happy as to have some man a-breakin' his back a-luggin' round a stove.”

“No, I won’t stay quiet!” he shouted louder than ever. “You can do all the things you want, but you can't stop me. All you need to do is walk around and let people in, as happy as can be. Nothing in the world makes a woman as happy as having a man breaking his back hauling around a stove.”

I see he wouldn't stop, so I had to go and open the door, and there stood Serena Fogg, there stood the author of “Wedlock's Peaceful Repose.” I felt like a fool. For I knew she had heard every word, I see she had by her looks. She looked skairt, and as surprised and sort o' awe-stricken as if she had seen a ghost. I took her into the parlor, and took her things, and I excused myself by tellin' her that I should have to be out in the kitchen a-tendin' to things for a spell, and went back to Josiah.

I saw he wouldn't stop, so I had to go open the door, and there was Serena Fogg, the author of “Wedlock's Peaceful Repose.” I felt like an idiot. I knew she had heard every word; I could tell by her expression. She looked scared, surprised, and a bit in awe, like she had seen a ghost. I took her into the parlor, set her things down, and excused myself by telling her I needed to be in the kitchen for a while, then went back to Josiah.

And I whispered to him, sez I: “Miss Fogg has come, and she has heard every word you have said, Josiah Allen. And what will she think now about Wedlock's Peaceful Repose?”

And I whispered to him, I said: “Miss Fogg has arrived, and she has heard every word you've said, Josiah Allen. And what will she think now about the Peaceful Repose of Marriage?”

But he had got that wild and reckless in his demeanor and acts, that he went right on with his hollerin', and, sez he, “She won't find much repose here to-day, and I'll tell her that. This house has got to be all tore to pieces to get that stove started.”

But he had become so wild and reckless in his behavior and actions that he kept on shouting, and he said, “She won't find much peace here today, and I’ll let her know that. This place has to be completely torn apart to get that stove going.”

Sez I, “There won't be nothin' to do only to take off one side of the door casin'. And I believe it can be done without that.”

Sez I, “There’s nothing to do except take off one side of the doorframe. And I think it can be done without that.”

“Oh, you believe! you believe! You'd better take holt and lug and lift for two hours as I have, and then see.”

“Oh, you believe! You believe! You'd better grab hold and carry and lift for two hours like I have, and then see.”

Sez I, “You hain't been here more'n ten minutes, if you have that. And there,” sez I, liftin' up one end a little, “see what anybody can do who is calm. There I have stirred it, and now you can move it right along.”

Sez I, “You haven't been here more than ten minutes, if that. And there,” sez I, lifting up one end a little, “see what anyone can do when they're calm. There, I’ve stirred it, and now you can move it right along.”

“Oh, you did it! I moved it myself.”

I didn't contend, knowin' it wuz men's natural nater to say that.

I didn't argue, knowing it was just in men's nature to say that.

Wall, at last Josiah got the stove in, but then the stove-pipe wouldn't go together, it wouldn't seem to fit. He had marked the joints with chalk, and the marks had rubbed off, and he said I had “rubbed 'em out.” I wuz just as innocent as a babe, but I didn't dispute him much, for I see a little crack open in the parlor door, and I knew the author of “Wedlock's Peaceful Repose” was a-listenin'.

Wall, finally Josiah got the stove set up, but then the stove pipe wouldn't fit together right. He had marked the joints with chalk, but the marks had worn off, and he claimed I had “rubbed them out.” I was as innocent as a baby, but I didn't argue much because I noticed a small crack in the parlor door and I knew the author of “Wedlock's Peaceful Repose” was listening in.

But when he told me for the third time that I rubbed 'em out on purpose to make him trouble, and that I had made a practice of rubbin' 'em out for years and years—why, then I had to correct him on the subject, and we had a little dialogue.

But when he told me for the third time that I erased them on purpose to cause him trouble, and that I had been in the habit of erasing them for years—well, then I had to set him straight on that, and we had a bit of a conversation.

I spoze Serena Fogg heard it. But human nater can't bear only just so much, especially when it has stoves a dirtien up the floor, and apple sass on its mind, and unexpected company, and no cookin' and a threshin' machine a-comin'.

I suppose Serena Fogg heard it. But human nature can only take so much, especially when there are dirty floors, apple sauce on its mind, unexpected guests, no cooking, and a threshing machine on the way.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER 4.

Never knew a word about the threshin' machine a-comin' till about half an hour before. Josiah Allen wuzn't to blame. It come just as onexpected onto him as it did onto me.

Never knew a thing about the threshing machine arriving until about thirty minutes before. Josiah Allen wasn’t to blame. It surprised him just as much as it did me.

Solomon Gowdey wuz a-goin' to have 'em first, which would have left me ample time to cook up for 'em. But he wuz took down bed sick, so they had to come right onto us with no warnin' previous and beforehand.

Solomon Gowdey was supposed to have them first, which would have given me plenty of time to prepare for them. But he got seriously ill, so they had to come straight to us without any prior notice.

They wuz a drivin' up just as Josiah got the stove-pipe up. They had to go right by the side of the house, right by the parlor winders, to get to the side of the barn where they wanted to thresh; and just as they wuz a-goin' by one of the horses got down, and of all the yellin' I ever heard that was the cap sheaf.

They were driving up just as Josiah got the stovepipe set up. They had to go right by the side of the house, right by the parlor windows, to get to the side of the barn where they wanted to thresh; and just as they were passing by, one of the horses went down, and out of all the yelling I ever heard, that was the most intense.

Steve Yerden is rough on his horses, dretful rough. He yells at 'em enough to raise the ruff. His threshin' machine is one of the kind where the horses walk up and look over the top. It is kinder skairful any way, and it made it as bad agin when you expected to see the horse fall out every minute.

Steve Yerden is tough on his horses, really tough. He yells at them enough to get them riled up. His threshing machine is one of those types where the horses walk up and look over the top. It’s kind of scary anyway, and it only made things worse when you expected to see the horse fall out at any moment.

Wall, that very horse fell out of the machine three times that day. It wuz a sick horse, I believe, and hadn't ort to have been worked. But three times it fell, and each time the yellin' wuz such that it skairt the author of “Peaceful Repose,” and me, almost to death.

Wall, that very horse fell out of the machine three times that day. It was a sick horse, I think, and shouldn’t have been worked. But three times it fell, and each time the yelling was so loud that it scared the author of “Peaceful Repose” and me almost to death.

The machine wuz in plain sight of the house, and every time we see the horse's head come a mountin' up on top of the machine, we expected that over it would go. But though it didn't fall out only three times, as I said, it kep' us all nerved up and uneasy the hull of the time expectin' it. And Steve Yerden kep' a-yellin' at his horses all the time; there wuzn't no comfort to be took within a mile of him.

The machine was clearly visible from the house, and every time we saw the horse's head rise up on top of the machine, we thought it would tip over. But even though it only fell three times, as I mentioned, it kept all of us tense and anxious the entire time, waiting for it to happen. Steve Yerden kept shouting at his horses nonstop; there was no peace to be found within a mile of him.

I wuz awful sorry it happened so, on her account.

I was really sorry it happened that way, for her sake.

Wall, I had to get dinner for nine men, and cook if all from the very beginnin'. If you'll believe it, I had to begin back to bread. I hadn't any bread in the house, but I had it a-risin', and I got two loaves out by dinner time. But I had to stir round lively, I can tell you, to make pies and cookies and fried cakes, and cook meat, and vegetables of all kinds.

Well, I had to prepare dinner for nine guys and cook everything from scratch. Believe it or not, I had to start with the bread. I didn’t have any bread at home, but I had some rising, and I managed to get two loaves ready by dinner time. But I had to move quickly, let me tell you, to make pies and cookies and fried cakes, and cook meat and all sorts of vegetables.

The author of “Wedlock's Peaceful Repose” came out into the kitchen. I told her she might, if she wanted to, for I see I wuzn't goin' to have a minute's time to go into the parlor and visit with her.

The author of “Wedlock's Peaceful Repose” came into the kitchen. I told her she could, if she wanted to, because I could tell I wasn't going to have a minute to go into the parlor and chat with her.

She looked pretty sober and thoughtful, and I didn't know as she liked it, to think I couldn't do as I promised to do, accordin' to agreement, to hear her lecture, and lift my hand up when I differed from her.

She seemed pretty serious and deep in thought, and I wasn't sure if she liked the fact that I couldn’t follow through on my promise to listen to her lecture and raise my hand when I disagreed with her.

But, good land! I couldn't help it. I couldn't get a minute's time to lift my hand up. I could have heard the lecture, but I couldn't spare my hands.

But really, I couldn't help it. I didn't have a moment to raise my hand. I could have listened to the lecture, but I couldn't free my hands.

And then Josiah would come a-rushin' in after one thing and another, actin' as was natural, accordin' to the nater of man, more like a wild man than a Christian Methodist. For he was so wrought up and excited by havin' so much on his hands to do, and the onexpectedness of it, that he couldn't help actin' jest as he did act. I don't believe he could. And then Steve Yerden is enough to distract a leather-man, any way.

And then Josiah would rush in after one thing or another, acting as was natural, according to human nature, more like a wild man than a Christian Methodist. He was so worked up and excited by having so much to do, and the unpredictability of it all, that he couldn’t help but act exactly how he did. I don’t think he could. And then Steve Yerden is enough to distract anyone, anyway.

Twice I had to drop everything and find cloths to do up the horse's legs, where it had grazed 'em a-fallin' out of the machine. And once I took my hands out of the pie-crust to find a piece of old rope to tie up the harness. It seemed as if I left off every five minutes to wait on Josiah Allen, to find somethin' that he wanted and couldn't find, or else to do somethin' for him that he couldn't do.

Twice I had to stop what I was doing and find cloths to wrap up the horse's legs, where it had scraped them falling out of the machine. And once I took my hands out of the pie crust to grab an old piece of rope to tie up the harness. It felt like I was stopping every five minutes to help Josiah Allen find something he needed but couldn’t locate, or to do something for him that he couldn’t handle.

Truly, it was a wild and harrowin' time, and tegus. But I kept a firm holt of my principles, and didn't groan—not when anybody could hear me. I won't deny that I did, out in the buttery by myself, give vent to a groan or two, and a few sithes. But immegiately, or a very little after, I was calm again.

Truly, it was a wild and terrifying time, and tough. But I held on tight to my principles and didn't groan—at least not when anyone could hear me. I won't deny that I did let out a groan or two and a few sighs in private by myself. But soon after, I was calm again.

Wall, worse things wuz a-comin' onto me, though I didn't know it. I owed a tin peddler; had been owin' him for four weeks. I owed him twenty-five pounds of paper rags, for a new strainer. I had been expectin' him for over three weeks every day. But in all the three hundred and sixty-five days of the year, there wuzn't another day that would satisfy him; he had got to come on jest that day, jest as I wuz fryin' my nut cakes for dinner.

Wall, worse things were about to come my way, even though I didn't know it. I owed a tin peddler; I'd been owing him for four weeks. I owed him twenty-five pounds of paper rags for a new strainer. I had been expecting him every day for over three weeks. But in all the three hundred and sixty-five days of the year, there wasn't another day that would work for him; he had to come on that exact day, just as I was frying my nut cakes for dinner.

I tried to put him off till another day. But no! He said it wuz his last trip, and he must have his rags. And so I had to put by my work, and lug down my rag-bag. His steel-yards wuz broke, so he had to weigh 'em in the house. It wuz a tegus job, for he wuz one of the perticuler kind, and had to look 'em all over before he weighed 'em, and pick out every little piece of brown paper, or full cloth—everything, he said, that wouldn't make up into the nicest kind of writin' paper.

I tried to postpone him until another day. But no! He insisted it was his last trip, and he needed his rags. So, I had to set my work aside and bring down my rag-bag. His scales were broken, so he had to weigh them in the house. It was a tedious job because he was very particular and had to examine everything before weighing it, picking out every little piece of brown paper or full cloth—anything, he said, that wouldn’t be suitable for the best kind of writing paper.

And my steel-yards wuz out of gear any way, so they wouldn't weigh but five pounds at a time, and he wuz dretful perticuler to have 'em just right by the notch.

And my scales were broken anyway, so they would only weigh five pounds at a time, and he was really particular to have them just right by the notch.

And he would call on me to come and see just how the steel-yards stood every time. (He wuz as honest as the day; I hain't a doubt of it.)

And he would ask me to come and see how the steel-yards measured every time. (He was as honest as the day; I have no doubt about it.)

But it wuz tegus, fearful tegus, and excitin'. Excitin', but not exhileratin', to have the floor all covered with rags of different shapes and sizes, no two of a kind. It wuz a curius time before he come, and a wild time, but what must have been the wildness, and the curosity when there wuz, to put a small estimate on it, nearly a billion of crazy lookin' rags scattered round on the floor.

But it was crazy, really crazy, and exciting. Exciting, but not exhilarating, to have the floor completely covered with rags of different shapes and sizes, with no two looking the same. It was a strange time before he came, and a wild time, but just imagine the wildness and the curiosity when there were, to put it mildly, nearly a billion of bizarre-looking rags scattered all over the floor.

But I kep' calm; I have got giant self-control, and I used every mite of it, every atom of control I had by me, and kep' calm. I see I must—for I see that Miss Fogg looked bad; yes, I see that the author of “Wedlock's Peaceful Repose” wuz pretty much used up. She looked curius, curiuser than the floor looked, and that is goin' to the complete end of curosity, and metafor.

But I stayed calm; I have incredible self-control, and I used every bit of it, every ounce of control I had, and kept calm. I realized I had to—because Miss Fogg looked unwell; yes, I could see that the author of “Wedlock's Peaceful Repose” was pretty worn out. She looked curious, more curious than the floor itself, and that’s about as far as curiosity and metaphors go.

Wall, I tussled along and got dinner ready. The tin peddler had to stay to dinner, of course. I couldn't turn him out jest at dinner time. And sometimes I almost think that he delayed matters and touzled 'round amongst them rags jest a purpose to belate himself, so he would have to stay to dinner.

Well, I struggled along and got dinner ready. The tin peddler had to stay for dinner, of course. I couldn't just kick him out right at dinnertime. And sometimes I almost think that he messed around with those rags on purpose just to delay himself, so he would have to stay for dinner.

I am called a good cook. It is known 'way out beyend Loontown and Zoar—it is talked about, I spoze. Wall, he stayed to dinner. But he only made fourteen; there wuz only thirteen besides him, so I got along. And I had a good dinner and enough of it.

I’m known as a good cook. It’s talked about all the way out beyond Loontown and Zoar—I guess it’s popular. Well, he stayed for dinner. But he only made fourteen; there were only thirteen besides him, so I managed. And I had a nice dinner and plenty of it.

I had to wait on the table, of course—that is, the tea and coffee. And I felt that a cup of good, strong tea would be a paneky. I wuz that wore out and flustrated that I felt that I needed a paneky to soothe.

I had to wait on the table, of course—that is, the tea and coffee. And I felt that a cup of good, strong tea would be a real treat. I was so worn out and frustrated that I felt I needed a treat to calm me down.

And I got the rest all waited on and wuz jest a liftin' my cup to my lips, the cup that cheers everybody but don't inebriate 'em—good, strong Japan tea with cream in it. Oh, how good it smelt. But I hadn't fairly got it to my mouth when I wuz called off sudden, before I had drinked a drop, for the case demanded help at once.

And I had everything ready and was just about to lift my cup to my lips, the cup that cheers everyone but doesn’t get them drunk—good, strong Japanese tea with cream in it. Oh, how good it smelled. But I hadn’t even taken a sip when I was called away suddenly, before I had drunk a drop, because the situation needed help right away.

Miss Peedick had unexpected company come in, jest as they wuz a-settin' down to the dinner-table, and she hadn't hardly anything for dinner, and the company wuz very genteel—a minister and a Justice of the Peace—so she wanted to borrow a loaf of bread and a pie.

Miss Peedick had some unexpected guests arrive just as they were about to sit down at the dinner table, and she barely had anything prepared for dinner. The guests were very proper—a minister and a Justice of the Peace—so she needed to borrow a loaf of bread and a pie.

She is a good neighbor and is one that will put herself out for a neighborin' female, and I went into the buttery, almost on the run, to get 'em for her, for her girl said she wanted to get 'em into the house and onto the table before Mr. Peedick come in with 'em from the horse barn, for they knew that Mr. Peedick would lead 'em out to dinner the very second they got into the house, and Miss Peedick didn't want her husband to know that she had borrowed vittles, for he would be sure to let the cat out of the bag, right at the table, by speakin' about 'em and comparin' 'em with hern.

She’s a great neighbor and really goes out of her way for another woman. I rushed into the pantry to get them for her because her daughter said she wanted to get them inside and on the table before Mr. Peedick came in from the horse barn. They knew that Mr. Peedick would take them out to dinner the moment he got home, and Miss Peedick didn’t want her husband to find out she had borrowed food. He would definitely spill the beans at the table by talking about them and comparing them to hers.

I see the necessity for urgent haste, and the trouble wuz that I hurried too much. In takin' down a pie in my awful hurry, I tipped over a pan of milk right onto my dress. It wuz up high and I wuz right under the shelf, so that about three tea-cupsful went down into my neck. But the most went onto my dress, about five quarts, I should judge besides that that wuz tricklin' down my backbone.

I understand the need for quick action, but the issue was that I rushed too much. While grabbing a pie in my huge hurry, I knocked over a pan of milk right onto my dress. It was up high, and I was right under the shelf, so about three cups worth poured into my neck. But most of it ended up on my dress—I'd guess around five quarts—plus what was trickling down my back.

Wall, I started Serintha Ann Peedick off with her ma's pie and bread, and then wiped up the floor as well as I could, and then I had to go and change my clothes. I had to change 'em clear through to my wrapper, for I wuz wet as sop—as wet as if I had been takin' a milk swim.

Well, I started Serintha Ann Peedick off with her mom's pie and bread, and then I cleaned up the floor as best as I could, and then I had to go change my clothes. I had to change everything all the way down to my wrap, because I was soaked—soaked as if I had been swimming in milk.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER 5.

Wall, the author of “Wedlock's Peaceful Repose” wuz a-waitin' for me to the table; the men had all got through and gone out. She sot right by me, and she had missed me, I could see. Her eyes looked bigger than ever, and more sad like.

Wall, the author of “Wedlock's Peaceful Repose,” was waiting for me at the table; the men had all finished and left. She sat right next to me, and I could tell she had missed me. Her eyes looked bigger than ever and even sadder.

She said, “she was dretful sorry for me,” and I believed her.

She said, “she was really sorry for me,” and I believed her.

She asked me in a awe-stricken tone, “if I had such trials every day?”

She asked me in an awe-struck tone, “Do you have to deal with that kind of stuff every day?”

And I told her “No, I didn't.” I told her that things would run along smooth and agreeable for days and days, but that when things got to happenin', they would happen right along for weeks at a time, sometimes, dretful curius. A hull batch of difficulties would rain down on anybody to once. Sez I, “You know Mr. Shakespeare says that' Sorrows never come a-spyin' along as single fighters, but they come in hull battles of 'em,' or words to that effect.”

And I told her, “No, I didn't.” I explained that things would go smoothly and pleasantly for days, but when problems did start, they would come all at once, sometimes quite frustrating. A whole bunch of difficulties would pile up on anyone at once. I said, “You know, Mr. Shakespeare says that 'sorrows never come sneaking in one by one, but they come in huge battles,' or something like that.”

Sez I, in reasonable axents, “Mebby I shall have a hull lot of good things happen to me right along, one after another, some dretful agreeable days, and easy.”

Sez I, in reasonable accents, “Maybe I’ll have a whole lot of good things happen to me right along, one after another, some really nice days, and easy.”

Sez she in the same sad axents, and wonderin', “Did you ever have another day in your hull life as hard as this you are a-passin' through?”

Sez she in the same sad accents, and wondering, “Have you ever had another day in your whole life as hard as this one you're going through?”

“Oh, yes,” sez I, “lots of'em—some worse ones, and,” sez I, “the day has only jest begun yet, I presume I shall have lots and lots of new things happen to me before night. Because it is jest as I tell you, when things get to happenin' there hain't no tellin' when they will ever stop.”

“Oh, yes,” I said, “lots of them—some even worse, and,” I said, “the day has only just begun, so I’m sure I’ll have a ton of new things happen to me before night. Because it's just like I told you, when things start happening, there’s no telling when they’ll ever stop.”

Miss Fogg groaned, a low, deep groan, and that is every word she said, only after a little while she spoke up, and sez:

Miss Fogg groaned, a low, deep groan, and that is every word she said, only after a little while she spoke up, and said:

“You hain't eaten a bit of dinner; it all got cold while you wuz a changin' your dress.”

"You haven't eaten anything for dinner; it all got cold while you were changing your dress."

“Oh, wall,” sez I, “I can get along some way. And I must hurry up and get the table cleared off any way, and get to my work agin', for I have got to do a lot of cookin' this afternoon. It takes a sight of pies and cakes and such to satisfy twelve or a dozen men.”

“Oh, wall,” I said, “I can manage somehow. And I need to hurry up and clear the table anyway, so I can get back to my work, because I have a lot of cooking to do this afternoon. It takes a lot of pies and cakes and things to satisfy twelve or so men.”

So I went to work vigorously agin. But well might I tell Miss Fogg “that the day had only jest begun, and there wuz time for lots of things to happen before night,” for I had only jest got well to work on the ingregiences of my pies when Submit Tewksbury sent over “to see if I could let her have them sturchien seeds I had promised her—she wanted 'em to run up the inside of her bedroom winder, and shade her through the winter. She wuz jest a-settin' out her winter stock of flower roots and seeds, and wanted 'em immegiatly, and to once, that is, if it was perfectly convenient,” so the boy said.

So I went back to work energetically again. But I could easily tell Miss Fogg “that the day had just begun, and there was plenty of time for a lot of things to happen before night,” because I had only just started working on the ingredients for my pies when Submit Tewksbury sent over “to see if I could let her have those sturchien seeds I promised her—she wanted them to climb up the inside of her bedroom window and provide shade through the winter. She was just setting out her winter stock of flower bulbs and seeds, and needed them immediately, if it was totally convenient,” the boy said.

Submit is a good creeter, and she wouldn't have put that burden on me on such a time for nothin', not if she had known my tribulations; but she didn't, and I felt that one trial more wouldn't, as the poet hath well said, “either make or break me.”

Submit is a good person, and she wouldn’t have put that burden on me at such a time for no reason, not if she had known what I was going through; but she didn’t, and I felt that one more challenge wouldn’t, as the poet has said, “either make or break me.”

So I went to huntin' for the seeds. Wall, it wuz a good half-hour before I could find 'em, for of course it wuz natural nater, accordin' to the total deprivity of things, that I should find 'em in the bottom of the last bag of seeds that I overhauled.

So I went looking for the seeds. Well, it took me a good half-hour to find them, because, of course, it was just my luck that I would find them at the bottom of the last bag of seeds that I checked.

But Submit had been disappointed, and I didn't want to make her burdens any heavier, so I sent her the sturchien seeds.

But Submit had been let down, and I didn't want to make her struggles any worse, so I sent her the sturchien seeds.

But it wuz a trial I do admit to look over more than forty bags of garden and flower seeds in such a time as that. But I sent 'em. I sent Submit the sturchien seeds, and then I laid to work again fast as I possibly could.

But it was definitely a challenge to go through more than forty bags of garden and flower seeds in such a short time. But I sent them. I sent Submit the sturchien seeds, and then I got back to work as quickly as I could.

But I sez to the author of “Peaceful Repose,” I sez to her, sez I:

But I said to the author of “Peaceful Repose,” I said to her, I said:

“I feel bad to think I hain't gettin' no time to hear you rehearse your lecture, but you can see jest how it is; you see I hain't had a minute's time today. Mebby I will get a few minutes' time before night; I will try to,” sez I.

“I feel bad thinking I haven't gotten any time to hear you practice your lecture, but you can see how it is; I haven't had a minute today. Maybe I'll get a few minutes before tonight; I’ll try to,” I said.

“Oh,” sez she, “it hain't no matter about that; I—I—I somehow—I don't feel like rehearsin' it as it was.” Sez she, “I guess I shall make some changes in it before I rehearse it agin.”

“Oh,” she said, “it doesn't really matter about that; I—I—I just don’t feel like going over it exactly as it was.” She said, “I think I’ll make some changes to it before I practice it again.”

Sez I, “You lay out to make a more mean thing of it, more megum.”

Sez I, “You plan to make it a more ordinary thing, more mediocre.”

“Yes,” sez she, in faint axents, “I am a-thinkin' of it.”

“Yes,” she said in a faint voice, “I am thinking about it.”

“Wall,” sez I cheerfully, as I started for the buttery with a pile of cups in one hand, the castor and pickle dish in the other, and a pile of napkins under my arm, “I believe I shall like it as well again if you do, any way,” sez I, as I kicked away the cat that wuz a-clawin' my dress, and opened the door with my foot, both hands bein' full.

“Wall,” I said cheerfully, as I headed to the pantry with a pile of cups in one hand, the salt and pepper shaker and pickle dish in the other, and a stack of napkins under my arm, “I believe I’ll like it just as much again if you do, anyway,” I added, as I kicked away the cat that was clawing my dress, and opened the door with my foot, both hands being full.

“Any way, there will be as much agin truth in it.”

“Anyway, there will be as much truth in it.”

Wall, I went to work voyalently, and in two hours' time I had got my work quelled down some. But I had to strain nearly every nerve in the effort.

Well, I started working intensely, and in two hours, I had managed to calm my work down a bit. But I had to push myself to the limit to do it.

And I am afraid I didn't use the colporter just exactly right, who come when I wuz right in the midst of puttin' the ingregiences into my tea cakes. I didn't enter so deep into the argument about the Revised New Testament as I should in easier and calmer times. I conversed considerable, I argued some with him, but I didn't get so engaged as mebby I had ort to. He acted disappointed, and he didn't stay and talk more'n an hour and three quarters.

And I’m afraid I didn’t use the salesperson just quite right, who showed up when I was right in the middle of mixing the ingredients for my tea cakes. I didn’t dive as deep into the discussion about the Revised New Testament as I should have during easier and calmer times. I chatted quite a bit, I argued some with him, but I didn’t get as involved as maybe I should have. He seemed disappointed, and he didn’t stay and talk for more than an hour and fifteen minutes.

He generally spends half a day with us. He is a master hand to talk; he'll make your brain fairly spin round he talks so fast and handles such large, curius words. He talked every minute, only when I wuz a-answerin' his questions.

He usually spends half a day with us. He’s an incredible talker; he’ll make your head spin with how fast he talks and the big, curious words he uses. He talked the whole time, except when I was answering his questions.

Wall, he had jest gone, the front gate had just clicked onto him, when Miss Philander Dagget came in at the back door. She had her press-board in her hand, and a coat over her arm, and I see in a minute that I had got another trial onto me. I see I had got to set her right.

Well, he had just left, the front gate had just clicked shut behind him, when Miss Philander Dagget came in through the back door. She had her clipboard in her hand and a coat over her arm, and I realized right away that I had another challenge ahead of me. I knew I had to set things straight with her.

I set her a chair, and she took off her sun-bonnet and hung it over the back of her chair, and set down, and then she asked me if I could spend time to put in the sleeves of her husband's coat. She said “there wuz somethin' wrong about em', but she didn't know what.”

I pulled out a chair for her, and she took off her sun hat and hung it over the back of the chair, then sat down. She asked me if I could take some time to fix the sleeves of her husband's coat. She said "there's something wrong with them, but she didn't know what."

She said “she wouldn't have bothered me that day when I had so much round, but Philander had got to go to a funeral the next day, as one of the barriers, and he must have his coat.”

She said, “She wouldn't have bothered me that day when I had so much going on, but Philander had to go to a funeral the next day as one of the pallbearers, and he needed his coat.”

Wall, I wrung my hands out of the dish-water they was in at the time, and took the coat and looked at it, and the minute I set my eyes on it I see what ailed it I see she had got the sleeves sot in so the elbows come right in front of his arms, and if he had wore it in that condition to the funeral or anywhere else he would have had to fold up his arms right acrost his back; there wuzn't no other possible way.

Well, I wrung my hands out of the dishwater they were in at the time, and took the coat and looked at it. The moment I laid eyes on it, I saw what was wrong; I noticed she had put the sleeves in so that the elbows ended up right in front of his arms. If he had worn it like that to the funeral or anywhere else, he would have had to fold his arms right across his back; there was no other way.

And then I turned tailoress and helped her out of her trouble. I sot the sleeves in proper, and fixed the collar. She had got it sot on as a ruffle. I drawed it down smooth where it ort to be and pinned it—and she went home feelin' first rate.

And then I became a seamstress and helped her out of her trouble. I sewed the sleeves in properly and fixed the collar. She had put it on like a ruffle. I smoothed it down where it was supposed to be and pinned it—and she went home feeling great.

I am very neighborly, and helpful, and am called so. Jonesville would miss me if any thing should happen.

I’m really friendly and helpful, and that’s what people say about me. Jonesville would really notice if something happened to me.

I have often helped that woman a sight. She is a good, willin' creeter, but she is apt to get things wrong, dretful apt. She made her little boy's pantaloons once wrong side before, so it would seem that he would have to set down from the front side, or else stand up.

I have often helped that woman quite a bit. She’s a good-hearted person, but she tends to get things wrong, very prone to mistakes. One time, she put her little boy's pants on inside out, so it looked like he had to sit down from the front or stand up.

And twice she got her husband's pantaloons sewed up so there wuz no way to get into em' only to crawl up into 'em through the bottom of the legs. But I have always made a practice of rippin' and tearin' and bastin', and settin' her right, and I did now.

And twice she had her husband's pants sewn up so there was no way to get into them except to crawl in through the bottom of the legs. But I've always made it a habit to rip, tear, and mend, and to fix things up, and I did that now.

Wall, she hadn't hardly got out of the back door, when Josiah Allen came in in awful distress, he had got a thorn in his foot, he had put on an old pair of boots, and there wuz a hole in the side of one of 'em, and the thorn had got in through the hole. It pained him dretfully, and he wuz jest as crazy as a loon for the time bein'. And he hollered the first thing that “he wanted some of Hall's salve.” And I told him “there wuzn't a mite in the house.”

Well, she had barely stepped out the back door when Josiah Allen came in in terrible distress. He had a thorn in his foot because he put on an old pair of boots that had a hole on the side, and the thorn got in through that hole. It hurt him badly, and he was acting completely nuts for the moment. He yelled the first thing that “he wanted some of Hall's salve.” I told him “there wasn't any in the house.”

And he hollered up and says, “There would be some if there wuz any sense in the head of the house.”

And he shouted up and said, “There would be some if there was any sense in the head of the house.”

I glanced up mechanically at his bald head, but didn't say nothin', for I see it wouldn't do. And he hollered out agin, “Why hain't there any Hall's salve?” Sez I, “Because old Hall has been dead for years and years, and hain't made any salve.”

I looked up at his bald head without thinking, but I didn’t say anything because I knew it wouldn’t help. He shouted again, “Why isn’t there any Hall's salve?” I said, “Because old Hall has been dead for a long time and hasn’t made any salve.”

“Wall, he wouldn't have been dead if he had had any care took of him,” he yelled out.

“Well, he wouldn’t have died if someone had taken care of him,” he yelled out.

“Why,” sez I, “he wuz killed by lightnin'; struck down entirely onexpected five years ago last summer.”

“Why,” I said, “he was killed by lightning; struck down completely unexpectedly five years ago last summer.”

“Oh, argue and dispute with a dying man. Gracious Peter! what will become of me!” he groaned out, a-holdin' his foot in his hand.

“Oh, argue and fight with a dying man. Gracious Peter! what will happen to me!” he groaned, holding his foot in his hand.

Sez I, “Let me put some Pond's Extract on it, Josiah.”

“Pond's Extract!” he yelled, and then he called that good remedy words I wuz ashamed to hear him utter.

“Pond's Extract!” he shouted, and then he mentioned that effective remedy in words I was embarrassed to hear him say.

And he jumped round and pranced and kicked just as it is the nater of man to act under bodily injury of that sort. And then he ordered me to take a pin and get the thorn out, and then acted mad as a hen at me all the time I wuz a-doin' it; acted jest as if I wuz a-prickin' him a-purpose.

And he jumped around, danced, and kicked just like it's in human nature to react to that kind of physical pain. Then he told me to grab a pin and take out the thorn, and he acted furious with me the whole time I was doing it; he acted as if I was deliberately poking him.

He talked voyalent and mad. I tried to hush him down; I told him the author of “Wedlock's Peaceful Repose” would hear him, and he hollered back “he didn't care a cent who heard him. He wuz killed, and he shouldn't live to trouble anybody long if that pain kept up.”

He spoke violently and angrily. I tried to quiet him; I told him the author of “Wedlock's Peaceful Repose” would hear him, and he yelled back that he didn’t care at all who heard him. He was done for, and he shouldn’t be alive to trouble anyone if that pain didn’t stop.

His acts and words wuz exceedingly skairful to anybody who didn't understand the nater of a man. But I wuzn't moved by 'em so much as the width of a horse hair. Good land! I knew that jest as soon as the pain subsided he would be good as gold, so I kep' on, cool and collected, and got the thorn out, and did up the suffering toe in Pond's Extract, and I hadn't only jest got it done, when, for all the world! if I didn't see a double team stop in front of the house, and I peeked through the winder and see as it wuz the livery stable man from Jonesville, and he had brung down the last straws to be lifted onto the camel's back—a hull lot of onexpected company. A hull load of 'em.

His actions and words were extremely scary to anyone who didn't understand the nature of a person. But I wasn't affected by them at all. Goodness! I knew that as soon as the pain went away, he would be perfectly fine, so I remained calm and composed, took out the thorn, and treated the sore toe with Pond's Extract. I had just finished when, to my surprise, I saw a double team stop in front of the house. I peeked through the window and saw that it was the livery stable guy from Jonesville, and he had brought the last things to pile onto the camel's back—a whole lot of unexpected visitors. A whole bunch of them.

There wuz the Baptist minister and his wife and their three children, and the minister's wife's sister-in-law from the West, who wuz there a-visitin', and the editor of the Augur'ses wife (she wuz related to the visitor from the West by marriage) and three of the twins. And old Miss Minkley, she wuz acquainted with the visitor's mother, used to go to school with her. And Drusilly Sypher, she wuz the visitor from the West's bosom friend, or used to be.

There was the Baptist minister and his wife along with their three children, and the minister's wife's sister-in-law from the West who was visiting, and the editor of the Augur'ses wife (she was related to the visitor from the West by marriage) and three of the twins. And old Miss Minkley, who knew the visitor's mother, used to go to school with her. And Drusilly Sypher, she was the visitor from the West's best friend, or she used to be.

Wall, they had all come down to spend the afternoon and visit with each other, and with me and Josiah, and stay to supper.

Well, they had all come over to spend the afternoon and catch up with each other, and with me and Josiah, and stay for dinner.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER 6.

The author of “Peaceful Repose” sez to me, and she looked pale and skairt; she had heard every word Josiah had said, and she wuz dretful skairt and shocked (not knowin' the ways of men, and not understandin', as I said prior and before, that in two hours' time he would be jest as good as the very best kind of pie, affectionate, and even spoony, if I would allow spoons, which I will not the most of the time). Wall, she proposed, Miss Fogg did, that she should ride back with the livery man. And though I urged her to stay till night, I couldn't urge her as hard as I would otherwise, for by that time the head of the procession of visitors had reached the door-step, and I had to meet 'em with smiles.

The author of “Peaceful Repose” said to me, and she looked pale and scared; she had heard every word Josiah said, and she was really frightened and shocked (not knowing how men can be, and not understanding, as I mentioned before, that in just two hours he would be as sweet as pie, affectionate, and even a bit mushy, if I allowed that, which I usually don’t). Well, she suggested, Miss Fogg did, that she should ride back with the driver. And although I encouraged her to stay until evening, I couldn't push her as much as I wanted to, because by that time the main group of visitors had reached the doorstep, and I had to greet them with smiles.

I smiled some, I thought I must. But they wuz curius smiles, very, strange-lookin' smiles, sort o' gloomy ones, and mournful lookin'. I have got lots of different smiles that I keep by me for different occasions, every woman has, and this wuz one of my most mournfulest and curiusest ones.

I smiled a bit; I thought I should. But it was a curious smile, very strange-looking, kind of gloomy and mournful. I have a lot of different smiles that I keep for different occasions; every woman does, and this was one of my saddest and most curious ones.

Wall, the author of “Wedlock's Peaceful and Perfect Repose” insisted on goin', and she went. And I sez to her as she went down the steps, “That if she would come up some other day when I didn't have quite so much work round, I would be as good as my word to her about hearin' her rehearse the lecture.”

Wall, the author of “Wedlock's Peaceful and Perfect Repose,” wanted to leave, and she did. As she went down the steps, I said to her, “If you come by another day when I’m not so busy, I promise I’ll listen to you rehearse the lecture.”

But she said, as she hurried out to the gate, lookin' pale an' wan (as wan agin as she did when she came, if not wanner): “That she should make changes in it before she ever rehearsed it agin—deep changes!”

But she said, as she rushed out to the gate, looking pale and weak (as weak as she did when she came, if not weaker): “That she should make changes in it before she ever practiced it again—deep changes!”

And I should dare to persume to say that she did. Though, as I say, she went off most awful sudden, and I hadn't seen nor heard from her sence till I got this letter.

And I would dare to say that she did. Though, as I mentioned, she left very suddenly, and I hadn't seen or heard from her since I got this letter.

Wall, jest as I got through with the authoresses letter, and Lodema Trumble's, Josiah Allen came. And I hurried up the supper. I got it all on the table while I wuz a steepin' my tea (it wuz good tea). And we sot down to the table happy as a king and his queen. I don't s'pose queens make a practice of steepin' tea, but mebby they would be better off if they did—and have better appetites and better tea. Any way we felt well, and the supper tasted good. And though Josiah squirmed some when I told him Lodema wuz approachin' and would be there that very night or the next day—still the cloud wore away and melted off in the glowin' mellowness of the hot tea and cream, the delicious oysters and other good things.

Well, just as I finished reading the author’s letter and Lodema Trumble’s, Josiah Allen came in. I quickly got dinner ready. I managed to get everything on the table while I was steeping my tea (it was good tea). We sat down to the table as happy as a king and his queen. I don’t suppose queens usually steep tea, but maybe they’d be better off if they did—and have better appetites and better tea. Anyway, we felt good, and dinner tasted great. Even though Josiah shifted a bit when I told him Lodema was on her way and would be there that very night or the next day—still, the tension faded away, melting in the warm comfort of the hot tea and cream, the delicious oysters, and other tasty dishes.

My pardner, though, as he often says, is not a epicack, still he duz enjoy good vittles dretful well and appreciates 'em. And I make a stiddy practice of doin' the best I can by him in this direction.

My partner, as he often says, isn't picky, but he really enjoys good food and appreciates it. So, I make it a point to do my best for him in that regard.

And if more females would foller on and cipher out this simple rule, and get the correct answer to it, the cramp in the right hands of divorce lawyers would almost entirely disappear.

And if more women would follow along and figure out this simple rule, and get the right answer to it, the pressure on divorce lawyers would almost completely go away.

For truly it seems that no human man could be more worrysome, and curius, and hard to get along with than Josiah Allen is at times; still, by stiddy keepin' of my table set out with good vittles from day to day, and year to year, the golden cord of affection has bound him to me by ties that can't never be broken into.

For sure, it seems that no man could be more annoying, curious, and difficult to deal with than Josiah Allen at times; yet, by consistently keeping my table filled with good food day after day and year after year, the strong bond of love has tied him to me with bonds that can never be broken.

He worships me! And the better vittles I get, the more he thinks on me. For love, however true and deep it is, is still a tumultous sea; it has its high tides, and its low ones, its whirlpools, and its calms.

He adores me! And the better food I get, the more he thinks about me. Because love, no matter how genuine and deep it is, is still a turbulent sea; it has its highs and lows, its whirlpools, and its calm spots.

He loves me a good deal better some days than he does others; I see it in his mean. And mark you! mark it well, female reader, these days are the ones that I cook up sights and sights of good food, and with a cheerful countenance and clean apron, set it before him in a bright room, on a snowy table-cloth!

He loves me a lot more some days than others; I can tell by his mood. And pay attention, female reader, those are the days when I whip up tons of delicious food, and with a happy smile and a clean apron, I serve it to him in a bright room, on a crisp white tablecloth!

Great—great is the mystery of men's love.

I have often and often repeated this simple fact and truth that underlies married life, and believe me, dear married sisters, too much cannot be said about it, by those whose hearts beat for the good of female and male humanity—and it cannot be too closely followed up and practised by female pardners.

I have often repeated this simple truth that is fundamental to married life, and believe me, dear married friends, we can't emphasize it enough, especially for those who care about the well-being of both women and men—and it should be closely followed and practiced by female partners.

But I am a-eppisodin'; and to resoom.

But I am a-episiodin'; and to resume.

Wall, Lodema Trumble arrove the next mornin' bright and early—I mean the mornin' wuz bright, not Lodema—oh no, fur from it; Lodema is never bright and cheerful—she is the opposite and reverse always.

Wall, Lodema Trumble arrived the next morning bright and early—I mean the morning was bright, not Lodema—oh no, far from it; Lodema is never bright and cheerful—she is always the opposite and completely the reverse.

She is a old maiden. I do think it sounds so much more respectful to call 'em so rather than “old maid” (but I had to tutor Josiah dretful sharp before I could get him into it).

She is an old maid. I really think it sounds so much more respectful to call them that instead of “old maid” (but I had to teach Josiah pretty firmly before I could get him to agree).

I guess Lodema is one of the regular sort. There is different kinds of old maidens, some that could marry if they would, and some that would but couldn't. And I ruther mistrust she is one of the “would-but-couldn't's,” though I wouldn't dast to let her know I said so, not for the world.

I think Lodema is just your typical type. There are different kinds of old maids: some who could marry if they wanted to, and some who would like to but can't. And I really suspect she's one of the "would-like-to-but-can't" types, although I wouldn’t dare let her know I said that, not for anything.

Josiah never could bear the sight of her, and he sort o' blamed her for bein' a old maiden. But I put a stop to that sudden, for sez I:

Josiah could never stand to look at her, and he kind of blamed her for being an old maid. But I quickly put a stop to that, because I said:

“She hain't to blame, Josiah.”

“She isn’t to blame, Josiah.”

And she wuzn't. I hain't a doubt of it.

And she wasn't. I don't have any doubt about it.

Wall, how long she calculated to stay this time we didn't know. But we had our fears and forebodin's about it; for she wuz in the habit of makin' awful long visits. Why, sometimes she would descend right down onto us sudden and onexpected, and stay fourteen weeks right along—jest like a famine or a pestilence, or any other simely that you are a mind to bring up that is tuckerin' and stiddy.

Wall, we didn't know how long she planned to stay this time. But we had our worries and bad feelings about it because she usually made her visits super long. Sometimes she'd suddenly drop in on us unexpectedly and stay for fourteen weeks straight—just like a famine or an epidemic, or any other comparison you can think of that's exhausting and relentless.

And she wuz disagreeable, I'll confess, and she wuz tuckerin', but I done well by her, and stood between her and Josiah all I could. He loved to put on her, and she loved to impose on him. I don't stand up for either on 'em, but they wuz at regular swords' pints all the time a'most. And it come fearful tuff on me, fearful tuff, for I had to stand the brunt on it.

And she was difficult, I’ll admit, and she was exhausting, but I treated her well and tried my best to protect her from Josiah. He loved to tease her, and she loved to take advantage of him. I’m not defending either of them, but they were always at each other's throats. It was really tough on me, really tough, because I had to deal with the fallout.

But she is a disagreeable creeter, and no mistake. She is one of them that can't find one solitary thing or one solitary person in this wide world to suit 'em. If the weather is cold she is pinin' for hot weather, and if the weather is hot she is pantin' for zero.

But she's a really difficult person, no doubt about it. She's the type who can't find a single thing or person in this big world that makes her happy. If it's cold outside, she's longing for warmer weather, and if it's hot, she's wishing for freezing temperatures.

If it is a pleasant day the sun hurts her eyes, and if it is cloudy she groans aloud and says “she can't see.”

If it’s a nice day, the sun bothers her eyes, and if it’s cloudy, she groans and says “she can’t see.”

And no human bein' wuz ever known to suit her. She gets up early in the mornin' and puts on her specs, and goes out (as it were) a-huntin' up faults in folks. And she finds 'em, finds lots of 'em. And then she spends the rest of the day a-drivin' 'em ahead of her, and groanin' at 'em.

And no human has ever been good enough for her. She gets up early in the morning, puts on her glasses, and goes out to look for people's faults. And she finds them, finds plenty of them. Then she spends the rest of the day pushing them away and complaining about them.

You know this world bein' such a big place and so many different sort o' things in it that you can generally find in it the perticuler sort of game you set out to hunt in the mornin'.

You know this world is such a vast place with so many different kinds of things in it that you can usually find the specific type of game you set out to hunt in the morning.

If you set out to hunt beauty and goodness, if you take good aim and are perseverin'—if you jest track 'em and foller 'em stiddy from mornin' till night, and don't get led away a-follerin' up some other game, such as meanness and selfishness and other such worthless head o' cattle—why, at night you will come in with a sight of good game. You will be a noble and happy hunter.

If you set out to seek beauty and goodness, if you focus and stay determined—if you consistently pursue them from morning till night and don't get distracted by chasing other things like meanness and selfishness and other pointless stuff—then by the end of the day, you'll return with a lot of great finds. You will be a noble and happy seeker.

At the same time, if you hunt all day for faults you will come in at night with sights of pelts. You will find what you hunt for, track 'em right along and chase 'em down. Wall, Lodema never got led away from her perticuler chase. She just hunted faults from mornin' till night, and done well at it. She brought in sights of skins.

At the same time, if you search all day for flaws, you'll come home at night with piles of pelts. You'll find what you look for, follow the trail, and catch them. Well, Lodema never strayed from her specific pursuit. She just looked for faults from morning till night, and she was good at it. She brought home a lot of skins.

But oh! wuzn't it disagreeable in the extreme to Samantha, who had always tried to bend her bow and bring down Beauty, to have her familiar huntin' grounds turned into so different a warpath. It wuz disagreeable! It wuz! It wuz!

But oh! wasn’t it extremely unpleasant for Samantha, who had always tried to aim for Beauty, to have her usual hunting grounds turned into such a different battlefield. It was unpleasant! It was! It was!

And then, havin' to stand between her and Josiah too, wuz fearful wearin' on me. I had always stood there in the past, and now in this visit it wuz jest the same; all the hull time, till about the middle of the fifth week, I had to stand between their two tongues—they didn't fight with their hands, but fit with their tongues, fearful.

And then, having to stand between her and Josiah too, was really wearing on me. I had always been there in the past, and now during this visit it was just the same; all the time, until about the middle of the fifth week, I had to stand between their two voices—they didn’t fight with their hands, but argued with their words, and it was intense.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER 7.

But along about the middle of the fifth week I see a change. Lodema had been uncommon exasperatin', and I expected she would set Josiah to goin', and I groaned in spirit, to think what a job wuz ahead of me, to part their two tongues—when all of a sudden I see a curius change come over my pardner's face.

But around the middle of the fifth week, I noticed a change. Lodema had been incredibly annoying, and I thought she would get Josiah worked up, and I sighed to myself, thinking about the ordeal that awaited me to separate their two arguments—when all of a sudden, I saw a strange change come over my partner's face.

I remember jest the date that the change in his mean wuz visible, and made known to me—for it wuz the very mornin' that we got the invitation to old Mr. and Miss Pressley's silver weddin'. And that wuz the fifteenth day of the month along about the middle of the forenoon.

I remember exactly when his attitude changed, and I noticed it—because it was the morning we received the invitation to Mr. and Miss Pressley's silver wedding anniversary. That was the fifteenth day of the month, around mid-morning.

And it wuz not half an hour after Elnathen Pressley came to the door and give us the invitations, that I see the change in his mean.

And it was less than half an hour after Elnathen Pressley came to the door and gave us the invitations that I noticed the change in his expression.

And when I asked him about it afterwards, what that strange and curius look meant, he never hung back a mite from tellin' me, but sez right out plain:

And when I asked him about it later, what that strange and curious look meant, he didn’t hesitate at all to tell me, but said it directly:

“Mebby, Samantha, I hain't done exactly as I ort to by cousin Lodema, and I have made up my mind to make her a happy surprise before she goes away.”

“Mebby, Samantha, I haven't done exactly what I should have for cousin Lodema, and I’ve decided to give her a nice surprise before she leaves.”

“Wall,” sez I, “so do.”

"Wall," I said, "me too."

I thought he wuz goin' to get her a new dress. She had been a-hintin' to him dretful strong to that effect. She wanted a parmetty, or a balzereen, or a circassien, which wuz in voge in her young days. But I wuz in hopes he would get her a cashmere, and told him so, plain.

I thought he was going to get her a new dress. She had been hinting to him really strongly about that. She wanted a parmetty, or a balzereen, or a circassien, which was trendy in her younger days. But I was hoping he would get her a cashmere and told him so, clearly.

But I couldn't get him to tell what the surprise wuz. He only sez, sez he:

But I couldn't get him to say what the surprise was. He just says, says he:

“I am goin' to make her a happy surprise.”

“I’m going to give her a happy surprise.”

And the thought that he wuz a-goin' to branch out and make a change, wuz considerable of a comfort to me. And I needed comfort—yes, indeed I did—I needed it bad. For not one single thing did I do for her that I done right, though I tried my best to do well by her.

And the idea that he was going to expand his horizons and make a change was quite a comfort to me. And I really needed that comfort—definitely—I needed it badly. Because not one single thing I did for her turned out right, even though I tried my hardest to do right by her.

But she found fault with my vittles from mornin' till night, though I am called a excellent cook all over Jonesville, and all round the adjoining country, out as far as Loontown, and Zoar. It has come straight back to me by them that wouldn't lie. But it hain't made me vain.

But she criticized my cooking from morning till night, even though everyone in Jonesville and the surrounding area, all the way to Loontown and Zoar, says I'm an excellent cook. I've heard it directly from people who wouldn't lie. But it hasn’t made me arrogant.

But I never cooked a thing that suited Lodema, not a single thing. Most of my vittles wuz too fresh, and then if I braced up and salted 'em extra so as to be sure to please her, why then they wuz briny, and hurt her mouth.

But I never cooked anything that Lodema liked, not a single thing. Most of my food was too fresh, and if I tried to be extra generous with the salt to please her, then it ended up being too salty and hurt her mouth.

Why, if you'll believe it, I give her a shawl, made her a present of it; it had even checks black and white, jest as many threads in the black stripes as there wuz in the white, for I counted 'em.

Why, if you can believe it, I gave her a shawl as a gift; it even had checks in black and white, with the same number of threads in the black stripes as there were in the white, because I counted them.

And she told me, after she had looked it all over and said it wuz kinder thin and slazy, and checkered shawls had gone out of fashion, and the black looked some as if it would fade with washin', and the white wuzn't over clear, and the colors wuzn't no ways becomin' to her complexion, and etcetery, etcetery.

And she told me, after she had examined it all and said it was kind of thin and lazy, and checkered shawls were out of style, and the black seemed like it would fade with washing, and the white wasn’t exactly clear, and the colors didn’t look flattering on her complexion, and so on, and so on.

“But,” sez she, after she had got all through with the rest of her complaints—“if the white stripes wuz where the black wuz, and the black where the white wuz, she should like it quite well.” And there it wuz, even check, two and two. Wall, that wuz a sample of her doin's. If anybody had a Roman nose she wanted a Greecy one.

“But,” she said, after she had finished all her other complaints—“if the white stripes were where the black was, and the black where the white was, I would like it just fine.” And there it was, perfectly equal, two and two. Well, that was an example of her antics. If anyone had a Roman nose, she wanted a Grecian one.

And if the nose wuz Greece, why then she wanted Rome.

And if the nose was Greece, then she wanted Rome.

Why, Josiah sez to me along about the third week, he said (to ourselves, in private), “that if Lodema went to Heaven she would be dissatisfied with it, and think it wuz livelier, and more goin' on down to the other place.” And he said she would get the angels all stirred up a findin' fault with their feathers.

Why, Josiah said to me around the third week, he said (to us, privately), “that if Lodema went to Heaven, she would be unhappy there and think it was more exciting and had more action down in the other place.” And he said she would get the angels all riled up complaining about their feathers.

I told him “I would not hear such talk.”

I told him, "I’m not going to listen to that kind of talk."

“Wall,” sez he, “don't you believe it?”

“Wall,” he said, “don’t you believe it?”

And I kinder turned him off, and wouldn't tell, and told him it wuz wicked to talk so.

And I kind of shut him down, wouldn't say anything, and told him it was wrong to talk like that.

“Wall,” sez Josiah, “you dassent say she wouldn't.”

“Wall,” says Josiah, “you can’t say she wouldn’t.”

And I dassent, though I wouldn't own it up to him, I dassent.

And I wouldn't dare, even though I wouldn't admit it to him, I wouldn't dare.

And if she kinder got out of other occupations for a minute durin' them first weeks she would be a quarrelin' with Josiah Allen about age.

And if she kind of took a break from other activities for a minute during those first weeks, she would be arguing with Josiah Allen about age.

I s'pose she and Josiah wuzn't far from the same age, for they wuz children together. But she wanted to make out she wuz young.

I suppose she and Josiah weren't far from the same age, since they were kids together. But she wanted to act like she was younger.

And she would tell Josiah that “he seemed jest like a father to her, and always had.” And sometimes when she felt the most curius, she would call him “Father,” and “Pa,” and “Papa.” And it would mad Josiah Allen so that I would have all I could do to quell him down.

And she would tell Josiah that “he seemed just like a father to her, and always had.” And sometimes when she felt the most curious, she would call him “Father,” and “Pa,” and “Papa.” And it would make Josiah Allen so mad that I would have all I could do to calm him down.

Now I didn't feel so, I didn't mind it so much. Why, there would be days, when she felt the curiusest, that she would call me “Mother,” and “Ma,” and foller me round with foot-stools and things, when I went to set down, and would kinder worry over my fallin' off the back step, and would offer to help me up the suller stairs, and so forth, and watchin' over what I et, and tellin' me folks of my age ort to be careful, and not over-eat.

Now I didn't feel that way, I didn't mind it as much. There were days when she felt the weirdest, and she would call me “Mother” and “Ma,” and follow me around with footstools and such when I went to sit down. She would kind of worry about me falling off the back step and would offer to help me up the basement stairs, and so on, watching what I ate and telling me people my age should be careful and not overeat.

And Josiah asked me to ask her “How she felt about that time?” For she wuz from three to four years older than I wuz.

And Josiah asked me to ask her, “How did she feel about that time?” Because she was about three to four years older than I was.

But I wouldn't contend with her, and the footstools come kinder handy, I had jest as lieve have 'em under my feet as not, and ruther. And as for rich vittles not agreein' with me, and my not over-eatin', I broke that tip by fallin' right in with her, and not cookin' such good things—that quelled her down, and gaulded Josiah too.

But I wouldn't argue with her, and the footstools are pretty useful. I’d just as soon have them under my feet as not, and I actually prefer it. And regarding rich food not agreeing with me and my not overeating, I got around that by going along with her and not making such nice things—that calmed her down and annoyed Josiah too.

But, as I said, it riled Josiah the worst of anything to have Lodema call him father, for he wants to make out that he is kinder young himself.

But, as I said, it really annoyed Josiah the most to have Lodema call him father, because he wants to give the impression that he's still young himself.

And sez he to her one day, about the third week, when she was a-goin' on about how good and fatherly he looked, and how much he seemed like a parent to her, and always had, sez he: “I wonder if I seemed like a father to you when we wuz a-kickin' at each other in the same cradle?” Sez he: “We both used to nuss out of the same bottle, any way, for I have heard my mother say so lots of times. There wuzn't ten days' difference in our ages. You wuz ten days the oldest as I have always made out.”

And he said to her one day, about the third week, when she was going on about how good and fatherly he looked, and how much he seemed like a parent to her, and always had, he said: “I wonder if I seemed like a father to you when we were kicking at each other in the same crib?” He continued: “We both used to drink from the same bottle anyway, because I’ve heard my mom say so many times. There wasn’t more than ten days between our ages. You were ten days older, as I’ve always figured.”

She screamed right out, “Why, Josiah Allen, where is your conscience to talk in that way—and your heart?”

She yelled out, “Hey, Josiah Allen, where's your conscience talking like that—and your heart?”

“In here, where everybody's is,” sez Josiah, strikin' himself with his right hand—he meant to strike against his left breast, but struck too low, kinder on his stomach.

“In here, where everyone is,” says Josiah, hitting himself with his right hand—he meant to hit his left chest but aimed too low, kind of on his stomach.

And sez I, “That is what I have always thought, Josiah Allen. I have always had better luck reachin' your conscience through your stomach than in any other way. And now,” sez I coldly, “do you go out and bring in a pail of water.”

And I said, “That’s what I’ve always thought, Josiah Allen. I’ve always had better luck getting to your conscience through your stomach than in any other way. And now,” I said coldly, “go out and fetch a bucket of water.”

I used to get beat out and sick of their scufflin's and disagreein's, and broke 'em up whenever I could.

I used to get tired of their fighting and arguing, and I would break them up whenever I could.

But oh! oh! how she did quarrel with Josiah Allen and that buzz saw scheme of his'n. How light she made of that enterprise, how she demeaned the buzz, and run the saws—till I felt that bad as I hated the enterprise myself, I felt that a variety of loud buzz saws would be a welcome relief from her tongue—from their two tongues; for as fur down as she would run them buzz saws, jest so fur would Josiah Allen praise 'em up.

But oh! how she did argue with Josiah Allen about that buzz saw idea of his. She completely dismissed that project, belittled the buzz, and ran the saws—until I felt that, even though I hated the project myself, a bunch of loud buzz saws would be a welcome break from her talking—from their two voices; because as much as she ran those buzz saws, Josiah Allen would praise them just as much.

She never agreed with Josiah Allen but in jest one thing while she was under his ruff. I happened to mention one day how extremely anxious I wuz to have females set on the Conference; and then, wantin' to dispute me, and also bein' set on that side, she run down the project, and called it all to nort—and when too late she see that she had got over on Josiah Allen's side of the fence.

She never agreed with Josiah Allen, but jokingly, there was one thing she supported while she was under his influence. One day, I casually mentioned how eager I was to have women included in the Conference, and wanting to argue with me, and also being in favor of that side, she dismissed the idea and called it all nonsense. It was only when it was too late that she realized she had accidentally ended up on Josiah Allen's side of the fence.

But it had one good effect. When that man see she wuz there, he waded off, way out of sight of the project, and wouldn't mention it—it madded him so to be on the same side of the fence she wuz—so that it seemed to happen all for the best.

But it had one positive effect. When that man saw she was there, he walked off, far out of sight of the project, and wouldn't mention it—it bothered him so much to be on the same side of the fence she was—that it seemed to happen all for the best.

Why, I took her as a dispensation from the first, and drawed all sorts of morels from her, and sights of 'em—sights.

Why, I saw her as a break from the usual, and got all sorts of good lessons from her, and lots of them—lots.

But oh, it wuz tuff on me, fearful tuff.

But oh, it was tough on me, really tough.

And when she calculated and laid out to make out her visit and go, wuz more than we could tell.

And when she figured out her visit and planned to go, it was more than we could explain.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER 8.

For two weeks had passed away like a nite mair of the nite—and three weeks, and four weeks—and she didn't seem to be no nigher goin' than she did when she came.

For two weeks had gone by like a bad dream of the night—and three weeks, and four weeks—and she didn’t seem to be any closer to leaving than she was when she arrived.

And I would not make a move towards gettin' rid of her, not if I had dropped down in my tracts, because she wuz one of the relatives on his side.

And I wouldn't take any steps to get rid of her, not even if I had collapsed, because she was one of his relatives.

But I wuz completely fagged out; it did seem, as I told Tirzah Ann one day in confidence, “that I never knew the meanin' of the word 'fag' before.”

But I was completely worn out; it really seemed, as I told Tirzah Ann one day in confidence, “that I never knew the meaning of the word 'worn out' before.”

And Tirzah Ann told me (she couldn't bear her) that if she wuz in my place, she would start her off. Sez she:

And Tirzah Ann told me (she couldn't stand her) that if she were in my position, she would get rid of her. She said:

“She has plenty of brothers and sisters, and a home of her own, and why should she come here to torment you and father;” and sez she, “I'll talk to her, mother, I'd jest as leve as not.” Sez I, “Tirzah Ann, if you say a word to her, I'll—I'll never put confidence in you agin;” sez I, “Life is full of tribulations, and we must expect to bear our crosses;” sez I, “The old martyrs went through more than Lodema.”

“She has a lot of brothers and sisters, and a home of her own, so why should she come here to bother you and Dad?” And she says, “I'll talk to her, Mom, I’d just as soon not.” I say, “Tirzah Ann, if you say anything to her, I’ll—I'll never trust you again;” I say, “Life is full of hardships, and we have to be ready to bear our burdens;” I say, “The old martyrs went through more than Lodema.”

Sez Tirzah Ann, “I believe Lodema would have wore out John Rogers.”

Sez Tirzah Ann, “I think Lodema would have worn John Rogers out.”

And I don't know but she would, but I didn't encourage her by ownin' it up that she would; but I declare for't, I believe she would have been more tegus than the nine children, and the one at the breast, any way.

And I don't know, but she probably would have, though I didn't help her by admitting that she would; but I swear, I believe she would have been more trouble than the nine kids and the one still nursing, anyway.

Wall, as I said, it wuz durin' the fifth week that Josiah Allen turned right round, and used her first rate.

Wall, like I said, it was during the fifth week that Josiah Allen turned right around and used her really well.

And when she would talk before folks about how much filial affection she had for him, and about his always havin' been jest like a parent to her, and everything of the kind—he never talked back a mite, but looked clever, and told me in confidence, “That he had turned over a new leaf, and he wuz goin' to surprise her—give her a happy surprise.”

And when she talked in front of people about how much love she had for him and how he had always been like a parent to her, he never said a word in response. He just looked thoughtful and quietly told me, “I've turned over a new leaf, and I'm going to surprise her—give her a nice surprise.”

And he seemed, instead of lovin' to rile her up, as he had, to jest put his hull mind on the idee of the joyful surprise.

And he seemed, instead of wanting to annoy her like he used to, to just have his whole mind set on the idea of the joyful surprise.

Wall, I am always afraid (with reason) of Josiah Allen's enterprizes. But do all I could, he wouldn't tell me one word about what he wuz goin' to do, only he kep it up, kep a-sayin' that,

Wall, I'm always worried (with good reason) about Josiah Allen's plans. But no matter what I did, he wouldn't tell me a single thing about what he was going to do; he just kept saying that,

“It wuz somethin' I couldn't help approvin' of, and it wuz somethin' that would happify me, and be a solid comfort to her, and a great gain and honor.”

“It was something I couldn't help but approve of, and it was something that would make me happy, provide her with solid comfort, and be a great gain and honor.”

So (though I trembled some for the result) I had to let it go on, for she wuz one of the relations on his own side, and I knew it wouldn't do for me to interfere too much, and meddle.

So (even though I was a bit anxious about the outcome) I had to let it happen, because she was one of his relatives, and I knew it wouldn't be right for me to get too involved and interfere.

Why, he did come right out one day and give hints to me to that effect.

Why, he straight up hinted to me one day about that.

Sez I, “Why do you go on and be so secret about it? Why don't you tell your companion all about it, what you are a-goin' to do, and advise with her?”

Sez I, “Why are you being so secretive about it? Why don’t you tell your friend everything, what you’re planning to do, and talk it over with her?”

And he sez, “I guess I know what I am about. She is one of the relations on my side, and I guess I have got a few rights left, and a little spunk.”

And he says, “I think I know what I’m doing. She’s one of my relatives, and I believe I still have a few rights left, along with a bit of courage.”

“Yes,” sez I, sadly, “you have got the spunk.”

“Yes,” I said sadly, “you’ve got the spirit.”

“Wall,” sez he, “I guess I can spunk up, and do somethin' for one of my own relations, without any interference or any advice from any of the Smith family, or anybody else.”

“Wall,” he said, “I guess I can toughen up and do something for one of my own relatives, without any interference or advice from the Smith family or anyone else.”

Sez I, “I don't want to stop your doin' all you can for Lodema, but why not tell what you are a-goin' to do?”

Sez I, “I don't want to stop you from doing everything you can for Lodema, but why not say what you're planning to do?”

“It will be time enough when the time comes,” sez he. “You will find it out in the course of next week.”

“It'll be the right time when the time comes,” he says. “You’ll figure it out next week.”

Wall, it run along to the middle of the next week. And one day I had jest sot down to tie off a comforter.

Wall, it ran on into the middle of the next week. And one day I had just sat down to tie off a comforter.

It wuz unbleached cheese cloth that I had bought and colored with tea leaves. It wuz a sort of a light mice color, a pretty soft gray, and I wuz goin' to tie it in with little balls of red zephyr woosted, and work it in buttonhole stitch round the edge with the same.

It was unbleached cheesecloth that I had bought and dyed with tea leaves. It was a light mice color, a nice soft gray, and I was going to tie it with little balls of red zephyr worsted, and sew it in with buttonhole stitch around the edge with the same.

It wuz fur our bed, Josiah's and mine, and it wuz goin' to be soft and warm and very pretty, though I say it, that shouldn't.

It was for our bed, Josiah's and mine, and it was going to be soft and warm and very pretty, though I say it, that shouldn't.

It wuzn't quite so pretty as them that hain't colored. I had 'em for my spare beds, cream color tied with pale blue and pink, that wuz perfectly beautiful and very dressy; but I thought for everyday use a colored one would be better.

It wasn’t quite as nice as those that aren’t colored. I had them for my extra beds, cream color with pale blue and pink, which were absolutely beautiful and very fancy; but I thought a colored one would be better for everyday use.

Wall, I had brought it out and wuz jest a-goin' to put it onto the frames (some new-fashioned ones I had borrowed from Tirzah Ann for the occasion).

Wall, I had taken it out and was just about to put it on the frames (some trendy ones I had borrowed from Tirzah Ann for the occasion).

And Cousin Lodema had jest observed, “that the new-fashioned frames with legs wuzn't good for nothin', and she didn't like the color of gray, it looked too melancholy, and would be apt to depress our feelin's too much, and would be tryin' to our complexions.”

And Cousin Lodema had just remarked, “that the new-style frames with legs aren’t good for anything, and she didn’t like the color gray; it looks too sad and might bring us down too much, which would be hard on our complexions.”

And I told her “that I didn't spoze there would be a very great congregation in our bedroom, as a general thing in the dead of night, to see whether it wuz becomin' to Josiah and me or not. And, it bein' as dark as Egypt, our complexions wouldn't make a very bad show any way.”

And I told her, “I didn’t think there would be a very big crowd in our bedroom, especially not in the middle of the night, to see if it was flattering to Josiah and me or not. And since it was as dark as Egypt, our complexions wouldn’t look too bad anyway.”

“Wall,” she said, “to tie it with red wuzn't at all appropriate, it wuz too dressy a color for folks of our age, Josiah's and mine.” “Why,” sez she, “even I, at my age, would skurcely care to sleep under one so gay. And she wouldn't have a cheese cloth comforter any way.” She sort o' stopped to ketch breath, and Josiah sez:

“Wall,” she said, “tying it with red wasn’t really appropriate; it was too fancy a color for people our age, Josiah’s and mine.” “Why,” she said, “even I, at my age, would hardly want to sleep under something so bright. And she wouldn’t have a cheesecloth comforter anyway.” She sort of paused to catch her breath, and Josiah said:

“Oh, wall, Lodema, a cheese cloth comforter is better than none, and I should think you would be jest the one to like any sort of a frame on legs.”

“Oh, wall, Lodema, a cheesecloth comforter is better than nothing, and I would think you would be just the one to like any kind of a frame on legs.”

But I wunk at him, a real severe and warnin' wink, and he stopped short off, for all the world as if he had forgot bein' on his good behavior; he stopped short off, and went right to behavin', and sez he to me:

But I winked at him, a really serious and warning wink, and he stopped immediately, as if he had forgotten to be on his best behavior; he stopped right away and started acting properly, and he said to me:

“Don't put on your comforter to-day, Samantha, for Tirzah Ann and Whitfield and the babe are a-comin' over here bimeby, and Maggie is a-comin', and Thomas Jefferson.”

“Don’t put on your comforter today, Samantha, because Tirzah Ann and Whitfield and the baby are coming over soon, and Maggie is coming, and Thomas Jefferson.”

“Wall,” sez I, “that is a good reason why I should keep on with it; the girls can help me if I don't get it off before they get here.”

“Wall,” I said, “that's a good reason for me to keep at it; the girls can help me if I don't finish before they arrive.”

And then he sez, “Miss Minkley is a-comin', too, and the Elder.”

And then he says, “Miss Minkley is coming too, and the Elder.”

“Why'ee,” sez I, “Josiah Allen, why didn't you tell me before, so I could have baked up somethin' nice? What a man you are to keep things; how long have you known it?”

“Why did you,” I said, “Josiah Allen, why didn't you tell me earlier, so I could have made something nice? What kind of man are you to keep things to yourself; how long have you known about this?”

“Oh, a week or so!”

“Oh, about a week!”

“A week!” sez I; “Josiah Allen, where is your conscience? if you have got a conscience.”

“A week!” I said; “Josiah Allen, where is your conscience? If you have one.”

“In the same old place,” sez he, kinder hittin' himself in the pit of his stomach.

“In the same old place,” he says, kind of hitting himself in the gut.

“Wall, I should think as much,” sez I.

"Well, I think so too," I said.

And Lodema sez, sez she: “A man that won't tell things is of all creeters that walks the earth the most disagreeable. And I should think the girls, Maggie and Tirzah Ann, would want to stay to home and clean house such a day as this is. And I should think a Elder would want to stay to home so's to be on hand in case of anybody happenin' to be exercised in their minds, and wantin to talk to him on religious subjects. And if I wuz a Elder's wife, I should stay to home with him; I should think it wuz my duty and my privilege. And if I wuz a married woman, I would have enough baked up in the house all the time, so's not to be afraid of company.”

And Lodema says, she says: “A man who won’t share things is the most unpleasant of all creatures that walk the earth. I’d think the girls, Maggie and Tirzah Ann, would want to stay home and clean the house on a day like this. I’d also think an Elder would want to stay home to be available in case anyone needs to talk to him about their concerns or religious matters. If I were an Elder’s wife, I would stay home with him; I’d consider it my duty and my privilege. And if I were a married woman, I’d always have enough food prepared at home so I wouldn’t be worried about having visitors.”

But I didn't answer back. I jest sot away my frames, and went out and stirred up a cake; I had one kind by me, besides cookies and jell tarts.

But I didn't respond. I just put away my glasses and went out to make a cake; I had one kind ready, along with cookies and jelly tarts.

But I felt real worked up to think I hadn't heard. Wall, I hadn't more'n got that cake fairly into the oven when the children come, and Elder Minkley and his wife. And I thought they looked queer, and I thought the Elder begun to tell me somethin', and I thought I see Josiah wink at him. But I wouldn't want to take my oath whether he wunk or not, but I thought he wunk.

But I was really worked up thinking I hadn't heard anything. Well, I barely got that cake into the oven when the kids came, along with Elder Minkley and his wife. I thought they looked strange, and it seemed like the Elder started to tell me something, and I thought I saw Josiah wink at him. But I wouldn't want to swear whether he actually winked or not, but I thought he did.

I wuz jest a turnin' this over in my mind, and a carryin' away their things, when I glanced out of the settin' room winder, and lo, and behold! there wuz Abi Adsit a comin' up to the front door, and right behind her wuz her Pa and Ma Adsit, and Deacon Henzy and his wife, and Miss Henn and Metilda, and Lute Pitkins and his wife, and Miss Petengill, and Deacon Sypher and Drusilly, and Submit Tewksbury—a hull string of 'em as long as a procession.

I was just turning this over in my mind, carrying away their things, when I glanced out of the living room window, and lo and behold! There was Abi Adsit coming up to the front door, and right behind her were her dad and mom, Deacon Henzy and his wife, Miss Henn and Metilda, Lute Pitkins and his wife, Miss Petengill, Deacon Sypher and Drusilly, and Submit Tewksbury—a whole line of them as long as a parade.

Sez I, and I spoke it right out before I thought—sez I—

Sez I, and I said it out loud before I even thought—sez I—

“Why'ee!” sez I. “For the land's sake!” sez I, “has there been a funeral, or anything? And are these the mourners?” sez I. “Are they stoppin' here to warm?”

“Why you!” I said. “For heaven's sake!” I said, “has there been a funeral or something? And are these the mourners?” I said. “Are they stopping here to warm up?”

For it wuz a cold day—and I repeated the words to myself mechanically as it wuz, as I see 'em file up the path.

For it was a cold day—and I repeated the words to myself mechanically as it was, as I saw them line up the path.

“They be mourners, hain't they?”

“They're mourners, aren’t they?”

“No,” sez Josiah, who had come in and wuz a standin' by the side of me, as I spoke out to myself unbeknown to me—sez he in a proud axent—

“No,” says Josiah, who had come in and was standing next to me, as I spoke out loud to myself without realizing it—he said in a proud tone—

“No, they hain't mourners, they are Happyfiers; they are Highlariers; they have come to our party. We are givin' a party, Samantha. We are havin' a diamond weddin' here for Lodema.”

“No, they aren't mourners, they are Happyfiers; they are Highlariers; they have come to our party. We are throwing a party, Samantha. We are having a diamond wedding here for Lodema.”

“A diamond weddin'!” I repeated mechanically.

“A diamond wedding!” I repeated automatically.

“Yes, this is my happy surprise for Lodema.”

“Yes, this is my delightful surprise for Lodema.”

I looked at Lodema Trumble. She looked strange. She had sunk back in her chair. I thought she wuz a-goin' to faint, and she told somebody the next day, “that she did almost lose her conscientiousness.”

I looked at Lodema Trumble. She looked weird. She had slumped back in her chair. I thought she was going to faint, and she told someone the next day, “that she almost lost her awareness.”

“Why,” sez I, “she hain't married.”

“Why,” I said, “she isn't married.”

“Wall, she ort to be, if she hain't,” sez he. “I say it is high time for her to have some sort of a weddin'. Everybody is a havin' 'em—tin, and silver and wooden, and basswood, and glass, and etc.—and I thought it wuz a perfect shame that Lodema shouldn't have none of no kind—and I thought I'd lay to, and surprise her with one. Every other man seemed to be a-holdin' off, not willin' seemin'ly that she should have one, and I jest thought I would happify her with one.”

"Well, she should be, if she isn't," he said. "I think it’s about time she had some kind of wedding. Everyone else is having them—tin, silver, wooden, basswood, glass, and so on—and I thought it was a real shame that Lodema didn’t have any kind of wedding. So I figured I’d surprise her with one. It seemed like every other guy was holding back, not wanting her to have one, and I just thought I’d make her happy with it."

“Wall, why didn't you make her a silver one, or a tin?” sez I.

“Why didn’t you make her a silver one or a tin one?” I said.

“Or a paper one!” screamed Lodema, who had riz up out of her almost faintin' condition. “That would have been much more appropriate,” sez she.

"Or a paper one!" screamed Lodema, who had rallied from her fainting condition. "That would have been much more appropriate," she said.

“Wall, I thought a diamond one would be more profitable to her. For I asked 'em all to bring diamonds, if they brought anything. And then I thought it would be more suitable to her age.”

"Well, I thought a diamond one would be more beneficial for her. I asked everyone to bring diamonds if they brought anything at all. And then I thought it would be more appropriate for her age."

“Why!” she screamed out. “They have to be married seventy-five years before they can have one.”

“Why!” she yelled. “They have to be married for seventy-five years before they can have one.”

“Yes,” sez he dreemily, “I thought that would be about the right figure.”

“Yes,” he said dreamily, “I figured that would be about the right amount.”

Lodema wuz too mad to find fault or complain or anything. She jest marched up-stairs and didn't come down agin that night. And the young folks had a splendid good time, and the old ones, too.

Lodema was too angry to find fault or complain or anything. She just marched upstairs and didn't come down again that night. And the young people had a great time, and the older ones did too.

Tirzah Ann and Maggie had brought some refreshments with 'em, and so had some of the other wimmen, and, with what I had, there wuz enough, and more than enough, to refresh ourselves with.

Tirzah Ann and Maggie had brought some snacks with them, and so had some of the other women, and with what I had, there was enough, and more than enough, to refresh ourselves.

Wall, the very next mornin' Lodema marched down like a grenideer, and ordered Josiah to take her to the train. And she eat breakfast with her things on, and went away immegiately after, and hain't been back here sense.

Wall, the next morning Lodema marched down like a soldier and told Josiah to take her to the train. She ate breakfast in her clothes, left right after, and hasn’t been back since.

And I wuz truly glad to see her go, but wuz sorry she went in such a way, and I tell Josiah he wuz to blame,

And I was really glad to see her go, but I felt bad about how she left, and I told Josiah he was to blame,

But he acts as innocent as you pleese. And he goes all over the arguments agin every time I take him to do about it. He sez “she wuz old enough to have a weddin' of some kind.”

But he acts as innocent as you please. And he goes over the arguments again every time I confront him about it. He says, “she was old enough to have some kind of wedding.”

And of course I can't dispute that, when he faces me right down, and sez:

And of course I can't argue with that when he looks me straight in the eye and says:

“Hain't she old enough?”

"Isn't she old enough?"

And I'll say, kinder short—

And I'll say, be kinder—

“Why, I spoze so!”

"Yeah, I guess so!"

“Wall,” sez he, “wouldn't it have been profitable to her if they had brought diamonds? Wouldn't it have been both surprisin' and profitable?” And sez he, “I told 'em expressly to bring diamonds if they had more than they wanted. I charged old Bobbet and Lute Pitkins specially on the subject. I didn't want 'em to scrimp themselves; but,” sez I, “if you have got more diamonds than you want, Lute, bring over a few to Lodema.”

“Wall,” he said, “wouldn't it have been a good idea for her if they'd brought diamonds? Wouldn't it have been both surprising and beneficial?” And he said, “I specifically told them to bring diamonds if they had extras. I mentioned it to old Bobbet and Lute Pitkins explicitly. I didn't want them to hold back; but,” I said, “if you have more diamonds than you need, Lute, bring a few over to Lodema.”

“Yes,” sez I, coldly, “he wuz dretful likely to have diamonds more then he wanted, workin' out by day's work to support his family. You know there wuzn't a soul you invited that owned a diamond.”

“Yes,” I said coldly, “he was really likely to have more diamonds than he needed, working day by day to support his family. You know there wasn’t a single person you invited who owned a diamond.”

“How did I know what they owned? I never have prowled round into their bureau draws and things, tryin' to find out what they had; they might have had quarts of 'em, and I not know it.”

“How did I know what they owned? I never snooped around their drawers or anything, trying to find out what they had; they could have had a ton of it, and I wouldn’t have known.”

Sez I, “You did it to make fun of Lodema and get rid of her. And it only makes it worse to try to smooth it over.” Sez I, “I'd be honorable about it if I wuz in your place, and own up.”

Sez I, “You did it to mock Lodema and push her away. And it just makes things worse to try to cover it up.” Sez I, “I'd take the high road if I were you and admit it.”

“Own up? What have I got to own up? I shall always say if my orders wuz carried out, it would have been a profitable affair for Lodema, and it would—profitable and surprisin'.”

“Own up? What do I have to admit? I will always say that if my orders were followed, it would have been a profitable deal for Lodema, and it would have—profitable and surprising.”

And that is all I can get him to say about it, from that day to this.

And that's all I've been able to get him to say about it, from that day until now.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER 9.

But truly the labors that descended onto my shoulders immegiately after Lodema's departure wuz hard enough to fill up my hull mind, and tax every one of my energies.

But honestly, the tasks that fell onto my shoulders right after Lodema left were tough enough to occupy my entire mind and drain all of my energy.

Yes, my labors and the labors of the other female Jonesvillians wuz deep and arjuous in the extreme (of which more and anon bimeby).

Yes, my efforts and the efforts of the other women in Jonesville were intense and incredibly challenging (more on that soon).

I had been the female appinted in a private and becomin' female way, to go to Loontown to see the meetin' house there that we heard they had fixed over in a cheap but commojous way. And for reasons (of which more and anon) we wanted to inquire into the expense, the looks on't, etc., etc.

I had been chosen as the designated woman in a private and appropriate manner to travel to Loontown to check out the meeting house there that we heard they had renovated in a low-cost but pleasant way. And for reasons (which I will elaborate on later), we wanted to look into the expenses, its appearance, and so on.

So I persuaded Josiah Allen to take me over to Loontown on this pressin' business, and he gin his consent to go on the condition that we should stop for a visit to Cephas Bodley'ses. Josiah sets store by 'em. You see they are relations of ourn and have been for some time, entirely unbeknown to us, and they'd come more'n a year ago a huntin' of us up. They said they “thought relations ought to be hunted up and hanged together.” They said “the idea of huntin' us up had come to 'em after readin' my books.” They told me so, and I said, “Wall!” I didn't add nor diminish to that one “wall,” for I didn't want to act too backward, nor too forward. I jest kep' kinder neutral, and said, “Wall!”

So I convinced Josiah Allen to take me to Loontown for some urgent business, and he agreed to go on the condition that we would stop for a visit to Cephas Bodley’s place. Josiah really values them. They’re relatives of ours and have been for quite some time without us even knowing, and they had come over a year ago looking for us. They said they “thought relatives should be tracked down and gathered together.” They mentioned that the idea of finding us came to them after reading my books. They told me that, and I just said, “Wow!” I didn’t add anything more to that one “wow,” because I didn’t want to come off as too shy or too forward. I just kept it neutral and said, “Wow!”

You see Cephas'ses father's sister-in-law wuz stepmother to my aunt's second cousin on my father's side. And Cephas said that “he had felt more and more, as years went by, that it wuz a burnin' shame for relations to not know and love each other.” He said “he felt that he loved Josiah and me dearly.”

You see, Cephas's father's sister-in-law was the stepmother to my aunt's second cousin on my father's side. And Cephas said that “he had felt more and more, as the years went by, that it was a burning shame for relatives not to know and love each other.” He said “he felt that he loved Josiah and me dearly.”

I didn't say right out whether it wuz reciprokated or not I kinder said, “Wall!” agin.

I didn't directly say whether it was mutual or not; I kind of just said, "Well!" again.

And I told Josiah, in perfect confidence and the wood-house chamber, “that I had seen nearer relations than Mr. Bodley'ses folks wuz to us,”

And I told Josiah, in complete confidence and the wood-house room, “that I had seen closer relatives than Mr. Bodley’s folks were to us,”

Howsumever, I done well by 'em. Josiah killed a fat turkey, and I baked it, and done other things for their comfort, and we had quite a good time. Cephas wuz ruther flowery and enthusiastick, and his mouth and voice wuz ruther large, but he meant well, I should judge, and we had quite a good time.

Howsumever, I did well by them. Josiah killed a big turkey, and I baked it, and did other things for their comfort, and we had a pretty good time. Cephas was pretty flowery and enthusiastic, and he spoke quite loudly, but he meant well, I’d say, and we had a pretty good time.

She wuz very freckled, and a second-day Baptist by perswasion, and wuz piecin' up a crazy bedquilt. She went a-visitin' a good deal, and got pieces of the women's dresses where she visited for blocks. So it wuz quite a savin' bedquilt, and very good-lookin', considerin'.

She was really freckled, and a second-day Baptist by belief, and was piecing together a crazy bed quilt. She visited quite a bit, collecting pieces of the women's dresses from the places she visited for blocks. So it was quite a savings quilt, and very good-looking, considering.

But to resoom and continue on. Cephas'ses folks made us promise on our two sacred honors, Josiah's honor and mine, that we would pay back the visit, for, as Cephas said, “for relatives to live so clost to each other, and not to visit back and forth, wuz a burnin' shame and a disgrace.” And Josiah promised that we would go right away after sugerin'.

But to resume and continue on. Cephas’s family made us promise on both our sacred honors, Josiah’s and mine, that we would return the visit because, as Cephas said, “for relatives to live so close to each other and not visit back and forth is a burning shame and a disgrace.” And Josiah promised that we would go right after we finished sugaring.

We wouldn't promise on the New Testament, as Cephas wanted us to (he is dretful enthusiastick); but we gin good plain promises that we would go, and laid out to keep our two words.

We wouldn't promise based on the New Testament, like Cephas wanted us to (he is really enthusiastic); but we made clear promises that we would go, and we intended to keep our word.

Wall, we got there onexpected, as they had come onto us. And we found 'em plunged into trouble. Their only child, a girl, who had married a young lawyer of Loontown, had jest lost her husband with the typus, and they wuz a-makin' preparations for the funeral when we got there. She and her husband had come on a visit, and he wuz took down bed-sick there and died.

Well, we arrived unexpectedly, just as they were dealing with a crisis. Their only child, a girl who had married a young lawyer from Loontown, had just lost her husband to typhus, and they were preparing for the funeral when we got there. She and her husband had come to visit, and he became seriously ill while they were there and passed away.

I told 'em I felt like death to think I had descended down onto 'em at such a time.

I told them I felt terrible to think that I had come down on them at such a time.

But Cephas said he wuz jest dispatchin' a messenger for us when we arrove, for, he said, “in a time of trouble, then wuz the time, if ever, that a man wanted his near relations clost to him.”

But Cephas said he was just sending a messenger for us when we arrived, because, he said, “in a time of trouble, that’s when a man needs his close family by his side.”

And he said “we had took a load offen him by appearin' jest as we did, for there would have been some delay in gettin' us there, if the messenger had been dispatched.”

And he said, “We took a load off him by showing up just as we did, because there would have been some delay in getting us there if the messenger had been sent.”

He said “that mornin' he had felt so bad that he wanted to die—it seemed as if there wuzn't nothin' left for him to live for; but now he felt that he had sunthin' to live for, now his relatives wuz gathered round him.”

He said, “that morning he felt so terrible that he wanted to die—it seemed like there was nothing left for him to live for; but now he felt that he had something to live for, now his relatives were gathered around him.”

Josiah shed tears to hear Cephas go on. I myself didn't weep none, but I wuz glad if we could be any comfort to 'em, and told 'em so.

Josiah cried when he heard Cephas speak. I didn't cry at all, but I was glad if we could provide any comfort to them, and I told them so.

And I told Sally Ann, that wuz Cephas'ses wife, that I would do anything I could to help 'em. And she said everything wuz a-bein' done that wuz necessary. She didn't know of but one thing that wuz likely to be overlooked and neglected, and that wuz the crazy bedquilt. She said “she would love to have that finished to throw over a lounge in the settin'-room, that wuz frayed out on the edges, and if I felt like it, it would be a great relief to her to have me take it right offen her hands and finish it.”

And I told Sally Ann, who was Cephas's wife, that I would do anything I could to help them. She said everything was being done that was necessary. She didn't know of one thing that was likely to be overlooked and neglected, and that was the crazy bedspread. She said she would love to have that finished to throw over a frayed lounge in the living room, and if I felt like it, it would be a great relief to her to have me take it off her hands and finish it.

So I took out my thimble and needle (I always carry such necessaries with me, in a huzzy made expressly for that purpose), and I sot down and went to piecin' up. There wuz seventeen blocks to piece up, each one crazy as a loon to look at, and it wuz all to set together.

So I took out my thimble and needle (I always carry these essentials with me in a pouch made specifically for that purpose), and I sat down and started piecing things together. There were seventeen blocks to piece, each one looking crazier than the last, and it all had to be put together.

She had the pieces, for she had been off on a visitin' tower the week before, and collected of 'em.

She had the pieces because she had been on a visit to the tower the week before and collected them.

So I sot in quiet and the big chair in the settin'-room, and pieced up, and see the preparations goin' on round us.

So I sat quietly in the big chair in the living room, piecing things together, and watched the preparations happening around us.

I found that Cephas'ses folks lived in a house big and showy-lookin', but not so solid and firm as I had seen.

I noticed that Cephas's family lived in a house that was large and flashy, but not as sturdy and strong as others I had seen.

It wuz one of the houses, outside and inside, where more pains had been took with the porticos and ornaments than with the underpinnin'.

It was one of those houses, both outside and inside, where more attention had been paid to the porticos and decorations than to the foundation.

It had a showy and kind of a shaky look. And I found that that extended to Cephas'ses business arrangements. Amongst the other ornaments of his buildin's wuz mortgages, quite a lot of'em, and of almost every variety. He had gin his only child, S. Annie (she wuz named after her mother, Sally Ann, but spelt it this way), he had gin S. Annie a showy education, a showy weddin', and a showy settin'-out. But she had had the good luck to marry a sensible man, though poor.

It had a flashy and somewhat unstable appearance. I noticed that this extended to Cephas's business dealings. Among the various decorations of his buildings were mortgages, many of them and of almost every kind. He had given his only child, S. Annie (she was named after her mother, Sally Ann, but spelled it this way), a flashy education, a lavish wedding, and an extravagant setup. But she was fortunate enough to marry a sensible man, even though he was poor.

He took S. Annie and the brackets, the piano and hangin' lamps and baskets and crystal bead lambrequins, her father had gin her, moved 'em all into a good, sensible, small house, and went to work to get a practice and a livin'. He was a lawyer by perswasion.

He took S. Annie along with the brackets, the piano, hanging lamps, baskets, and crystal bead curtains that her father had given her, moved everything into a nice, practical small house, and got to work establishing his practice and making a living. He was a lawyer by profession.

Wall, he worked hard, day and night, for three little children come to 'em pretty fast, and S. Annie consumed a good deal in trimmin's and cheap lace to ornament 'em; she wuz her father's own girl for ornament. But he worked so hard, and had so many irons in the fire, and kep' 'em all so hot, that he got a good livin' for 'em, and begun to lay up money towards buyin' 'em a house—a home.

Well, he worked hard, day and night, because three little kids came along pretty quickly, and S. Annie used up a lot on trimmings and cheap lace to dress them up; she was her father's own girl when it came to decoration. But he worked so hard, had so many things going on at once, and kept everything running smoothly that he earned a good living for them and even started saving money to buy them a house—a home.

He talked a sight, so folks said that knew him well, about his consumin' desire and aim to get his wife and children into a little home of their own, into a safe little haven, where they could live if he wuz called away. They say that that wuz on his mind day and night, and wuz what nerved his hand so in the fray, and made him so successful. Wall, he had laid up about nine hundred dollars towards a home, every dollar on it earned by hard work and consecrated by this deathless hope and affection. The house he had got his mind on only cost about a thousand dollars. Loontown property is cheap.

He talked a lot, or so people who knew him said, about his deep desire and goal to get his wife and kids into a small home of their own, a safe little place where they could live if he was called away. They say that was on his mind day and night, and it was what drove him so fiercely in battle and made him so successful. Well, he had saved about nine hundred dollars towards a home, every dollar earned through hard work and fueled by his enduring hope and love. The house he had his eye on only cost about a thousand dollars. Property in Loontown is cheap.

Wall, he had laid up nine hundred, and wuz a-beginnin' to save on the last hundred, for he wouldn't run in debt a cent any way, when he wuz took voyalent sick there to Cephas'ses; he and S. Annie had come home for a visit of a day or two, and he bein' so run down, and weak with his hard day work and his night work, that he suckumbed to his sickness, and passed away the day before I got there.

Wall, he had saved up nine hundred, and was starting to put aside the last hundred because he wasn't going to go into debt at all. When he got really sick at Cephas's, he and S. Annie had come home for a visit of a day or two. He was so worn out and weak from his hard day job and night shifts that he succumbed to his illness and passed away the day before I got there.

Wall, S. Annie wuz jest overcome with grief the day I got there, but the day follerin' she begun to take some interest and help her father in makin' preparations for the funeral.

Wall, S. Annie was just overwhelmed with grief the day I arrived, but the following day she started to take some interest and help her father with the arrangements for the funeral.

The body wuz embalmed, accordin' to Cephas'ses and S. Annie's wish, and the funeral wuz to be on the Sunday follerin', and on that Cephas and S. Annie now bent their energies.

The body was embalmed, according to Cephas and S. Annie's wishes, and the funeral was scheduled for the following Sunday, which Cephas and S. Annie now focused their efforts on.

To begin with, S. Annie had a hull suit of clear crape made for herself, with a veil that touched the ground; she also had three other suits commenced, for more common wear, trimmed heavy with crape, one of which she ordered for sure the next week, for she said, “she couldn't stir out of the house in any other color but black.”

To start with, S. Annie had a full outfit of sheer crape made for herself, complete with a veil that reached the ground; she also started three other outfits for everyday wear, heavily trimmed with crape, one of which she planned to order for sure next week, saying, “she couldn't leave the house in any color but black.”

I knew jest how dear crape wuz, and I tackled her on the subject, and sez I—

I knew just how expensive fabric was, so I brought it up with her and said—

“Do you know, S. Annie, these dresses of your'n will cost a sight?”

“Do you know, S. Annie, these dresses of yours will cost a lot?”

“Cost?” sez she, a-bustin' out a-cryin'. “What do I care about cost? I will do everything I can to respect his memory. I do it in remembrance of him.”

“Cost?” she said, bursting into tears. “What do I care about cost? I will do everything I can to honor his memory. I do it in remembrance of him.”

Sez I, gently, “S. Annie, you wouldn't forget him if you wuz dressed in white. And as for respect, such a life as his, from all I hear of it, don't need crape to throw respect on it; it commands respect, and gets it from everybody.”

Sez I, gently, “S. Annie, you wouldn't forget him even if you were wearing white. And as for respect, from everything I've heard, a life like his doesn't need mourning clothes to earn it; it naturally commands respect and receives it from everyone.”

“But,” sez Cephas, “it would look dretful odd to the neighbors if she didn't dress in black.” Sez he in a skairful tone, and in his intense way—

“But,” says Cephas, “it would look really strange to the neighbors if she didn’t wear black.” He said this in a scared tone, and in his intense way—

“I would ruther resk my life than to have her fail in duty in this way; it would make talk. And.” sez he, “what is life worth when folks talk?” I turned around the crazed block and tackled it in a new place (more luny than ever it seemed to me), and sez I, mekanickly—

“I would rather risk my life than let her fail in her duties like this; it would create a scandal. And,” he said, “what's life worth when people gossip?” I turned around the crazy block and tackled it in a new spot (it seemed even crazier to me), and I said, mechanically—

“It is pretty hard work to keep folks from talkin'; to keep 'em from sayin' somethin'.”

“It’s pretty tough to stop people from talking; to stop them from saying something.”

But I see from their looks it wouldn't do to say anything more, so I had to set still and see it go on.

But I can tell from their expressions that it wouldn’t be wise to say anything else, so I had to just sit still and let it happen.

At that time of year flowers wuz dretful high, but S. Annie and Cephas had made up their minds that they must have several flower-pieces from the city nighest to Loontown.

At that time of year, flowers were incredibly expensive, but S. Annie and Cephas had decided that they needed several floral arrangements from the nearest city to Loontown.

One wuz a-goin' to be a gate ajar, and one wuz to be a gate wide open, and one wuz to be a big book. Cephas asked what book I thought would be preferable to represent. And I mentioned the Bible.

One was going to be a gate slightly open, and one was going to be a gate wide open, and one was going to be a big book. Cephas asked which book I thought would be best to represent. And I said the Bible.

But Cephas sez, “No, he didn't think he would have a Bible; he didn't think it would be appropriate, seein' the deceased wuz a lawyer.” He said “he hadn't quite made up his mind what book to have. But anyway it wuz to be in flowers—beautiful flowers.” Another piece wuz to be his name in white flowers on a purple background of pansies. His name wuz Wellington Napoleon Bonaparte Hardiman. And I sez to Cephas—“To save expense, you will probable have the moneygram W.N.B.H.?”

But Cephas says, “No, he didn’t think he would have a Bible; he didn’t think it would be appropriate since the deceased was a lawyer.” He said “he hadn’t quite decided what book to have. But anyway, it was going to be in flowers—beautiful flowers.” Another piece was going to be his name in white flowers on a purple background of pansies. His name was Wellington Napoleon Bonaparte Hardiman. And I said to Cephas—“To save money, you’ll probably have the initials W.N.B.H.?”

“Oh, no,” sez he.

“Oh no,” he said.

Sez I, “hen the initials of his given names, and the last name in full.”

Sez I, “then the initials of his first names, and the last name in full.”

“Oh, no,” he said; “it wuz S. Annie's wish, and hisen, that the hull name should be put on. They thought it would show more respect.”

“Oh, no,” he said; “it was S. Annie's wish, and his, that the whole name should be put on. They thought it would show more respect.”

I sez, “Where Wellington is now, that hain't a goin' to make any difference, and,” sez I, “Cephas, flowers are dretful high this time of year, and it is a long name.”

I said, “Where Wellington is now, that’s not going to make any difference, and,” I said, “Cephas, flowers are really expensive this time of year, and it’s a long name.”

But Cephas said agin that he didn't care for expense, so long as respect wuz done to the memory of the deceased. He said that he and S. Annie both felt that it wuz their wish to have the funeral go ahead of any other that had ever took place in Loontown or Jonesville. He said that S. Annie felt that it wuz all that wuz left her now in life, the memory of such a funeral as he deserved.

But Cephas said again that he didn't care about the cost, as long as they respected the memory of the deceased. He mentioned that both he and S. Annie wanted the funeral to be more impressive than any other that had ever taken place in Loontown or Jonesville. He explained that S. Annie felt this was all she had left in life—the memory of a funeral that he truly deserved.

Sez I, “There is his children left for her to live for,” sez I—“three little bits of his own life, for her to nourish, and cherish, and look out for.”

Sez I, “There are his kids left for her to live for,” sez I—“three little pieces of his own life, for her to take care of, and cherish, and look after.”

“Yes,” sez Cephas, “and she will do that nobly, and I will help her. They are all goin' to the funeral, too, in deep-black dresses.” He said “they wuz too little to realize it now, but in later and maturer years it would be a comfort to 'em to know they had took part in such a funeral as that wuz goin' to be, and wuz dressed in black.”

“Yeah,” says Cephas, “and she’ll do that beautifully, and I’ll help her. They’re all going to the funeral too, in deep black dresses.” He said “they’re too young to understand it now, but later on, as they grow up, it’ll be comforting for them to know they participated in such a meaningful funeral and were dressed in black.”

“Wall,” sez I (in a quiet, onassumin' way I would gin little hints of my mind on the subject), “I am afraid that will be about all the comforts of life the poor little children will ever have,” sez I. “It will be if you buy many more flower-pieces and crape dresses.”

“Wall,” I said (in a quiet, unassuming way I would give little hints of my thoughts on the subject), “I’m afraid that will be about all the comforts of life the poor little children will ever have,” I said. “It will be if you buy many more flower arrangements and black dresses.”

Cephas said “it wouldn't take much crape for the children's dresses, they wuz so little, only the baby's; that would have to be long.”

Cephas said, "It wouldn't take much fabric for the kids' dresses; they were so small, just the baby's would need to be long."

Sez I, “The baby would look better in white, and it will take sights of crape for a long baby dress.”

Sez I, “The baby would look nicer in white, and it will take a lot of fabric for a long baby dress.”

“Yes, but S. Annie can use it afterwards for veils. She is very economical; she takes it from me. And she feels jest as I do, that the baby must wear it in respect to her father's memory.”

“Yes, but S. Annie can use it later for veils. She’s very resourceful; she gets it from me. And she feels just like I do, that the baby should wear it out of respect for her father's memory.”

Sez I, “The baby don't know crape from a clothes-pin.”

Sez I, “The baby doesn't know anything from a clothes pin.”

“No,” sez Cephas, “but in after years the thought of the respect she showed will sustain her.”

“No,” says Cephas, “but in later years, the respect she showed will keep her going.”

“Wall,” sez I, “I guess she won't have much besides thoughts to live on, if things go on in this way.”

“Wall,” I said, “I guess she won't have much besides her thoughts to live on if things keep going like this.”

I would give little hints in this way, but they wuzn't took. Things went right on as if I hadn't spoke. And I couldn't contend, for truly, as a bad little boy said once on a similar occasion, “it wuzn't my funeral,” so I had to set and work on that insane bedquilt and see it go on. But I sithed constant and frequent, and when I wuz all alone in the room I indulged in a few low groans.

I would drop a few hints like this, but they were ignored. Things continued on as if I hadn’t said anything. And I couldn't argue, because honestly, as a naughty little kid once said in a similar situation, “it wasn’t my funeral,” so I had to sit there and work on that crazy quilt and watch it go on. But I sighed often and regularly, and when I was alone in the room, I let out a few quiet groans.

CHAPTER X.

We dressmakers wuz in the house, to stay all the time till the dresses wuz done; and clerks would come around, anon, if not oftener, with packages of mournin' goods, and mournin' jewelry, and mournin' handkerchiefs, and mournin' stockings, and mournin' stockin'-supporters, and mournin' safety-pins, and etc., etc., etc., etc., etc.

We dressmakers were in the house, staying there all the time until the dresses were done; and clerks would come by occasionally, if not more frequently, with packages of mourning clothes, mourning jewelry, mourning handkerchiefs, mourning stockings, mourning suspenders, mourning safety pins, and so on.

Every one of 'em, I knew, a-wrenchin' boards offen the sides of that house that Wellington had worked so hard to get for his wife and little ones.

Every single one of them, I knew, was tearing boards off the sides of that house that Wellington had worked so hard to get for his wife and kids.

Wall, the day of the funeral come. It wuz a wet, drizzly day, but Cephas wuz up early, to see that everything wuz as he wanted it to be.

Wall, the day of the funeral arrived. It was a wet, drizzly day, but Cephas was up early to make sure everything was how he wanted it to be.

As fur as I wuz concerned, I had done my duty, for the crazy bedquilt wuz done; and though brains might totter as they looked at it, I felt that it wuzn't my fault. Sally Ann spread it out with complacency over the lounge, and thanked me, with tears in her eyes, for my noble deed.

As far as I was concerned, I had done my duty, because the crazy quilt was finished; and even though people's heads might spin when they looked at it, I felt it wasn't my fault. Sally Ann spread it out proudly over the couch and thanked me, with tears in her eyes, for my good deed.

Along quite early in the mornin', before the show commenced, I went in to see Wellington.

Along quite early in the morning, before the show started, I went in to see Wellington.

He lay there calm and peaceful, with a look on his face as if he had got away at last from a atmosphere of show and sham, and had got into the great Reality of life.

He lay there calm and peaceful, with a look on his face as if he had finally escaped the fake drama and had reached the true Reality of life.

It wuz a good face, and the worryment and care that folks told me had been on it for years had all faded away. But the look of determination, and resolve, and bravery,—that wuz ploughed too deep in his face to be smoothed out, even by the mighty hand that had lain on it. The resolved look, the brave look with which he had met the warfare of life, toiled for victory over want, toiled to place his dear and helpless ones in a position of safety,—that look wuz on his face yet, as if the deathless hope and endeavor had gone on into eternity with him.

It was a good face, and the worry and care that people told me had been there for years had all faded away. But the look of determination, resolve, and bravery— that was etched too deeply in his face to be smoothed out, even by the powerful hand that had rested on it. The resolute look, the brave look with which he had faced life's struggles, worked hard for victory over hardship, and strived to place his dear and vulnerable ones in a safe position— that look was still on his face, as if the enduring hope and effort had followed him into eternity.

And by the side of him, on a table, wuz the big high flower-pieces, beginnin' already to wilt and decay.

And next to him, on a table, were the large flower arrangements that were already starting to wilt and decay.

Wall, it's bein' such an uncommon bad day, there wuzn't many to the funeral. But we rode to the meetin'-house in Loontown in a state and splendor that I never expect to again. Cephas had hired eleven mournin' coaches, and the day bein' so bad, and so few a-turnin' out to the funeral, that in order to occupy all the coaches—and Cephas thought it would look better and more popular to have 'em all occupied—we divided up, and Josiah went in one, alone, and lonesome as a dog, as he said afterwards to me. And I sot up straight and oncomfortable in another one on 'em, stark alone.

Well, it’s been such an incredibly bad day that there weren’t many people at the funeral. But we went to the meeting house in Loontown in a style and splendor that I never expect to see again. Cephas had hired eleven mourning coaches, and since the day was so miserable and so few showed up for the funeral, to fill all the coaches—and Cephas thought it would look better and more popular if they were all full—we split up. Josiah ended up in one by himself, feeling as lonely as a dog, as he later told me. And I sat up straight and uncomfortably in another one, completely alone.

Cephas had one to himself, and his wife another one, and two old maids, sisters of Cephas'ses who always made a point of attendin' funerals, they each one of 'em had one. S. Annie and her children, of course, had the first one, and then the minister had one, and one of the trustees in the neighborhood had another; so we lengthened out into quite a crowd, all a-follerin' the shiny hearse, and the casket all covered with showy plated nails. I thought of it in jest that way, for Wellington, I knew, the real Wellington, wuzn't there. No, he wuz fur away—as fur as the Real is from the Unreal. Wall, we filed into the Loontown meetin'-house in pretty good shape. The same meetin'-house I had been sent to reconoiter. But Cephas hadn't no black handkerchief, and he looked worried about it. He had shed tears a-tellin' me about it, what a oversight it wuz, while I wuz a fixin' on his mournin' weed. He took it into his head to have a deeper weed at the last minute, so I fixed it on. He had the weed come up to the top of his hat and lap over. I never see so tall a weed. But it suited Cephas; he said “he thought it showed deep respect.”

Cephas had one for himself, and his wife had another, while two old maids, Cephas's sisters, always made a point of attending funerals, so they each had one too. S. Annie and her children had the first one, and then the minister had one, and one of the neighborhood trustees had another; so we ended up as quite a crowd, all following the shiny hearse, with the casket covered in fancy plated nails. I thought about it jokingly, since I knew the real Wellington wasn’t there. No, he was far away— as far as the Real is from the Unreal. Well, we filed into the Loontown meeting house in decent order. The same meeting house I had been sent to scout out. But Cephas didn’t have a black handkerchief, and he looked anxious about it. He had shed tears telling me about it, how much of an oversight it was, while I was fixing his mourning attire. He decided last minute to have a longer mourning piece, so I adjusted it for him. He had the mourning piece come up to the top of his hat and drape over. I had never seen such a tall mourning piece. But it suited Cephas; he said “it showed deep respect.”

“Wall,” sez I, “it is a deep weed, anyway—the deepest I ever see.” And he said as I wuz a sewin' it on, he a-holdin' his hat for me, “that Wellington deserved it; he deserved it all.”

“Wall,” I said, “it’s a deep weed, anyway—the deepest I’ve ever seen.” And he said while I was sewing it on, him holding his hat for me, “that Wellington deserved it; he deserved it all.”

But, as I say, he shed tears to think that his handkerchief wuzn't black-bordered. He said “it wuz a fearful oversight; it would probably make talk.”

But, as I said, he cried thinking that his handkerchief wasn't black-bordered. He said, “it was a terrible oversight; it would probably cause some gossip.”

“But,” I sez, “mebby it won't be noticed.”

"But," I said, "maybe it won't be noticed."

“Yes, it will,” sez he. “It will be noticed.” And sez he, “I don't care about myself, but I am afraid it will reflect onto Wellington. I am afraid they will think it shows a lack of respect for him. For Wellington's sake I feel cut down about it.”

“Yes, it will,” he said. “It will be noticed.” And he added, “I don't care about myself, but I'm worried it will reflect poorly on Wellington. I'm afraid people will think it shows a lack of respect for him. For Wellington's sake, I'm really bothered by it.”

And I sez, “I guess where Wellington is now, the color of a handkerchief border hain't a-goin' to make much difference to him either way.”

And I said, “I guess that where Wellington is now, the color of a handkerchief border isn’t going to matter to him one way or the other.”

And I don't spoze it wuz noticed much, for there wuzn't more'n ten or a dozen folks there when we went in. We went in in Injin file mostly by Cephas'ses request, so's to make more show. And as a procession we wuz middlin' long, but ruther thin.

And I don't suppose it was noticed much, because there were only about ten or a dozen people there when we went in. We entered in a single file, mostly at Cephas's request, to make a better impression. As a procession, we were fairly long, but kind of sparse.

The sermon wuz not so very good as to quality, but abundant as to quantity. It wuz, as nigh as I could calkerlate, about a hour and three-quarters long. Josiah whispered to me along about the last that “we had been there over seven hours, and his legs wuz paralyzed.”

The sermon wasn't very good in quality, but it sure was long. It was, as far as I could estimate, about an hour and three-quarters long. Josiah whispered to me toward the end that “we had been there for over seven hours, and his legs were numb.”

And I whispered back that “seven hours would take us into the night, and to stretch his feet out and pinch 'em,” which he did.

But it wuz long and tegus. My feet got to sleep twice, and I had hard work to wake 'em up agin. The sermon meant to be about Wellington, I s'pose; he did talk a sight about him, and then he kinder branched off onto politics, and then the Inter-State bill; he kinder favored it, I thought.

But it was long and boring. My feet fell asleep twice, and I had a tough time waking them up again. The sermon was supposed to be about Wellington, I guess; he talked a lot about him, and then he sort of branched off into politics, and then the Inter-State bill; he seemed to support it, I thought.

Wall, we all got drippin' wet a-goin' home, for Cephas insisted on our gettin' out at the grave, for he had hired some uncommon high singers (high every way, in price and in notes) to sing at the grave.

Well, we all got really soaked on the way home because Cephas insisted we get out at the grave, since he had hired some unusually talented singers (high in both price and skill) to perform at the grave.

And so we disembarked in the drippin' rain, on the wet grass, and formed a procession agin. And Cephas had a long exercise light there in the rain. But the singin' wuz kinder jerky and curius, and they had got their pay beforehand, so they hurried it through. And one man, the tenor, who wuz dretful afraid of takin' cold, hurried through his part and got through first, and started on a run for the carriage. The others stood their grounds till the piece wuz finished, but they put on some dretful curius quavers. I believe they had had chills; it sounded like it.

And so we got off in the pouring rain, on the wet grass, and lined up again. Cephas had a long, bright light there in the rain. But the singing was kind of choppy and odd, and they had already been paid, so they rushed through it. One guy, the tenor, who was really afraid of catching a cold, rushed through his part and finished first, then took off running for the carriage. The others held their ground until the piece was done, but they added some really weird wobbles. I think they might have caught chills; it sure sounded like it.

Take it altogether, I don't believe anybody got much satisfaction out of it, only Cephas. S. Annie sp'ilt her dress and bonnet entirely—they wuz wilted all down; and she ordered another suit jest like it before she slept. Wall, the next mornin' early two men come with plans for monuments. Cephas had telegrafted to 'em to come with plans and bid for the job of furnishin' the monument.

Take it all into account, I don’t think anyone got much enjoyment from it, except for Cephas. S. Annie completely ruined her dress and bonnet—they were totally droopy; and she ordered another outfit just like it before she went to bed. Well, the next morning, two men showed up with designs for monuments. Cephas had sent a telegram asking them to come with designs and bid for the job of providing the monument.

And after a good deal of talk on both sides, Cephas and S. Annie selected one that wuz very high and p'inted.

And after a lot of discussion on both sides, Cephas and S. Annie chose one that was very tall and pointed.

The men stayed to dinner, and I said to Cephas out to one side—

The guys stuck around for dinner, and I said to Cephas on the side—

“Cephas, that monument is a-goin' to cost a sight.”

“Cephas, that monument is going to cost a lot.”

“Wall,” sez he, “we can't raise too high a one. Wellington deserved it all.”

“Wall,” he said, “we can't build it too high. Wellington earned every bit of it.”

Sez I, “Won't that and all these funeral expenses take about all the money he left?”

Sez I, “Won't that and all these funeral costs eat up almost all the money he left?”

“Oh, no!” sez he. “He had insured his life for a large amount, and it all goes to his wife and children. He deserves a monument if a man ever did.”

“Oh, no!” he said. “He had insured his life for a large amount, and it all goes to his wife and kids. He deserves a monument if anyone ever did.”

“But,” sez I, “don't you believe that Wellington would ruther have S. Annie and the children settled down in a good little home with sumthin' left to take care of 'em, than to have all this money spent in perfectly useless things?”

"But," I said, "don't you think that Wellington would rather have S. Annie and the kids settled in a nice little home with something left to take care of them than to have all this money wasted on completely useless things?"

“Useless!” sez Cephas, turnin' red. “Why,” sez he, “if you wuzn't a near relation I should resent that speech bitterly.”

“Useless!” says Cephas, turning red. “Why,” he says, “if you weren't a close relative, I would be really offended by that remark.”

“Wall,” sez I, “what do all these flowers, and empty carriages, and silver-plated nails, and crape, and so forth—what does it all amount to?”

“Wall,” I said, “what do all these flowers, empty carriages, silver-plated nails, crape, and so on—what does it all mean?”

“Respect and honor to his memory,” sez Cephas, proudly.

“Respect and honor to his memory,” says Cephas, proudly.

Sez I, “Such a life as Wellington's had them; no body could take 'em away nor deminish 'em. Such a brave, honest life is crowned with honor and respect any way. It don't need no crape, nor flowers, nor monuments to win 'em. And, at the same time,” sez I dreamily, “if a man is mean, no amount of crape, or flower-pieces, or flowery sermons, or obituries, is a-goin' to cover up that meanness. A life has to be lived out-doors as it were; it can't be hid. A string of mournin' carriages, no matter how long, hain't a-goin' to carry a dishonorable life into honor, and no grave, no matter how low and humble it is, is a-goin' to cover up a honorable life.

I said, “A life like Wellington's has its own value; nobody can take it away or diminish it. Such a brave, honest life earns honor and respect on its own. It doesn’t need any mourning, flowers, or monuments to achieve that. And, at the same time,” I said dreamily, “if a person is mean, no amount of mourning, floral tributes, flowery speeches, or obituaries is going to hide that meanness. A life has to be lived openly; it can’t be hidden. A long line of mourning carriages won’t elevate a dishonorable life to honor, and no grave, no matter how humble, can cover up an honorable life.”

“Such a life as Wellington's don't need no monument to carry up the story of his virtues into the heavens; it is known there already. And them that mourn his loss don't need cold marble words to recall his goodness and faithfulness. The heart where the shadow of his eternal absence has fell don't need crape to make it darker.

“Such a life as Wellington's doesn’t need a monument to tell the story of his virtues to the heavens; it's already known there. And those who mourn his loss don’t need cold marble words to remember his goodness and loyalty. The heart that feels the shadow of his eternal absence doesn’t need black fabric to make it darker.”

“Wellington wouldn't be forgot if S. Annie wore pure white from day today. No, nobody that knew Wellington, from all I have hearn of him, needs crape to remind 'em that he wuz once here and now is gone.

“Wellington wouldn't be forgotten if S. Annie wore pure white every day. No, anyone who knew Wellington, from everything I've heard about him, doesn't need mourning clothes to remember that he was here and now is gone.

“Howsomever, as fur as that is concerned, I always feel that mourners must do as they are a mind to about crape, with fear and tremblin'—that is, if they are well off, and can do as they are a mind to; and the same with monuments, flowers, empty coaches, etc. But in this case, Cephas Bodley, I wouldn't be a doin' my duty if I didn't speak my mind. When I look at these little helpless souls that are left in a cold world with nothin' to stand between them and want but the small means their pa worked so hard for and left for the express purpose of takin' care of 'em, it seems to me a foolish thing, and a cruel thing, to spend all that money on what is entirely onnecessary.”

“However, as far as that goes, I always feel that mourners should do what they want about mourning attire, with caution and care—if they are well off and can actually do what they want; it's the same with monuments, flowers, empty carriages, and so on. But in this case, Cephas Bodley, I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t say what I think. When I look at these little helpless kids left in a harsh world with nothing to protect them from hardship except for the small amount their dad worked so hard for and set aside to take care of them, it just seems foolish and cruel to spend all that money on something that’s completely unnecessary.”

“Onnecessary!” sez Cephas, angrily. “Agin I say, Josiah Allen's wife, that if it wuzn't for our close relationship I should turn on you. A worm will turn,” sez he, “if it is too hardly trampled on.”

"Unnecessary!" says Cephas, angrily. "Again I say, Josiah Allen's wife, that if it weren't for our close relationship, I would turn on you. A worm will turn," he says, "if it is trampled on too hard."

“I hain't trampled on you,” sez I, “nor hain't had no idea on't. I wuz only statin' the solemn facts and truth of the matter. And you will see it some time, Cephas Bodley, if you don't now.”

“I haven't trampled on you,” I said, “nor did I have any idea of it. I was just stating the honest facts and truth of the matter. And you will see it sometime, Cephas Bodley, even if you don’t see it now.”

Sez Cephas, “The worm has turned, Josiah Allen's wife! Yes, I feel that I have got to look now to more distant relations for comfort. Yes, the worm has been stomped on too heavy.”

Sez Cephas, “The tables have turned, Josiah Allen's wife! Yes, I feel like I have to look to more distant relatives for comfort now. Yes, the worm has been stomped on way too hard.”

He looked cold, cold as a iceickle almost. And I see that jest the few words I had spoke, jest the slight hints I had gin, hadn't been took as they should have been took. So I said no more. For agin the remark of that little bad boy came up in my mind and restrained me from sayin' any more.

He looked cold, as cold as an icicle almost. And I realized that just the few words I had spoken, just the slight hints I had given, hadn't been taken as they should have been. So I said no more. For again, the remark of that little bad boy came to mind and held me back from saying anything else.

Truly, as the young male child observed, “it wuzn't my funeral.”

Truly, as the young boy observed, “it wasn't my funeral.”

We went home almost immegiately afterwards, my heart nearly a-bleedin' for the little children, poor little creeters, and Cephas actin' cold and distant to the last And we hain't seen 'em sence. But news has come from them, and come straight. Josiah heerd to Jonesville all about it. And though it is hitchin' the democrat buggy on front of the mare—to tell the end of the funeral here—yet I may as well tell it now and be done with it.

We went home almost right after that, my heart aching for the little kids, poor little things, and Cephas acting cold and distant until the end. We haven't seen them since. But we've received news about them, and it came directly. Josiah heard all about it in Jonesville. And even though it feels like putting the democrat buggy in front of the mare to share the end of the funeral here, I might as well tell it now and get it over with.

The miller at Loontown wuz down to the Jonesville mill to get the loan of some bags, and Josiah happened to be there to mill that day, and heerd all about it.

The miller at Loontown was at the Jonesville mill to borrow some bags, and Josiah happened to be there milling that day and heard all about it.

Cephas had got the monument, and the ornaments on it cost fur more than he expected. There wuz a wreath a-runnin' round it clear from the bottom to the top, and verses a kinder runnin' up it at the same time. And it cost fearful. Poetry a-runnin' up, they say, costs fur more than it duz on a level.

Cephas got the monument, and the decorations on it cost way more than he expected. There was a wreath running all the way around it from the bottom to the top, with verses kind of going up it at the same time. And it cost a fortune. They say poetry going up costs way more than it does on a flat surface.

Any way, the two thousand dollars that wuz insured on Wellington's life wuzn't quite enough to pay for it. But the sale of his law library and the best of the housen' stuff paid it. The nine hundred he left went, every mite of it, to pay the funeral expenses and mournin' for the family.

Anyway, the two thousand dollars that was insured on Wellington's life wasn’t quite enough to cover it. But selling his law library and a lot of the household items took care of that. The nine hundred he left went, every last cent, to cover the funeral expenses and mourning for the family.

And as bad luck always follers on in a procession, them mortgages of Cephas'ses all run out sort o' together. His creditors sold him out, and when his property wuz all disposed of it left him over fourteen hundred dollars in debt.

And as bad luck always follows in a line, those mortgages of Cephas's all expired around the same time. His creditors sold off his assets, and when his property was all gone, he was left with over fourteen hundred dollars in debt.

The creditors acted perfectly greedy, so they say—took everything they could; and one of the meanest ones took that insane bedquilt that I finished. That wuz mean. They say Sally Ann crumpled right down when that wuz took. Some say that they got hold of that tall weed of Cephas'ses, and some dispute it; some say that he wore it on the last ride he took in Loontown.

The creditors were totally greedy, or so they say—they took everything they could get their hands on; and one of the nastiest ones even took that crazy bedspread I finished. That was just cruel. They say Sally Ann just crumpled when that was taken. Some claim they got that tall weed of Cephas’s, but others dispute it; some say he wore it on the last ride he took in Loontown.

But, howsomever, Cephas wuz took sick, Sally Ann wuzn't able to do anything for their support, S. Annie wuz took down with the typhus, and so it happened the very day the monument wuz brought to the Loontown cemetery, Cephas Bodley's folks wuz carried to the county house, S. Annie, the children and all.

But, regardless, Cephas got sick, and Sally Ann couldn't do anything to support them. S. Annie came down with typhus, and it just so happened that on the very day the monument was brought to the Loontown cemetery, Cephas Bodley's family was taken to the county home, including S. Annie and the kids.

And it happened dretful curius, but the town hired that very team that drawed the monument there, to take the family back.

And it happened quite strangely, but the town hired that same team that brought the monument there, to take the family back.

It wuz a good team.

It was a great team.

The monument wuzn't set up, for they lacked money to pay for the underpinnin'! (Wuz n't it curius, Cephas Bodley never would think of the underpinnin' to anything?) But it lay there by the side of the road, a great white shape.

The monument wasn't set up because they didn't have the money to pay for the foundation! (Wasn't it curious that Cephas Bodley never thought about the foundation for anything?) But it lay there by the side of the road, a big white shape.

And they say the children wuz skairt, and cried when they went by it—cried and wept.

And they say the kids were scared and cried when they passed by it—cried and wept.

But I believe it wuz because they wuz cold and hungry that made 'em cry. I don't believe it wuz the monument.

But I think it was because they were cold and hungry that made them cry. I don't believe it was the monument.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER 11.

A few days follerin' on and ensuin' after this eppisode, Submit Tewksburv wuz a takin' supper with me. She had come home with me from the meetin' house where we had been to work all day.

A few days later, after this episode, Submit Tewksbury was having dinner with me. She had come home with me from the meeting house where we had been working all day.

I had urged her to stay, for she lived a mile further on the road, and had got to walk home afoot.

I had convinced her to stay, since she lived another mile down the road and had to walk home on foot.

And she hain't any too well off, Submit hain't—she has to work hard for every mite of food she eats, and clothes she wears, and fuel and lights, etc., etc.

And she isn’t doing very well, Submit isn’t—she has to work hard for every bit of food she eats, the clothes she wears, and for fuel and lights, etc., etc.

So I keep her to dinners and suppers all I can, specially when we are engaged in meetin' house work, for as poor as Submit is, she will insist on doin' for the meetin' house jest as much as any other female woman in Jonesville.

So I invite her to dinners and suppers as much as I can, especially when we’re doing work for the meeting house, because even though Submit is poor, she insists on helping out for the meeting house just as much as any other woman in Jonesville.

She is quite small boneded, and middlin' good lookin' for a women of her years. She has got big dark eyes, very soft and mellow lookin' in expression—and a look deep down into 'em, as if she had been waitin' for something, for some time. Her hair is gettin' quite gray now, but its original color was auburn, and she has got quite a lot of it—kinder crinkly round her forward. Her complexion is pale. She is a very good lookin' woman yet, might marry any day of the week now, I hain't no doubt of it. She is a single woman, but is well thought on in Jonesville, and the southern part of Zoar, where she has relatives on her mother's side.

She is pretty small-boned and fairly good-looking for a woman her age. She has big dark eyes that look very soft and warm, with a depth to them, as if she’s been waiting for something for a while. Her hair is turning quite gray now, but it used to be auburn, and she has a lot of it—kind of curly around her forehead. Her complexion is pale. She is still a good-looking woman and could get married any day of the week, I have no doubt about that. She is single but is well-regarded in Jonesville and the southern part of Zoar, where she has relatives on her mother's side.

She has had chances to my certain knowledge (widowers and such).

She has had opportunities, to my knowledge (widowers and the like).

But if all the men in the world should come and stand in rows in front of her gate with gilded crowns in their hands all ready to crown her, and septers all ready for her to grasp holt of, and wield over the world, she would refuse every one of 'em.

But if all the men in the world came and lined up in front of her gate with golden crowns in their hands, ready to crown her, and scepters for her to take and rule over the world with, she would turn them all down.

She has had a disappointment, Submit has. And she looked at the world so long through tears, that the world got to lookin' sort o' dim like and shadowy to her, and the whole men race looked to her fur off and misty, as folks will when you look at 'em through a rain.

She’s faced a disappointment, Submit has. And she stared at the world for so long through tears that everything started to seem kind of dim and shadowy to her, and the entire human race looked distant and hazy, like people do when you view them through rain.

She couldn't marry one of them shadows of men, if she tried, and she hain't never tried. No, her heart always has been, and is now, fur away, a-travellin' through unknown regions, unknown, and yet more real to her than Jonesville or Zoar, a-follerin' the one man in the world who is a reality to her. Submit wuz engaged to a young Methodist minister by the name of Samuel Danker. I remember him well. A good lookin' young fellow at the time, with blue eyes and light hair, ruther long and curly, and kinder wavin' back from his forward, and a deep spiritual look in his eyes. In fact, his eyes looked right through the fashions and follys of the civilized world, into the depths of ignorance, rivers of ruin and despair, that wuz a-washin' over a human race, black jungles where naked sin and natural depravities crouched hungry for victims.

She couldn't marry any of those shadows of men, even if she tried, and she never has tried. No, her heart has always been, and still is, far away, traveling through unknown territories, unknown yet more real to her than Jonesville or Zoar, following the one man in the world who truly matters to her. Submit was engaged to a young Methodist minister named Samuel Danker. I remember him well. He was a good-looking young guy at the time, with blue eyes and light, somewhat long and curly hair that kind of waved back from his forehead, and a deep spiritual look in his eyes. In fact, his eyes seemed to see right through the trends and follies of the civilized world, into the depths of ignorance, rivers of ruin and despair, washing over the human race, dark jungles where naked sin and natural depravity lurked, hungry for victims.

Samuel Danker felt that he had got to go into heathen lands as a missionary. He wuz engaged to Submit, and loved her dearly, and he urged her to go too.

Samuel Danker felt that he had to go into foreign lands as a missionary. He was engaged to Submit, loved her dearly, and urged her to go with him.

But Submit had a invalid father on her hands, a bed rid grandfather, and three young brothers, too young to earn a thing, and they all on 'em together hadn't a cent of money to their names. They had twenty-five acres of middlin' poor land, and a old house.

But Submit had an invalid father on her hands, a bedridden grandfather, and three young brothers who were too young to earn anything, and all of them together didn’t have a cent to their names. They had twenty-five acres of pretty poor land and an old house.

Wall, Submit felt that she couldn't leave these helpless ones and go to more foreign heathen lands. So, with a achin' heart, she let Samuel Danker go from her, for he felt a call, loud, and she couldn't counsel him to shet up his ears, or put cotton into 'em. Submit Tewksbury had always loved and worked for the Methodist meetin' house (she jined it on probation when she wuz thirteen). But although she always had been extremely liberal in givin', and had made a practice of contributin' every cent she could spare to the meetin' house, it wuz spozed that Samuel Danker wuz the biggest offerin' she had ever give to it.

Wall, Submit felt she couldn't leave these helpless people and travel to more strange and foreign lands. So, with a heavy heart, she let Samuel Danker go, because he felt a strong calling, and she couldn't advise him to ignore it. Submit Tewksbury had always loved and worked for the Methodist church (she joined it on probation when she was thirteen). But even though she had always been very generous in giving and had made a habit of contributing every cent she could spare to the church, it was believed that Samuel Danker was the biggest offering she had ever made to it.

Fur it wuz known that he went to her the night before he sot sail, took supper with her, and told her she should decide the matter for him, whether he went or whether he staid.

For it was known that he went to her the night before he set sail, had dinner with her, and told her she should decide for him whether he should go or stay.

It wuz spozed his love for Submit wuz so great that it made him waver when the time come that he must leave her to her lot of toil and sacrifice and loneliness.

It was supposed that his love for Submit was so deep that it made him hesitate when the time came for him to leave her to her life of hard work, sacrifice, and loneliness.

But Submit loved the Methodist meetin' house to that extent, she leaned so hard on the arm of Duty, that she nerved up her courage anew, refused to accept the sacrifice of his renunciation, bid him go to his great work, and quit himself like a man—told him she would always love him, pray for him, be constant to him. And she felt that the Master they both wanted to serve would some day bring him back to her.

But Submit loved the Methodist meeting house so much that she leaned heavily on the arm of Duty, which renewed her courage. She refused to accept the sacrifice of his renunciation, urged him to pursue his great work, and told him to stand proud like a man. She assured him that she would always love him, pray for him, and remain true to him. She believed that the Master they both wished to serve would someday bring him back to her.

So he sailed away to his heathens—and Submit stayed to home with her five helpless males and her achin' heart. And if I had to tell which made her the most trouble, I couldn't to save my life.

So he sailed away to his wild companions—and Submit stayed home with her five helpless guys and her aching heart. And if I had to say which caused her more trouble, I couldn't to save my life.

She knew the secret of her achin' heart, and the long dark nights she kep awake with it. The neighbors couldn't understand that exactly, for there hain't no language been discovered yet that will give voice to the silent crys of a breakin' heart, a tender heart, a constant heart, cryin' out acrost the grayness of dreary days acrost the blackness of lonely nights.

She understood the pain of her aching heart and the long, dark nights she stayed awake because of it. The neighbors couldn't quite grasp that, since there isn’t any language that can express the silent cries of a broken heart, a tender heart, a loyal heart, calling out through the dullness of gloomy days and the darkness of lonely nights.

But we could see her troubles with the peevish paralasys of age, with the tremendus follys of undisciplined youth.

But we could see her struggles with the annoying paralysis of old age, alongside the tremendous foolishness of undisciplined youth.

But Submit took care of the hull caboodle of 'em; worked out some by days' works, to get more necessaries for 'em than the poor little farm would bring in; nursed the sick on their sick-beds and on their death-beds, till she see 'em into Heaven—or that is where we spoze they went to, bein' deservin' old males both on 'em, her father and her grandfather, and in full connectin with the Methodist Episcopel meetin' house.

But Submit took care of the whole lot of them; worked out some day labor to get more supplies for them than the poor little farm could provide; nursed the sick on their sickbeds and on their deathbeds, until she saw them into Heaven—or at least that's where we assume they went, being deserving old men, both her father and her grandfather, and fully connected with the Methodist Episcopal meeting house.

She took care of her young brothers, patient with 'em always, ready to mend bad rents in their clothin' and their behavior—tryin' to prop up their habits and their morals, givin' 'em all the schoolin' she could, givin' 'em all a good trade, all but the youngest, him she kep with her always till the Lord took him (scarlet fever), took him to learn the mysterius trade of the immortals.

She took care of her younger brothers, always patient with them, ready to fix their ripped clothes and their behavior—trying to improve their habits and morals, giving them all the education she could, teaching them all a good trade, except for the youngest, whom she kept with her until the Lord took him (scarlet fever), taking him to learn the mysterious trade of the immortals.

Submit had a hard fit of sickness after that. And when she got up agin, there wuz round her pale forward a good many white hairs that wuz orburn before the little boy went away from her.

Submit had a tough bout of sickness after that. And when she got up again, there were quite a few white hairs around her pale forehead that were golden before the little boy left her.

Sense that, the other boys have married, and Submit has lived alone in the old farm-house, lettin' the farm out on shares. It is all run down; she don't get much from it; it don't yield much but trouble and burdocks, but as little as she gets, she always will, as I say, do her full share, and more than her share, for the meetin' house.

Realize that the other guys have gotten married, and Submit has lived alone in the old farmhouse, renting out the farm in exchange for a share of the crops. It's all run down; she doesn't make much from it; it only brings her trouble and weeds, but no matter how little she gets, she always, as I say, contributes her fair share, and even more than her share, to the meeting house.

Some think it is on account of her inherient goodness, and some think it is on account of Samuel Danker.

Some believe it's because of her inherent goodness, while others think it's because of Samuel Danker.

We all spose she hain't forgot Samuel. And they do say that every year when the day comes round, that he took supper with her for the last time, she puts a plate on for him—the very one he eat on last—-a pink edged chiny plate, with gilt sprigs, the last one left of her mother's first set of chiny.

We all suppose she hasn't forgotten Samuel. And they say that every year when the anniversary comes around, the last day he had dinner with her, she sets a place for him—the exact plate he ate from last—a pink-edged china plate, with gold designs, the last one left from her mother's first china set.

That is what they say, I hain't never seen the plate.

That’s what they say, but I’ve never seen the plate.

It is now about twenty years sense Samuel Danker went to heathen lands. And as it wuz a man-eatin' tribe he went to preach to, and as he hain't been heern of from that day to this, it is spozed that they eat him up some years ago.

It has been about twenty years since Samuel Danker went to pagan lands. And since he went to preach to a man-eating tribe and hasn't been heard from since that day, it's assumed that they ate him some years ago.

But it is thought that Submit hain't gin up hope yet. We spoze so, but don't know, on account of her never sayin' anything on the subject. But we judge from the plate.

But it's believed that Submit hasn't given up hope yet. We think so, but we don't know for sure since she never mentions anything about it. But we can tell from the plate.

Wall, as I say (and I have episoded fearfully, fearfully), Submit took supper with me that night. And after Josiah had put out his horse (he had been to Jonesville for the evenin' mail, and stopped for us at the meetin' house on his way back), he took the World out of his pocket, and perused it for some time, and from that learned the great news that wimmen wuz jest about to be held up agin, to see if her strength wuz sufficient to set on the Conference.

Wall, as I say (and I have experienced this with great fear), Submit had dinner with me that night. After Josiah put away his horse (he had gone to Jonesville for the evening mail and picked us up at the church on his way back), he took the World out of his pocket and read it for a while. From that, he discovered the big news that women were about to be tested again to see if they had enough strength to sit on the Conference.

And oh! how Josiah Allen went on about it to Submit and me, all the while we wuz a eatin' supper—and for more'n a hour afterwuds.

And oh! how Josiah Allen talked about it to Submit and me, the whole time we were having dinner—and for more than an hour afterwards.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER 12.

Submit wuz very skairt to heern him go on (she felt more nervous on account of an extra hard day's work), and I myself wuz beat out, but I wuzn't afraid at all of him, though he did go on elegant, and dretful empressive and even skairful.

Submit was really scared to hear him go on (she felt more nervous because of an extra hard day's work), and I myself was worn out, but I wasn't afraid of him at all, even though he did speak beautifully, and was truly impressive and even scary.

He stood up on the same old ground that men have always stood up on, the ground of man's great strength and capability, and wimmen's utter weakness, helplessness, and incapacity. Josiah enlarged almost wildly on the subject of how high, how inaccessibley lofty the Conference wuz, and the utter impossibility of a weak, helpless, fragaile bein' like a women ever gettin' up on it, much less settin' on it. And then, oh how vividly he depictered it, how he and every other male Methodist in the land loved wimmen too well, worshipped 'em too deeply to put such a wearin' job onto 'em. Oh how Josiah Allen soared up in eloquence. Submit shed tears, or, that is, I thought she did—I see her wipe her eyes any way. Some think that about the time the Samuel Danker anniversary comes round, she is more nervous and deprested. It wuz very near now, and take that with her hard work that day, it accounts some for her extra depression—though, without any doubt, it wuz Josiah's talk that started the tears.

He stood on the same old ground where men have always stood, the ground of man’s great strength and ability, and women’s complete weakness, helplessness, and incapacity. Josiah rambled on almost wildly about how high and utterly unreachable the Conference was, and how impossible it was for a weak, helpless, fragile being like a woman to ever get up there, let alone sit on it. And then, oh how vividly he described it, how he and every other male Methodist in the country loved women too much, worshipped them too deeply to burden them with such a tiring job. Oh how Josiah Allen soared in his speech. Submit shed tears, or at least I thought she did—I saw her wipe her eyes anyway. Some think that around the time the Samuel Danker anniversary comes around, she gets more nervous and depressed. It was very close now, and considering her hard work that day, that explains some of her extra sadness—though it’s clear that Josiah’s talk started the tears.

I couldn't bear to see Submit look so mournful and deprested, and so, though I wuz that tired myself that I could hardly hold my head up, yet I did take my bits in my teeth, as you may say, and asked him—

I couldn't stand to see Submit looking so sad and downcast, and so, even though I was so tired that I could barely keep my head up, I took the reins in my hands, so to speak, and asked him—

What the awful hard job wuz that he and other men wuz so anxus to ward offen wimmen.

What was the terrible hard job that he and other men were so anxious to keep away from women?

And he sez, “Why, a settin' on the Conference.”

And he says, “Well, sitting on the Conference.”

And I sez, “I don't believe that is such a awful hard job to tackle.”

And I said, “I don't think that's such a tough job to take on.”

“Yes, indeed, it is,” sez Josiah in his most skairful axent, “yes, it is.”

“Yes, it definitely is,” says Josiah in his most scared tone, “yes, it is.”

And he shook his head meenin'ly and impressively, and looked at me and Submit in as mysterius and strange a way, es I have ever been looked at in my life, and I have had dretful curius looks cast onto me, from first to last. And he sez in them deep impressive axents of hisen,

And he shook his head meaningfully and dramatically, looked at me in as mysterious and strange a way as I have ever been looked at in my life, and I've had some really curious looks directed at me, from beginning to end. And he said in those deep, impressive accents of his,

“You jest try it once, and see—I have sot on it, and I know.”

“You should give it a try once and see—I’ve sat on it, and I know.”

Josiah wuz sent once as a delegate to the Methodist Conference, so I spozed he did know.

Josiah was once sent as a delegate to the Methodist Conference, so I assumed he did know.

But I sez, “Why you come home the second day when you sot as happy as a king, and you told me how you had rested off durin' the two days, and how you had visited round at Uncle Jenkins'es, and Cousin Henn's, and you said that you never had had such a good time in your hull life, as you did when you wuz a settin'. You looked as happy as a king, and acted so.”

But I said, “Why did you come home the second day when you were as happy as a king, and you told me how you relaxed over those two days, and how you visited Uncle Jenkins’ and Cousin Henn’s, and you said you never had such a good time in your whole life as you did while you were sitting there. You looked as happy as a king, and you acted that way too.”

Josiah looked dumbfounded for most a quarter of a minute. For he knew my words wuz as true es anything ever sot down in Matthew, Mark, or Luke, or any of the other old patriarks. He knew it wuz Gospel truth, that he had boasted of his good times a settin', and as I say for nearly a quarter of a minute he showed plain signs of mortification.

Josiah looked stunned for almost fifteen seconds. He knew my words were as true as anything ever written in Matthew, Mark, or Luke, or any of the other old patriarchs. He understood it was Gospel truth that he had bragged about his good times sitting, and for nearly fifteen seconds, he clearly showed signs of embarrassment.

But almost imegietly he recovered himself, and went on with the doggy obstinacy of his sect: “Oh, wall! Men can tackle hard jobs, and get some enjoyment out of it too, when it is in the line of duty. One thing that boys em' up, and makes em' happy, is the thought that they are a keepin' trouble and care offen wimmen. That is a sweet thought to men, and always wuz. And there wuz great strains put onto our minds, us men that sot, that wimmen couldn't be expected to grapple with, and hadn't ort to try to. It wuz a great strain onto us.”

But almost immediately he pulled himself together and continued with the stubbornness typical of his kind: “Oh, well! Men can take on tough tasks and even enjoy them when it’s part of their duty. One thing that lifts boys up and makes them happy is the thought that they are keeping trouble and worry away from women. That’s a nice thought for men, and it always has been. There were great pressures put on us men, thinking that women couldn’t handle the challenges we faced and shouldn’t even try. It was a heavy burden for us.”

“What was the nater of the strain?” sez I. “I didn't know as you did a thing only sot still there and go to sleep. You wuz fast asleep there most the hull of the time, for it come straight to me from them that know. And all that Deacon Bobbet did who went with you wuz to hold up his hand two or three times a votin'. I shouldn't think that wuz so awful wearin'.”

“What was the nature of the strain?” I asked. “I didn't know you actually did anything except sit still and fall asleep. You were fast asleep most of the time because it came straight to me from those who know. And all that Deacon Bobbet did while he was with you was raise his hand a couple of times during voting. I wouldn't think that was so exhausting.”

And agin I sez, “What wuz the strain?”

And again I said, “What was the strain?”

But Josiah didn't answer, for that very minute he remembered a pressin' engagement he had about borrowin' a plow. He said he had got to go up to Joe Charnick's to get his plow. (I don't believe he wanted a plow that time of night.) But he hurried away from the spot. And soon after Submit went home lookin' more deprested and down-casted than ever.

But Josiah didn't respond, because at that moment he remembered an urgent commitment he had to borrow a plow. He mentioned he needed to go to Joe Charnick's to get it. (I don't think he actually needed a plow at that time of night.) But he quickly left the area. Soon after, Submit went home looking more depressed and downcast than ever.

And Josiah Allen didn't get home till late at night. I dare persume to say it wuz as late as a quarter to nine when that man got back to the bosom of his family.

And Josiah Allen didn't get home until late at night. I can safely say it was as late as a quarter to nine when that man returned to his family.

And I sot there all alone, and a-meditatin' on things, and a-wonderin' what under the sun he wuz a-traipsin up to Joe Charnick's for at that time of night, and a-worryin' some for fear he wuz a-keepin' Miss Charnick up, and a-spozin' in my mind what Miss Charnick would do, to get along with the meetin' house, and the Conference question, if she wuz a member. (She is a very sensible woman, Jenette Charnick is, very, and a great favorite with me, and others.)

And I sat there all alone, thinking about things and wondering what on earth he was doing at Joe Charnick's at that time of night, and worrying a bit about whether he was keeping Miss Charnick up. I was speculating in my mind about what Miss Charnick would do to handle the meeting house and the Conference issue if she were a member. (She is a very sensible woman, Jenette Charnick is, very, and a great favorite of mine and others.)

And I got to thinkin' how prosperus and happy she is now, and how much she had went through. And I declare the hull thing come back to me, all the strange and curius circumstances connected with her courtship and marriage, and I thought it all out agin, the hull story, from beginnin' to end.

And I started to think about how prosperous and happy she is now, and everything she has been through. I swear it all came back to me, all the strange and curious circumstances surrounding her courtship and marriage, and I went through the whole story again, from beginning to end.

The way it begun wuz—and the way Josiah Allen and me come to have any connectin with the story wuz as follers:

The way it started was—and how Josiah Allen and I got involved in the story was as follows:

Some time ago, and previus, we had a widder come to stay with us a spell, she that wuz Tamer Shelmadine, Miss Trueman Pool that now is.

Some time ago, and earlier, we had a widow come to stay with us for a while, she who was Tamer Shelmadine, now known as Miss Trueman Pool.

Her husband died several years ago, and left her not over and above well off. And so she goes round a-visitin', and has went ever sense his death. And finds sights of faults with things wherever she is, sights of it.

Her husband died several years ago and didn’t leave her in great financial shape. So, she goes around visiting people and has continued to do so ever since his death. And she finds a lot of faults with things wherever she is, a lot of them.

Trueman wuz Josiah's cousin, on his own side, and I always made a practice of usin' her quite well. She used to live neighbor to me before I wuz married, and she come and stayed nine weeks.

Trueman was Josiah's cousin on his side, and I always made it a point to treat her well. She used to live next door to me before I got married, and she came and stayed for nine weeks.

She is a tall spindlin' woman, a Second Adventist by perswasion, and weighs about ninety-nine pounds.

She is a tall, slender woman, a Second Adventist by belief, and weighs about ninety-nine pounds.

Wall, as I say, she means middlin' well, and would be quite agreeable if it wuzn't for a habit she has of thinkin' what she duz is a leetle better than anybody else can do, and wantin' to tell a leetle better story than anybody else can.

Wall, like I said, she means fairly well and would be pretty agreeable if it weren't for her habit of thinking what she does is a little better than anyone else can do, and wanting to tell a little better story than anyone else can.

Now she thinks she looks better than I do. But Josiah sez she can't begin with me for looks, and I don't spoze she can, though of course it hain't to be expected that I would want it told of that I said so. No, I wouldn't want it told of pro or con, especially con. But I know Josiah Allen has always been called a pretty good judge of wimmen's looks.

Now she thinks she looks better than I do. But Josiah says she can't compare to me when it comes to looks, and I don't suppose she can, though of course I wouldn't want it to be known that I said that. No, I wouldn't want anyone to know either way, especially not the negative. But I know Josiah Allen has always been considered a pretty good judge of women's looks.

And now she thinks she can set hens better than I can—and make better riz biscuit. She jest the same as told me so. Any way, the first time I baked bread after she got here, she looked down on my loaves real haughty, yet with a pityin' look, and sez:

And now she thinks she can raise chickens better than I can—and make better biscuit. She practically told me that. Anyway, the first time I baked bread after she arrived, she looked down at my loaves all haughty, yet with a pitying look, and said:

“It is very good for yeast, but I always use milk emptin's.”

“It’s great for yeast, but I always use milk leftovers.”

And she kinder tested her head, and sort o' swept out of the room, not with a broom, no, she would scorn to sweep out a room with a broom or help me in any way, but she sort o' swept it out with her mean. But I didn't care, I knew my bread wuz good.

And she kind of tilted her head and sort of left the room, not with a broom, no, she would never use a broom to clean a room or help me at all, but she sort of swept it out with her attitude. But I didn't mind, I knew my bread was good.

Now if anybody is sick, she will always tell of times when she has been sicker. She boasts of layin' three nights and two days in a fit. But we don't believe it, Josiah and me don't. That is, we don't believe she lay there so long, a-runnin'.

Now if anyone is sick, she'll always talk about times when she was even sicker. She claims she spent three nights and two days in a fit. But we don’t believe it, Josiah and I don’t. At least, we don’t believe she actually stayed there that long, suffering.

We believe she come out of 'em occasionally.

We think she comes out of them sometimes.

But you couldn't get her to give off a hour or a minute of the time. Three nights and two days she lay there a-runnin', so she sez, and she has said it so long, that we spoze, Josiah and me do, that she believes it herself now.

But you couldn't get her to spare an hour or even a minute of her time. For three nights and two days, she lay there claiming she was busy, and she's said it for so long that Josiah and I think she actually believes it herself now.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER 13.

Curius, hain't it? How folks will get to tellin' things, and finally tell 'em so much, that finally they will get to believin' of 'em themselves—boastin' of bein' rich, etc., or bad. Now I have seen folks boast over that, act real haughty because they had been bad and got over it. I've seen temperance lecturers and religious exhorters boast sights and sights over how bad they had been. But they wuzn't tellin' the truth, though they had told the same thing so much that probable they had got to thinkin' so.

Curius, right? It's funny how people will start telling stories and eventually tell them so often that they actually start believing them—like bragging about being rich, or being bad. I’ve seen people act all high and mighty because they used to be bad and have turned their lives around. I've watched temperance speakers and religious motivators brag endlessly about how bad they used to be. But they weren’t being honest, even though they told the same story so many times that they probably started believing it themselves.

But in the case of one man in petickuler, I found out for myself, for I didn't believe what he wuz a sayin' any of the time.

But in the case of one man in particular, I found out for myself because I didn't believe what he was saying at all.

Why, he made out in evenin' meetin's, protracted and otherwise, that he had been a awful villain. Why no pirate wuz ever wickeder than he made himself out to be, in the old times before he turned round and become pious.

Why, he realized in evening meetings, both long and short, that he had been an awful villain. No pirate was ever as wicked as he made himself out to be in the old days before he turned around and became pious.

But I didn't believe it, for he had a good look to his face, all but the high headed look he had, and sort o' vain.

But I didn't believe it because he had a nice look to his face, except for the high-headed look he had, which was kind of vain.

But except this one look, his face wuz a good moral face, and I knew that no man could cut up and act as he claimed that he had, without carryin' some marks on the face of the cuttin' up, and also of the actin'.

But aside from that one expression, his face was a decent, honest face, and I knew that no man could mess around and behave the way he claimed without showing some signs of his wild behavior and acting.

And so, as it happened, I went a visitin' (to Josiah's relations) to the very place where he had claimed to do his deeds of wild badness, and I found that he had always been a pattern man—never had done a single mean act, so fur as wuz known.

And so, as it turned out, I went to visit Josiah's relatives at the very place where he said he had committed all his misdeeds, and I found that he had always been an upstanding man—never did a single shady thing, as far as anyone knew.

Where wuz his boastin' then? As the Bible sez, why, it wuz all vain talk. He had done it to get up a reputation. He had done it because he wuz big feelin' and vain. And he had got so haughty over it, and had told of it so much, that I spoze he believed in it himself.

Where was his boasting then? As the Bible says, it was all empty talk. He did it to build a reputation. He did it because he was feeling important and vain. And he got so prideful about it, and talked about it so much, that I suppose he started to believe it himself.

Curius! hain't it? But I am a eppisodin', and to resoom. Trueman's wife would talk jest so, jest so haughty and high headed, about the world comin' to a end.

Curius! Isn't it? But I’m rambling, so to get back on track. Trueman's wife would talk just like that, so haughty and full of herself, about the world coming to an end.

She'd dispute with everybody right up and down if they disagreed with her—and specially about that religion of hern. How sot she wuz, how extremely sot.

She would argue with anyone and everyone if they disagreed with her—especially about that religion of hers. How stubborn she was, how incredibly stubborn.

But then, it hain't in me, nor never wuz, to fight anybody for any petickuler religion of theirn. There is sights and sights of different religions round amongst different friends of mine, and most all on 'em quite good ones.

But then, it's not in me, and never has been, to fight anyone over their particular religion. There are loads of different religions among my friends, and most of them are pretty good ones.

That is, they are agreeable to the ones who believe in 'em, and not over and above disagreeable to me.

That is, they are fine with those who believe in them, and not particularly unpleasant to me.

Now it seems to me that in most all of these different doctrines and beliefs, there is a grain of truth, and if folks would only kinder hold onto that grain, and hold themselves stiddy while they held onto it, they would be better off.

Now it seems to me that in almost all of these different doctrines and beliefs, there is a bit of truth, and if people would just stick to that bit and stay steady while doing so, they would be better off.

But most folks when they go to follerin' off a doctrine, they foller too fur, they hain't megum enough.

But most people, when they start following a belief, go too far; they aren't reasonable enough.

Now, for instance, when you go to work and whip anybody, or hang 'em, or burn 'em up for not believin' as you do, that is goin' too fur.

Now, for example, when you go to work and hit someone, or hang them, or burn them for not believing what you believe, that's going too far.

It has been done though, time and agin, in the world's history, and mebby will be agin.

It has been done, though, time and again, in the world's history, and maybe will be again.

But it hain't reasonable. Now what good will doctrines o' any kind do to anybody after they are burnt up or choked to death?

But that's not reasonable. What good will any doctrines do for anyone after they're burned up or choked to death?

You see such things hain't bein' megum. Because I can't believe jest as somebody else duz, it hain't for me to pitch at 'em and burn 'em up, or even whip 'em.

You see, things like that aren't okay. Just because I can't believe the same way someone else does, it doesn't give me the right to attack them or even punish them.

No, indeed! And most probable if I should study faithfully out their beliefs, I would find one grain, or mebby a grain and a half of real truth in it.

No way! And it's very likely that if I really looked into their beliefs, I'd find maybe a little bit of real truth in there—like one grain or maybe a grain and a half.

Now, for instance, take the doctrines of Christian Healin', or Mind Cure. Now I can't exactly believe that if I fell down and hurt my head on a stun—I cannot believe as I am a layin' there, that I hain't fell, and there hain't no stun—and while I am a groanin' and a bathin' the achin' bruise in anarky and wormwood, I can't believe that there hain't no such thing as pain, nor never wuz.

Now, for example, consider the beliefs around Christian Healing or Mind Cure. I can't honestly believe that if I fell and hurt my head on a stone—I can't believe while I'm lying there that I haven't fallen and there isn't a stone—and while I'm groaning and dealing with the aching bruise in chaos and bitterness, I can't believe that pain doesn't exist, nor ever did.

No, I can't believe this with the present light I have got on the subject.

No, I can't believe this with the current understanding I have on the subject.

But yet, I have seen them that this mind cure religion had fairly riz right up, and made 'em nigher to heaven every way—so nigh to it that seemin'ly a light out of some of its winders had lit up their faces with its glowin' repose, its sweet rapture.

But I have seen that this mind cure religion really has risen up and brought them closer to heaven in every way—so close that it seemed a light from some of its windows had brightened their faces with a glowing peace, its sweet joy.

I've seen 'em, seen 'em as the Patent Medicine Maker observes so frequently, “before and after takin'.”

I've seen them, seen them just like the Patent Medicine Maker often observes, “before and after taking.”

Folks that wuz despondent and hopeless, and wretched actin', why, this belief made 'em jest blossom right out into a state of hopefulness, and calmness, and joy—refreshin' indeed to contemplate.

People who were feeling down and hopeless, and acting miserable, well, this belief made them just bloom into a state of hopefulness, calmness, and joy—refreshing to think about.

Wall now, the idee of whippin' anybody for believin' anything that brings such a good change to 'em, and fills them and them round 'em with so much peace and happiness.

Well now, the idea of punishing anyone for believing something that brings such a positive change to them, and fills them and those around them with so much peace and happiness.

Why, I wouldn't do it for a dollar bill. And as for hangin' 'em, and brilin' 'em on gridirons, etc., why, that is entirely out of the question, or ort to be.

Why, I wouldn't do it for a dollar. And about hanging them, or grilling them on grills, that's completely out of the question, or it should be.

And now, it don't seem to me that I ever could make a tree walk off, by lookin' at it, and commandin' it to—or call some posys to fall down into my lap, right through, the plasterin'—

And now, it doesn’t seem to me that I could ever make a tree walk away just by looking at it and commanding it to—or call some flowers to fall down into my lap, right through the plaster.

Or send myself, or one of myselfs, off to Injy, while the other one of me stayed to Jonesville.

Or I could send myself, or one of my selves, off to India, while the other one of me stayed in Jonesville.

Now, honestly speakin', it don't seem to me that I ever could learn to do this, not at my age, any way, and most dead with rheumatiz a good deal of the time.

Now, to be honest, it doesn’t seem like I could ever learn to do this, not at my age anyway, and I’m often pretty much incapacitated by arthritis most of the time.

I most know I couldn't.

I definitely know I couldn't.

But then agin I have seen believers in Theosiphy that could do wonders, and seemed indeed to have got marvelous control over the forces of Natur.

But then again, I've seen believers in Theosophy who could do amazing things and really seemed to have incredible control over the forces of nature.

And now the idee of my whippin' 'em for it. Why you wouldn't ketch me at it.

And now the idea of me whipping them for it. You definitely wouldn't catch me doing that.

And Spiritualism now! I spoze, and I about know that there are lots of folks that won't ever see into any other world than this, till the breath leaves their body.

And Spiritualism now! I suppose, and I know that there are many people who will never understand any other world beyond this one until they take their last breath.

Yet i've seen them, pure sweet souls too, as I ever see, whose eyes beheld blessed visions withheld from more material gaze.

Yet I've seen them, pure sweet souls too, just as I always do, whose eyes witnessed blessed visions that were hidden from more material views.

Yes, i've neighbored with about all sorts of religius believers, and never disputed that they had a right to their own religion.

Yes, I've lived next to all kinds of religious believers, and I've never disputed their right to their own religion.

And I've seen them too that didn't make a practice of goin' to any meetin' houses much, who lived so near to God and his angels that they felt the touch of angel hands on their forwards every day of their lives, and you could see the glow of the Fairer Land in their rapt eyes.

And I've seen people who didn't really go to any churches much, but who lived so close to God and His angels that they felt the touch of angel hands on their foreheads every day of their lives. You could see the glow of a better place in their captivated eyes.

They had outgrown the outward forms of religion that had helped them at first, jest as children outgrow the primers and ABC books of their childhood and advance into the higher learnin'.

They had outgrown the external practices of religion that had helped them at first, just as children outgrow the basic readers and ABC books of their childhood and move on to more advanced learning.

I've seen them folks i've neighbored with 'em. Human faults they had, or God would have taken them to His own land before now. Their imperfections, I spoze sort o' anchored 'em here for a spell to a imperfect world.

I've seen those people, I’ve lived beside them. They had human faults, or God would have taken them to His own realm by now. Their imperfections, I suppose, sort of kept them here for a while in this flawed world.

But you could see, if you got nigh enough to their souls to see anything about 'em—you could see that the anchor chains wuz slight after all, and when they wuz broke, oh how lightly and easily they would sail away, away to the land that their rapt souls inhabited even now.

But you could see, if you got close enough to their souls to see anything about them—you could see that the anchor chains were actually weak, and when they were broken, oh how effortlessly they would drift away, away to the land that their captivated souls lived in even now.

Yes, I've seen all sorts of religius believers and I wuzn't goin' to be too hard on Tamer for her belief, though I couldn't believe as she did.

Yes, I've seen all kinds of religious believers, and I wasn't going to be too harsh on Tamer for her beliefs, even though I couldn't believe the way she did.

CHAPTER XIV.

CHAPTER 14.

He come to our house a visitin' along the first week in June, and the last day in June wuz the day they had sot for the world to come to an end. I, myself, didn't believe she knew positive about it, and Josiah didn't either. And I sez to her, “The Bible sez that it hain't agoin' to be revealed to angels even, or to the Son himself, but only to the Father when that great day shall be.” And sez I to Trueman's wife, sez I, “How should you be expected to know it?”

He came to our house for a visit during the first week of June, and the last day of June was the day they set for the world to end. I personally didn't think she really knew for sure about it, and neither did Josiah. So I said to her, “The Bible says that it won't be revealed to angels, not even to the Son himself, but only to the Father when that great day comes.” And I said to Trueman's wife, “How could you possibly know?”

Sez she, with that same collected together haughty look to her, “My name wuzn't mentioned, I believe, amongst them that wuzn't to know it!”

She said, with that same composed, arrogant expression, “I don’t think my name was mentioned among those who weren’t supposed to know it!”

And of course I had to own up that it wuzn't. But good land! I didn't believe she knew a thing more about it than I did, but I didn't dispute with her much, because she wuz one of the relatives on his side—you know you have to do different with 'em than you do with them on your own side—you have to. And then agin, I felt that if it didn't come to an end she would be convinced that she wuz in the wrong on't, and if she did we should both of us be pretty apt to know it, so there wuzn't much use in disputin' back and forth.

And of course I had to admit that it wasn't. But good grief! I didn't think she knew any more about it than I did, but I didn't argue with her much because she was one of the relatives on his side—you know you have to handle them differently than you do your own—you just have to. And then again, I felt that if it didn't come to a resolution, she would end up believing she was at fault, and if that happened, we both would probably be aware of it, so there wasn't much point in going back and forth arguing.

But she wuz firm as iron in her belief. And she had come up visitin' to our home, so's to be nigh when Trueman riz. Trueman wuz buried in the old Risley deestrict, not half a mile from us on a back road. And she naterally wanted to be round at the time.

But she was as firm as iron in her belief. She had come to visit our home so she could be close when Trueman rose. Trueman was buried in the old Risley district, not half a mile from us on a back road. Naturally, she wanted to be there at the time.

She said plain to me that Trueman never could seem to get along without her. And though she didn't say it right out, she carried the idea (and Josiah resented it because Trueman was a favorite cousin of his'n on his own side.) She jest the same as said right out that Trueman, if she wuzn't by him to tend to him, would be jest as apt to come up wrong end up as any way.

She told me straight up that Trueman could never seem to manage without her. And even though she didn't say it directly, she implied that (and Josiah didn't like it because Trueman was one of his favorite cousins). She practically said that if she wasn't there to take care of Trueman, he would just end up going in the wrong direction like anyone else.

Josiah didn't like it at all.

Josiah didn't like it one bit.

Wall, she had lived a widowed life for a number of years, and had said right out, time and time agin, that she wouldn't marry agin. But Josiah thought, and I kinder mistrusted myself, that she wuz kinder on the lookout, and would marry agin if she got a chance—not fierce, you know, or anything of that kind, but kinder quietly lookin' out and standin' ready. That wuz when she first come; but before she went away she acted fierce.

Well, she had been living as a widow for several years and had openly said, time and again, that she wouldn’t marry again. But Josiah thought, and I kind of suspected too, that she was somewhat on the lookout and would marry again if the opportunity came up—not aggressively or anything like that, just quietly keeping an eye out and ready. That was when she first arrived; but before she left, she acted tough.

Wall, there wuz sights of Adventists up in the Risley deestrict, and amongst the rest wuz an old bachelder, Joe Charnick.

Wall, there were sightings of Adventists in the Risley district, and among them was an old bachelor, Joe Charnick.

And Joe Charnick wuz, I s'poze, of all Advents, the most Adventy. He jest knew the world wuz a comin' to a end that very day, the last day of June, at four o'clock in the afternoon. And he got his robe all made to go up in. It wuz made of a white book muslin, and Jenette Finster made it. Cut it out by one of his mother's nightgowns—so she told me in confidence, and of course I tell it jest the same; I want it kep.

And Joe Charnick was, I suppose, of all the Adventists, the most committed. He just knew the world was coming to an end that very day, the last day of June, at four o'clock in the afternoon. And he got his robe all ready to go up in. It was made of white muslin, and Jenette Finster made it. She cut it out from one of his mother's nightgowns—so she told me in confidence, and of course I’m sharing it the same way; I want it kept.

She was afraid Joe wouldn't like it, if he knew she took the nightgown for a guide, wantin' it, as he did, for a religious purpose.

She was worried Joe wouldn't approve if he found out she used the nightgown as a reference, wanting it for a religious reason, just like he did.

But, good land! as I told her, religion or not, anybody couldn't cut anything to look anyhow without sumpthin' fora guide, and she bein' an old maiden felt a little delicate about measurin' him.

But, good grief! as I told her, whether it’s religion or not, nobody can really create anything that looks good without something to guide them, and since she was an old maid, she felt a bit awkward about measuring him.

His mother wuz as big round as he wuz, her weight bein' 230 by the steelyards, and she allowed 2 fingers and a half extra length—Joe is tall. She gathered it in full round the neck, and the sleeves (at his request) hung down like wings, a breadth for each wing wuz what she allowed. Jenette owned up to me (though she wouldn't want it told of for the world, for it had been sposed for years, that he and she had a likin' for each other, and mebby would make a match some time, though what they had been a-waitin' for for the last 10 years nobody knew). But she allowed to me that when he got his robe on, he wuz the worst lookin' human bein' that she ever laid eyes on, and sez she, for she likes a joke, Jenette duz: “I should think if Joe looked in the glass after he got it on, his religion would be a comfort to him; I should think he would be glad the world wuz comin' to a end.”

His mother was as big around as he was, weighing 230 on the scales, and she added an extra two and a half fingers for length—Joe is tall. She gathered it full around the neck, and the sleeves (at his request) hung down like wings; she allowed a breadth for each wing. Jenette confessed to me (though she wouldn’t want it known at all, since for years it had been believed that he and she liked each other and maybe would get together sometime, though nobody knew what they had been waiting for over the last 10 years). But she told me that when he put on his robe, he was the ugliest human being she had ever seen, and she said, since she likes a joke: “I’d think if Joe looked in the mirror after he put it on, his religion would be comforting; I’d think he’d be glad the world was coming to an end.”

But he didn't look at the glass, Jenette said he didn't; he wanted to see if it wuz the right size round the neck. Joe hain't handsome, but he is kinder good-lookin', and he is a good feller and got plenty to do with, but bein' kinder big-featured, and tall, and hefty, he must have looked like fury in the robe. But he is liked by everybody, and everybody is glad to see him so prosperous and well off.

But he didn't look at the glass, Jenette said he didn't; he wanted to see if it was the right size around the neck. Joe isn't handsome, but he's somewhat good-looking, and he’s a nice guy with plenty going on, but being somewhat big-featured, tall, and heavy, he must have looked pretty wild in the robe. But everyone likes him, and everyone is happy to see him doing so well and thriving.

He has got 300 acres of good land, “be it more or less,” as the deed reads; 30 head of cows, and 7 head of horses (and the hull bodies of 'em). And a big sugar bush, over 1100 trees, and a nice little sugar house way up on a pretty side hill amongst the maple trees. A good, big, handsome dwellin' house, a sort of cream color, with green blinds; big barn, and carriage house, etc., etc., and everything in the very best of order. He is a pattern farmer and a pattern son—yes, Joe couldn't be a more pattern son if he acted every day from a pattern.

He has 300 acres of good land, “give or take,” according to the deed; 30 cows and 7 horses (and all of them). He also has a large sugar bush with over 1,100 trees and a charming little sugar house way up on a nice hillside among the maple trees. There’s a big, attractive house, a kind of cream color with green shutters; a large barn, a carriage house, and everything in top condition. He's a model farmer and a model son—yes, Joe couldn’t be a better son if he followed a blueprint every day.

He treats his mother dretful pretty, from day to day. She thinks that there hain't nobody like Joe; and it wuz s'pozed that Jenette thought so too.

He treats his mother really well, day after day. She believes that there’s nobody like Joe; and it was supposed that Jenette thought so too.

But Jenette is, and always wuz, runnin' over with common sense, and she always made fun and laughed at Joe when he got to talkin' about his religion, and about settin' a time for the world to come to a end. And some thought that that wuz one reason why the match didn't go off, for Joe likes her, everybody could see that, for he wuz jest such a great, honest, open-hearted feller, that he never made any secret of it. And Jenette liked Joe I knew, though she fooled a good many on the subject. But she wuz always a great case to confide in me, and though she didn't say so right out, which wouldn't have been her way, for, as the poet sez, she wuzn't one “to wear her heart on the sleeves of her bask waist,” still, I knew as well es I wanted to, that she thought her eyes of him. And old Miss Charnick jest about worshipped Jenette, would have her with her, sewin' for her, and takin' care of her—she wuz sick a good deal, Mother Charnick wuz. And she would have been tickled most to death to have had Joe marry her and bring her right home there.

But Jenette is, and always was, overflowing with common sense, and she always teased and laughed at Joe when he started talking about his religion and about setting a date for the end of the world. Some people thought that was one reason the engagement didn't happen because Joe really liked her; everyone could see that, since he was just such a great, honest, open-hearted guy that he never hid it. And Jenette liked Joe, I knew, even though she misled a lot of people on that topic. But she always confided in me, and even though she didn't say it outright—which wouldn’t be her style, because, as the poet says, she wasn’t one "to wear her heart on the sleeves of her bask waist"—I knew as much as I needed to know that she cared for him. And old Miss Charnick practically worshiped Jenette, always wanting her around, sewing for her, and taking care of her—she was sick a lot, Mother Charnick was. And she would have been thrilled to pieces to have had Joe marry her and bring her right home there.

And Jenette wuz a smart little creeter, “smart as lightnin',” as Josiah always said.

And Jenette was a sharp little creature, “smart as lightning,” as Josiah always said.

She had got along in years, Jenette had, without marryin', for she staid to hum and took care of her old father and mother and Tom. The other girls married off, and left her to hum, and she had chances, so it wuz said, good ones, but she wouldn't leave her father and mother, who wuz gettin' old, and kinder bed-rid, and needed her. Her father, specially, said he couldn't live, and wouldn't try to, if Jenette left 'em, but he said, the old gentleman did, that Jenette should be richly paid for her goodness to 'em.

She had gotten older, Jenette had, without getting married, because she stayed home and took care of her elderly father, mother, and Tom. The other girls got married and left her at home, and she had opportunities, good ones, it was said, but she wouldn't leave her parents, who were getting old and somewhat bedridden, and needed her. Her father, especially, said he couldn't go on living, and wouldn't even try, if Jenette left them, but he said, the old gentleman did, that Jenette should be well compensated for her kindness to them.

That wuzn't what made Jenette good, no, indeed; she did it out of the pure tenderness and sweetness of her nature and lovin'heart. But I used to love to hear the old gentleman talk that way, for he wuz well off, and I felt that so far as money could pay for the hull devotion of a life, why, Jenette would be looked out for, and have a good home, and enough to do with. So she staid to hum, as I say, and took care of'em night and day; sights of watching and wearisome care she had, poor little creeter; but she took the best of care of 'em, and kep 'em kinder comforted up, and clean, and brought up Tom, the youngest boy, by hand, and thought her eyes on him.

That wasn't what made Jenette special, no, not at all; she did it out of the pure kindness and sweetness of her nature and loving heart. But I used to enjoy hearing the old gentleman talk like that, because he was well-off, and I felt that as far as money could go in securing a lifetime of devotion, Jenette would be taken care of, have a good home, and enough to keep her occupied. So she stayed at home, as I said, and looked after them night and day; she had so much watching and tiring care, poor little thing; but she took the best care of them, kept them somewhat comforted and clean, and raised Tom, the youngest boy, by hand, keeping a close eye on him.

And he wuz a smart chap—awful smart, as it proved in the end; for he married when he wuz 21, and brought his wife (a disagreeable creeter) home to the old homestead, and Jenette, before they had been there 2 weeks, wuz made to feel that her room wuz better than her company.

And he was a clever guy—really clever, as it turned out; because he got married when he was 21 and brought his wife (a really unpleasant person) home to the family house. Jenette, before they had even been there for 2 weeks, felt like her room was worth more than her company.

That wuz the year the old gentleman died; her mother had died 3 months prior and beforehand.

That was the year the old man died; her mother had passed away 3 months earlier.

Her brother, as I said, wur smart, and he and his wife got round the old man in some way and sot him against Jenette, and got everything he had.

Her brother, as I said, was smart, and he and his wife managed to win the old man over somehow and turned him against Jenette, ultimately getting everything he owned.

He wuz childish, the old man wuz; used to try to put his pantaloons on over his head, and get his feet into his coat sleeves, etc., etc.

He was childish, that old man; he used to try to put his pants on over his head and get his feet into his coat sleeves, and so on, and so forth.

And he changed his will, that had gi'n Jenette half the property, a good property, too, and gi'n it all to Tom, every mite of it, all but one dollar, which Jenette never took by my advice.

And he changed his will, which had given Jenette half of the property, a good property as well, and gave it all to Tom, every bit of it, except for one dollar, which Jenette never accepted on my advice.

For I wuz burnin' indignant at old Mr. Finster and at Tom. Curius, to think such a girl as Jenette had been—such a patient, good creeter, and such a good-tempered one, and everything—to think her pa should have forgot all she had done, and suffered, and gi'n up for 'em, and give the property all to that boy, who had never done anything only to spend their money and make Jenette trouble.

For I was burning with anger at old Mr. Finster and at Tom. It’s curious to think that a girl like Jenette—such a patient, good person, and so good-natured—should have her dad forget everything she had done, suffered, and given up for them, and then give all the property to that boy, who had never done anything except spend their money and cause Jenette trouble.

But then, I s'poze it wuz old Mr. Finster's mind, or the lack on't, and I had to stand it, likewise so did Jenette.

But then, I suppose it was old Mr. Finster's mind, or the lack of it, and I had to deal with it, and so did Jenette.

But I never sot a foot into Tom Finster's house, not a foot after that day that Jenette left it. I wouldn't. But I took her right to my house, and kep her for 9 weeks right along, and wuz glad to.

But I never set foot in Tom Finster's house, not once after that day Jenette left it. I wouldn't. But I took her straight to my house and kept her there for 9 weeks, and I was happy to do it.

That wuz some 10 years prior and before this, and she had gone round sewin' ever sense. And she wuz beloved by everybody, and had gone round highly respected, and at seventy-five cents a day.

That was about 10 years ago, and since then, she had been sewing ever since. Everyone adored her, and she was held in high regard, earning seventy-five cents a day.

Her troubles, and everybody that knew her, knew how many she had of 'em, but she kep 'em all to herself, and met the world and her neighbors with a bright face.

Her troubles, and everyone who knew her, knew how many she had, but she kept them all to herself and faced the world and her neighbors with a bright smile.

If she took her skeletons out of the closet to air 'em, and I s'poze she did, everybody duz; they have to at times, to see if their bones are in good order, if for nothin' else. But if she ever did take 'em out and dust 'em, she did it all by herself. The closet door wuz shet up and locked when anybody wuz round. And you would think, by her bright, laughin' face, that she never heard the word skeleton, or ever listened to the rattle of a bone.

If she brought out her skeletons to show off, and I guess she did, everyone does; they have to sometimes, just to check if their issues are in good shape, if nothing else. But if she ever took them out and cleaned them off, she did it all on her own. The closet door was shut and locked when anyone was around. And you would think, from her bright, laughing face, that she had never heard the word skeleton or listened to the sound of a bone rattling.

And she kep up such a happy, cheerful look on the outside, that I s'poze it ended by her bein' cheerful and happy on the inside.

And she maintained such a happy, cheerful expression on the outside, that I suppose it eventually made her feel cheerful and happy on the inside.

The stiddy, good-natured, happy spirit that she cultivated at first by hard work, so I s'poze; but at last it got to be second nater, the qualities kinder struck in and she wuz happy, and she wuz contented—that is, I s'poze so.

The steady, good-natured, happy spirit that she developed at first through hard work, I guess; but eventually it became second nature, the qualities really took root and she was happy, and she was content—that is, I suppose so.

Though I, who knew Jenette better than anybody else, almost, knew how tuff, how fearful tuff it must have come on her, to go round from home to home—not bein' settled down at home anywhere. I knew jest what a lovin' little home body she wuz. And how her sweet nater, like the sun, would love to light up one bright lovin' home, and shine kinder stiddy there, instead of glancin' and changin' about from one place to another, like a meteor.

Though I, who knew Jenette better than anyone else, understood how tough and frightening it must have been for her to move from home to home—not really having a place to settle down. I knew just what a loving little homebody she was. Her sweet nature, like the sun, would have loved to brighten one happy home and shine steadily there, instead of darting around from one place to another like a shooting star.

Some would have liked it; some like change and constant goin' about, and movin' constantly through space—but I knew Jenette wuzn't made on the meteor plan. I felt sorry for Jenette, down deep in my heart, I did; but I didn't tell her so; no, she wouldn't have liked it; she kep a brave face to the world. And as I said, her comin' wuz looked for weeks and weeks ahead, in any home where she wuz engaged to sew by the day.

Some would have liked it; some enjoy change and constantly being on the move, always traveling through space—but I knew Jenette wasn’t the type for that. I felt sorry for Jenette, deep down in my heart, I did; but I didn’t tell her that; no, she wouldn’t have liked it; she put on a brave face for the world. And as I said, her arrival was anticipated for weeks and weeks in any home where she was hired to sew by the day.

Everybody in the house used to feel the presence of a sunshiny, cheerful spirit. One that wuz determined to turn her back onto troubles she couldn't help and keep her face sot towards the Sun of Happiness. One who felt good and pleasant towards everybody, wished everybody well. One who could look upon other folks'es good fortune without a mite of jealousy or spite. One who loved to hear her friends praised and admired, loved to see 'em happy. And if they had a hundred times the good things she had, why, she was glad for their sakes, that they had 'em, she loved to see 'em enjoy 'em, if she couldn't.

Everyone in the house could sense a bright, cheerful spirit. One who was determined to ignore troubles beyond her control and keep her focus on the Sun of Happiness. Someone who felt good and warm towards everyone, wishing the best for all. One who could celebrate other people's good fortune without the slightest bit of jealousy or resentment. One who loved hearing her friends praised and admired, and enjoyed seeing them happy. And if they had a hundred times more good things than she did, well, she was genuinely happy for them, loved to see them enjoy those blessings, even if she couldn’t.

And she wuz dretful kinder cunnin' and cute, Jenette wuz. She would make the oddest little speeches; keep everybody laughin' round her, when she got to goin'.

And she was really sweet and cute, Jenette was. She would make the funniest little speeches; she kept everyone laughing around her when she got started.

Yes, she wuz liked dretful well, Jenette wuz. Her face has a kind of a pert look on to it, her black eyes snap, a good-natured snap, though, and her nose turns up jest enough to look kinder cunnin', and her hair curls all over her head.

Yes, she was liked a lot, Jenette was. Her face has a sort of cheeky look to it, her black eyes sparkle with a friendly spark, though, and her nose turns up just enough to look kind of cute, and her hair curls all over her head.

Smart round the house she is, and Mother Charnick likes that, for she is a master good housekeeper. Smart to answer back and joke. Joe is slow of speech, and his big blue eyes won't fairly get sot onto anything, before Jenette has looked it all through, and turned it over, and examined it on the other side, and got through with it.

She’s quick around the house, and Mother Charnick appreciates that because she’s a really good housekeeper. Quick to respond and joke. Joe is slow to speak, and his big blue eyes don’t seem to settle on anything before Jenette has already checked it out, flipped it over, examined it from the other side, and moved on.

Wall, she wuz to work to Mother Charnick's makin' her a black alpacka dress, and four new calico ones, and coverin' a parasol.

Wall, she was busy working at Mother Charnick's making her a black alpaca dress, four new calico ones, and covering a parasol.

A good many said that Miss Charnick got dresses a purpose for Jenette to make, so's to keep her there. Jenette wouldn't stay there a minute only when she wuz to work, and as they always kep a good, strong, hired girl, she knew when she wuz needed, and when she wuzn't. But, of course, she couldn't refuse to sew for her, and at what she wuz sot at, though she must have known and felt that Miss Charnick wuz lavish in dresses. She had 42 calico dresses, and everybody knew it, new ones, besides woosted. But, anyway, there she was a sewin' when the word came that the world was a comin' to a end on the 30th day of June, at 4 o'clock in the afternoon.

A lot of people said that Miss Charnick ordered dresses on purpose for Jenette to make, just to keep her around. Jenette wouldn’t stick around for a second unless she was working, and since they always had a strong, hired girl, she knew when she was needed and when she wasn't. But, of course, she couldn’t refuse to sew for her, even though she had to realize that Miss Charnick was excessive with her dresses. She had 42 calico dresses, and everyone knew it, not to mention some wool ones. But anyway, there she was sewing when the word came that the world was going to end on the 30th of June at 4 o'clock in the afternoon.

Miss Charnick wuz a believer, but not to the extent that Joe was. For Jenette asked her if she should stop sewin', not sposin' that she would need the dresses, specially the four calico ones, and the parasol in case of the world's endin'.

Miss Charnick was a believer, but not to the same degree as Joe. Jenette asked her if she should stop sewing, not assuming that she would need the dresses, especially the four calico ones, and the parasol in case the world ended.

And she told Jenette, and Jenette told me, so's I know it is true, “that she might go right on, and get the parasol cover, and the trimmins to the dresses, cambrick, and linin' and things, and hooks and eyes.”

And she told Jenette, and Jenette told me, so I know it’s true, “that she could go ahead and get the parasol cover, the trim for the dresses, cambric, linen, and stuff, along with hooks and eyes.”

And Miss Charnick didn't prepare no robe. But Jenette mistrusted, though Miss Charnick is close-mouthed, and didn't say nothin', but Jenette mistrusted that she laid out, when she sees signs, to use a nightgown.

And Miss Charnick didn't prepare a robe. But Jenette suspected, even though Miss Charnick is tight-lipped and didn't say anything, that she had set out a nightgown when she saw the signs.

She had piles of the nicest ones, that Jenette had made for her from time to time, over 28, all trimmed off nice enough for day dresses, so Jenette said, trimmed with tape trimmin's, some of 'em, and belted down in front.

She had a ton of the nicest ones that Jenette made for her now and then, over 28, all nicely tailored for day dresses, or so Jenette claimed, some of them trimmed with tape and belted in the front.

Wall, they had lots of meetin's at the Risley school-house, as the time drew near. And Miss Trueman Pool went to every one on 'em.

Wall, they had a lot of meetings at the Risley schoolhouse as the time got closer. And Miss Trueman Pool attended every single one of them.

She had been too weak to go out to the well, or to the barn. She wanted dretfully to see some new stanchils that Josiah had been a makin', jest like some that Pool had had in his barn. She wanted to see 'em dretful, but was too weak to walk. And I had had kind of a tussle in my own mind, whether or not I should offer to let Josiah carry her out; but kinder hesitated, thinkin' mebby she would get stronger.

She had been too weak to go to the well or the barn. She really wanted to see some new stalls that Josiah had been making, just like some that Pool had in his barn. She really wanted to see them, but she was too weak to walk. I was kind of debating in my mind whether or not I should offer to let Josiah carry her out; but I hesitated, thinking maybe she would get stronger.

But I hain't jealous, not a mite. It is known that I hain't all through Jonesville and Loontown. No, I'd scorn it. I thought Pool's wife would get better and she did.

But I'm not jealous, not at all. It's known all over Jonesville and Loontown. No, I would never feel that way. I thought Pool's wife would get better, and she did.

One evenin' Joe Charnick came down to bring home Josiah's augur, and the conversation turned onto Adventin'. And Miss Pool see that Joe wuz congenial on that subject; he believed jest as she did, that the world would come to an end the 30th. This was along the first part of the month.

One evening, Joe Charnick came by to pick up Josiah's auger, and the conversation shifted to Advent. Miss Pool noticed that Joe was on the same page about that topic; he believed just like she did that the world would end on the 30th. This was in the early part of the month.

He spoke of the good meetin's they wuz a-havin' to the Risley school-house, and how he always attended to every one on 'em. And the next mornin' Miss Trueman Pool gin out that she wuz a-goin' that evenin'. It wuz a good half a mile away, and I reminded her that Josiah had to be away with the team, for he wuz a-goin' to Loontown, heavy loaded, and wouldn't get back till along in the evenin'.

He talked about the good meetings they were having at the Risley schoolhouse and how he always made it to every one of them. The next morning, Miss Trueman Pool announced that she was going that evening. It was a good half a mile away, and I reminded her that Josiah had to be out with the team because he was headed to Loontown, heavily loaded, and wouldn't be back until late in the evening.

But she said “that she felt that the walk would do her good.”

But she said that she felt the walk would do her good.

I then reminded her of the stanchils, but she said “stanchils and religion wuz two separate things.” Which I couldn't deny, and didn't try to. And she sot off for the school-house that evenin' a-walkin' a foot. And the rest of her adventins and the adventins of Joe I will relate in another epistol; and I will also tell whether the world come to an end or not. I know folks will want to know, and I don't love to keep folks in onxiety—it hain't my way.

I then reminded her about the stanchils, but she said, “stanchils and religion are two separate things.” I couldn't argue with that, so I didn't try. And she set off for the schoolhouse that evening, walking on foot. I'll share the rest of her adventures and Joe's adventures in another letter, and I'll also let you know if the world came to an end or not. I know people will want to know, and I don't like to keep folks in suspense—it’s just not my style.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER 15.

Wall, from that night, Miss Trueman Pool attended to the meetins at the Risley school-house, stiddy and constant. And before the week wuz out Joe Charnick had walked home with her twice. And the next week he carried her to Jonesville to get the cloth for her robe, jest like his'n, white book muslin. And twice he had come to consult her on a Bible passage, and twice she had walked up to his mother's to consult with her on a passage in the Apockraphy. And once she went up to see if her wings wuz es deep and full es his'n. She wanted 'em jest the same size.

From that night on, Miss Trueman Pool consistently attended the meetings at the Risley schoolhouse. By the end of the week, Joe Charnick had walked her home twice. The following week, he took her to Jonesville to buy the fabric for her robe, just like his: white book muslin. He also came by twice to discuss a Bible passage with her, and she walked up to his mother's house twice to talk about a passage in the Apocrypha. Once, she went up to see if her wings were as deep and full as his. She wanted them to be exactly the same size.

Miss Charnick couldn't bear her. Miss Charnick wuz a woman who had enjoyed considerble poor health in her life, and she had now, and had been havin' for years, some dretful bad spells in her stomach—a sort of a tightness acrost her chest. And Trueman's wife argued with her that her spells had been worse, and her chest had been tighter. And the old lady didn't like that at all, of course. And the old lady took thoroughwert for 'em, and Trueman's wife insisted on't that thoroughwert wuz tightenin'.

Miss Charnick couldn't stand her. Miss Charnick was a woman who had dealt with significant health issues throughout her life, and she still had them, experiencing some really awful stomach problems for years—a kind of tightness across her chest. Trueman's wife argued with her that her problems had been worse, and her chest had felt tighter. The old lady didn't like that at all, naturally. And the old lady took thoroughwort for them, while Trueman's wife insisted that thoroughwort was too tightening.

And then there wuz some chickens in a basket out on the stoop, that the old hen had deserted, and Miss Charnick wuz a bringin' 'em up by hand. And Mother Chainick went out to feed 'em, and Trueman's wife tosted her head and said, “she didn't approve of it—she thought a chicken ought to be brung up by a hen.”

And then there were some chickens in a basket on the porch that the old hen had abandoned, and Miss Charnick was raising them by hand. Mother Charnick went out to feed them, and Trueman's wife shook her head and said, “I don’t approve of it—she thought a chicken should be raised by a hen.”

But Miss Charnick said, “Why, the hen deserted 'em; they would have perished right there in the nest.”

But Miss Charnick said, “Well, the hen abandoned them; they would have died right there in the nest.”

But Trueman's wife wouldn't gin in, she stuck right to it, “that it wuz a hen's business, and nobody else's.”

But Trueman's wife wouldn't back down; she stood her ground, saying “that it was a hen's business, and nobody else's.”

And of course she had some sense on her side, for of course it is a hen's business, her duty and her prevelege to bring up her chickens. But if she won't do it, why, then, somebody else has got to—they ought to be brung. I say Mother Charnick wuz in the right on't. But Trueman's wife had got so in the habit of findin' fault, and naggin' at me, and the other relations on Trueman's side and hern, that she couldn't seem to stop it when she knew it wuz for her interest to stop.

And of course she had some common sense on her side because it’s a hen’s job, her duty and her privilege to raise her chicks. But if she doesn't want to do it, then someone else has to—they need to be raised. I believe Mother Charnick was right about that. But Trueman's wife had gotten so used to complaining and nagging me, along with the other relatives from Trueman’s side and hers, that she just couldn’t seem to stop even when she knew it was in her best interest to do so.

And then she ketched a sight of the alpacker dress Jenette wuz a-makin' and she said “that basks had gone out.”

And then she caught sight of the dress Jenette was making and she said, “that fabric is outdated.”

And Miss Charnick was over partial to 'em (most too partial, some thought), and thought they wuz in the height of the fashion. But Trueman's wife ground her right down on it.

And Miss Charnick was overly fond of them (perhaps too fond, some believed) and thought they were all the rage. But Trueman's wife put her in her place about it.

“Basks wuz out, fer she knew it, she had all her new ones made polenay.”

“Basks wuz out, for she knew it, she had all her new ones made polenay.”

And hearin' 'em argue back and forth for more'n a quarter of an hour, Jenette put in and sez (she thinks all the world of Mother Charnick), “Wall, I s'pose you won't take much good of your polenays, if you have got so little time to wear 'em.”

And listening to them argue back and forth for over fifteen minutes, Jenette chimed in and said (she really admires Mother Charnick), “Well, I guess you won’t get much use out of your polenays if you have so little time to wear them.”

And then Trueman's wife (she wuz meen-dispositioned, anyway) said somethin' about “hired girls keepin' their place.”

And then Trueman's wife (she was pretty mean-spirited, anyway) said something about “hired girls knowing their place.”

And then Mother Charnick flared right up and took Jenette's part. And Joe's face got red; he couldn't bear to see Jenette put upon, if she wuz makin' fun of his religeon. And Trueman's wife see that she had gone too fur, and held herself in, and talked good to Jenette, and flattered up Joe, and he went home with her and staid till ten o'clock.

And then Mother Charnick got really upset and sided with Jenette. Joe's face turned red; he couldn't stand seeing Jenette being picked on, even if she was making fun of his religion. Trueman's wife noticed that she had gone too far, so she calmed down and spoke kindly to Jenette, while flattering Joe. He ended up going home with her and stayed until ten o'clock.

They spent a good deal of their time a-huntin' up passages, to prove their doctrine, in the Bible, and the Apockraphy, and Josephus, and others.

They spent a lot of their time searching for passages to support their beliefs in the Bible, the Apocrypha, Josephus, and other sources.

It beat all how many Trueman's wife would find, and every one she found Joe would seem to think the more on her. And so it run along, till folks said they wuz engaged, and Josiah and me thought so, too.

It was unbelievable how many things Trueman's wife would discover, and with each one she uncovered, Joe seemed to appreciate her even more. And so it went on until people said they were engaged, and Josiah and I thought so too.

And though Jenette wuzn't the one to say anything, she begun to look kinder pale and mauger. And when I spoke of it to her, she laid it to her liver. And I let her believe I thought so too. And I even went so fur as to recommend tansey and camomile tea, with a little catnip mixed in—I did it fur blinders. I knew it wuzn't her liver that ailed her. I knew it wuz her heart. I knew it wuz her heart that wuz a-achin'.

And even though Jenette didn’t say anything, she started to look kind of pale and thin. When I mentioned it to her, she blamed it on her liver. I let her think I believed that too. I even went so far as to suggest tansy and chamomile tea, with a bit of catnip mixed in—I did it to distract her. I knew it wasn’t her liver that was bothering her. I knew it was her heart. I knew her heart was hurting.

Wall, we had our troubles, Josiah and me did. Trueman's wife wuz dretful disagreeable, and would argue us down, every separate thing we tried to do or say. And she seemed more high-headed and disagreeable than ever sence Joe had begun to pay attention to her. Though what earthly good his attention wuz a-goin' to do, wuz more than I could see, accordin' to her belief.

Well, we had our issues, Josiah and I did. Trueman's wife was extremely unpleasant and would argue against everything we tried to do or say. She seemed more stubborn and difficult than ever since Joe started showing interest in her. Though what good his attention would do her, I couldn't understand, according to her perspective.

But Josiah said, “he guessed Joe wouldn't have paid her any attention, if he hadn't thought that the world wuz a-comin' to a end so soon. He guessed he wouldn't want her round if it wuz a-goin' to stand.”

But Josiah said, “he figured Joe wouldn't have paid her any attention if he hadn't thought that the world was coming to an end so soon. He thought he wouldn't want her around if it was going to last.”

Sez I, “Josiah, you are a-judgin' Joe by yourself.” And he owned up that he wuz.

Sez I, “Josiah, you’re judging Joe all by yourself.” And he admitted that he was.

Wall, the mornin' of the 30th, after Josiah and me had eat our breakfast, I proceeded to mix up my bread. I had set the yeast overnight, and I wuz a mouldin' it out into tins when Trueman's wife come down-stairs with her robe over her arm. She wanted to iron it out and press the seams.

Wall, on the morning of the 30th, after Josiah and I had eaten our breakfast, I started mixing my bread. I had set the yeast overnight, and I was shaping it into tins when Trueman's wife came downstairs with her robe draped over her arm. She wanted to iron it out and press the seams.

I had baked one tin of my biscuit for breakfast, and I had kep 'em warm for Trueman's wife, for she had been out late the night before to a meetin' to Risley school-house, and didn't come down to breakfast. I had also kep some good coffee warm for her, and some toast and steak.

I had baked a batch of biscuits for breakfast, and I kept them warm for Trueman's wife since she had been out late the night before at a meeting at the Risley schoolhouse and didn’t come down for breakfast. I had also kept some good coffee warm for her, along with some toast and steak.

She laid her robe down over a chair-back, and sot down to her breakfast, but begun the first thing to find fault with me for bein' to work on that day. She sez, “The idee, of the last day of the world, and you a-bein' found makin' riz biscuit, yeast ones!” sez she.

She draped her robe over the back of a chair and sat down to her breakfast, but the first thing she did was criticize me for working that day. She said, “The idea of the last day in the world, and you being caught making rising biscuits, yeast ones!” she said.

“Wall,” sez I, “I don't know but I had jest as soon be found a-makin' riz biscuit, a-takin' care of my own household, as the Lord hes commanded me to, as to be found a-sailin' round in a book muslin Mother Hubbard.”

“Wall,” I said, “I don’t know, but I’d just as soon be caught making biscuits, taking care of my own household like the Lord has commanded me to, as to be found wandering around in a bookish Mother Hubbard outfit.”

“It hain't a Mother Hubbard!” sez she.

“It’s not a Mother Hubbard!” she said.

“Wall,” sez I, “I said it for oritory. But it is puckered up some like them, and you know it.” Hers wuz made with a yoke.

“Wall,” I said, “I said it for rhetoric. But it is puckered up some like them, and you know it.” Hers was made with a yoke.

And Josiah sot there a-fixin' his plantin' bag. He wuz a-goin' out that mornin' to plant over some corn that the crows had pulled up. And she bitterly reproved him. But he sez, “If the world don't come to a end, the corn will be needed.”

And Josiah sat there fixing his planting bag. He was going out that morning to replant some corn that the crows had pulled up. And she bitterly scolded him. But he said, “If the world doesn’t come to an end, the corn will be needed.”

“But it will,” she sez in a cold, haughty tone.

“But it will,” she says in a cold, arrogant tone.

“Wall,” sez he, “if it does, I may as well be a-doin' that as to be settin' round.” And he took his plantin' bag and went out. And then she jawed me for upholdin' him.

“Wall,” he said, “if it’s going to happen, I might as well be doing that instead of just sitting around.” And he grabbed his planting bag and went outside. Then she scolded me for supporting him.

And sez she, as she broke open a biscuit and spread it with butter previous to eatin' it, sez she, “I should think respect, respect for the great and fearful thought of meetin' the Lord, would scare you out of the idea of goin' on with your work.”

And she said, as she broke open a biscuit and spread butter on it before eating, “I would think respect, respect for the awesome thought of meeting the Lord, would make you rethink your decision to continue with your work.”

Sez I calmly, “Does it scare you, Trueman's wife?”

“Wall, not exactly scare,” sez she, “but lift up, lift up far above bread and other kitchen work.”

“Wall, not exactly scary,” she says, “but lift up, lift up far above bread and other kitchen work.”

And again she buttered a large slice, and I sez calmly, “I don't s'poze I should be any nearer the Lord than I am now. He sez He dwells inside of our hearts, and I don't see how He could get any nearer to us than that. And anyway, what I said to you I keep a-sayin', that I think He would approve of my goin' on calm and stiddy, a-doin' my best for the ones He put in my charge here below, my husband, my children, and my grandchildren.” (I some expected Tirzah Ann and the babe home that day to dinner.)

And again she buttered a large slice, and I said calmly, “I don’t suppose I should be any closer to the Lord than I am now. He says He dwells inside our hearts, and I don’t see how He could get any closer to us than that. And anyway, what I’ve been saying to you is that I think He would approve of me staying calm and steady, doing my best for the ones He put in my care here on earth, my husband, my children, and my grandchildren.” (I half expected Tirzah Ann and the baby home that day for dinner.)

“Wall, you feel very diffrent from some wimmen that wuz to the school-house last night, and act very diffrent. They are good Christian females. It is a pity you wuzn't there. P'raps your hard heart would have melted, and you would have had thoughts this mornin' that would soar up above riz biscuit.”

“Wall, you seem really different from some of the women who were at the schoolhouse last night, and you act really different too. They are good Christian ladies. It's a shame you weren't there. Maybe your hardened heart would have softened, and you would have had thoughts this morning that would rise above baked biscuits.”

And as she sez this she begun on her third biscuit, and poured out another cup of coffee. And I, wantin' to use her well, sez, “What did they do there?”

And as she said this, she started on her third biscuit and poured another cup of coffee. I, wanting to make good use of her, said, “What did they do there?”

“Do!” sez she, “why, it wuz the most glorious meetin' we ever had. Three wimmen lay at one time perfectly speechless with the power. And some of em' screemed so you could hear 'em fer half a mile.”

“Do!” she says, “Well, it was the most amazing meeting we ever had. Three women were completely speechless at the same time from the power. And some of them screamed so loudly you could hear them half a mile away.”

I kep on a-mouldin' my bread out into biscuit (good shaped ones, too, if I do say it), and sez calmly, “Wall, I never wuz much of a screemer. I have always believed in layin' holt of the duty next to you, and doin' some things, things He has commanded. Everybody to their own way. I don't condemn yourn, but I have always seemed to believe more in the solid, practical parts of religion, than the ornimental. I have always believed more in the power of honesty, truth, and justice, than in the power they sometimes have at camp and other meetins. Howsumever,” sez I, “I don't say but what that power is powerful, to the ones that have it, only I wuz merely observin' that it never wuz my way to lay speechless or holler much—not that I consider hollerin' wrong, if you holler from principle, but I never seemed to have a call to.”

I kept shaping my bread into biscuits (and they were well-shaped, if I do say so myself), and said calmly, “Well, I’ve never been much of a screamer. I’ve always believed in tackling the duty right in front of you and doing some things, the things He has commanded. Everyone has their own approach. I don’t judge yours, but I’ve always felt more drawn to the solid, practical aspects of religion rather than the decorative ones. I’ve always believed more in the power of honesty, truth, and justice than in the influence they sometimes have at camp and other meetings. However,” I said, “I’m not saying that power isn't strong for those who possess it; I was just noting that it was never my way to stay silent or yell much—not that I think yelling is wrong if you're doing it for a principle, but I just never felt the need to.”

“You would be far better if you did,” sez Trueman's wife, “far better. But you hain't good enough.”

“You would be much better off if you did,” says Trueman's wife, “much better. But you aren’t good enough.”

“Oh!” sez I, reasonably, “I could holler if I wanted to, but the Lord hain't deef. He sez specilly, that He hain't, and so I never could see the use in hollerin' to Him. And I never could see the use of tellin' Him in public so many things as some do. Why He knows it. He knows all these things. He don't need to have you try to enlighten Him as if you wuz His gardeen—as I have heard folks do time and time agin. He knows what we are, what we need. I am glad, Trueman's wife,” sez I, “that He can look right down into our hearts, that He is right there in 'em a-knowin' all about us, all our wants, our joys, our despairs, our temptations, our resolves, our weakness, our blindness, our defects, our regrets, our remorse, our deepest hopes, our inspiration, our triumphs, our glorys. But when He is right there, in the midst of our soul, our life, why, why should we kneel down in public and holler at Him?”

“Oh!” I said reasonably, “I could shout if I wanted to, but the Lord isn’t deaf. He specifically says that He isn’t, and so I never understood the point of shouting to Him. I also don't see the point in telling Him so many things in public like some people do. He knows it. He knows all these things. He doesn’t need us to try to enlighten Him as if we were His gardener—as I have heard folks do time and again. He knows who we are, what we need. I’m glad, Trueman's wife,” I said, “that He can look right into our hearts, that He is right there in them knowing everything about us—our wants, our joys, our despairs, our temptations, our resolutions, our weaknesses, our blindness, our flaws, our regrets, our remorse, our deepest hopes, our inspiration, our triumphs, our glories. But if He is right there in the midst of our soul and our life, then why should we kneel down in public and shout at Him?”

“You would be glad to if you wuz good enough,” sez she; “if you had attained unto a state of perfection, you would feel like it.”

"You would be happy if you were good enough," she said; "if you had reached a state of perfection, you would feel that way."

That kinder riled me up, and I sez, “Wall, I have lived in this house with them that wuz perfect, and that is bad enough for me, without bein' one of 'em myself. For more disagreeable creeters,” sez I, a prickin' my biscuit with a fork, “more disagreeable creeters I never laid eyes on.”

That kid got me worked up, and I said, “Well, I have lived in this house with those who were perfect, and that's bad enough for me, without being one of them myself. I’ve never seen more disagreeable creatures,” I said, poking my biscuit with a fork, “more disagreeable creatures than these.”

Trueman's wife thinks she is perfect, she has told me so time and agin—thinks she hain't done anything wrong in upwards of a number of years.

Trueman's wife thinks she's perfect; she's told me so over and over—believes she hasn't done anything wrong in more than a few years.

But she didn't say nothin' to this, only begun agin about the wickedness and immorality of my makin' riz biscuit that mornin', and the deep disgrace of Josiah Allen keepin' on with his work.

But she didn't say anything about this, just started again about the wickedness and immorality of me making rise biscuits that morning, and the great disgrace of Josiah Allen continuing with his work.

But before I could speak up and take his part, for I will not hear my companion found fault with by any female but myself, she had gathered up her robe, and swept upstairs with it, leavin' orders for a flatiron to be sent up.

But before I could speak up and defend him, because I won't let anyone criticize my friend but me, she had gathered her dress and swept upstairs with it, leaving instructions for a flatiron to be sent up.

Wall, the believers wuz all a-goin' to meet at the Risley school-house that afternoon. They wuz about 40 of 'em, men and wimmen. And I told Josiah at noon, I believed I would go down to the school-house to the meetin'. And he a-feelin', I mistrust, that if they should happen to be in the right on't, and the world should come to a end, he wanted to be by the side of his beloved pardner, he offered to go too. But he never had no robe, no, nor never thought of havin'.

The believers were all going to meet at the Risley schoolhouse that afternoon. There were about 40 of them, men and women. I told Josiah at noon that I thought I would go down to the schoolhouse for the meeting. He seemed to feel, I suspect, that if they ended up being right and the world was about to end, he wanted to be by the side of his beloved partner, so he offered to go too. But he never had a robe, no, nor did he ever think of getting one.

The Risley school-house stood in a clearin', and had tall stumps round it in the door-yard. And we had heard that some of the believers wuz goin' to get up on them stumps, so's to start off from there. And sure enough, we found it wuz the calculation of some on 'em.

The Risley schoolhouse was in a clearing, surrounded by tall stumps in the yard. We heard that some of the believers were planning to stand on those stumps to set off from there. And sure enough, we discovered that was indeed their plan.

The school-boys had made steps up the sides of some of the biggest stumps, and lots of times in political meetin's men had riz up on 'em to talk to the masses below. Why I s'poze a crowd of as many as 45 or 48, had assembled there at one time durin' the heat of the campain.

The schoolboys had climbed up the sides of some of the biggest tree stumps, and many times at political meetings, men had stood on them to speak to the crowd below. I guess there were as many as 45 or 48 people who gathered there at one time during the peak of the campaign.

But them politicians had on their usual run of clothes, they didn't have on white book muslin robes. Good land!

But those politicians were dressed in their usual clothes; they weren't wearing white muslin robes. Good grief!

CHAPTER XVI.

CHAPTER 16.

Wall, lots of folks had assembled to the school-house when we got there, about 3 o'clock P.M.—afternoon. Believers, and world's people, all a-settin' round on seats and stumps, for the school-house wuz small and warm, and it wuz pleasanter out-doors.

Wall, a lot of people had gathered at the schoolhouse when we arrived around 3 o'clock in the afternoon. Believers and regular folks were all sitting around on seats and stumps since the schoolhouse was small and warm, and it was nicer outside.

We had only been there a few minutes when Mother Charnick and Jenette walked in. Joe had been there for sometime, and he and the Widder Pool wuz a-settin' together readin' a him out of one book. Jenette looked kinder mauger, and Trueman's wife looked haughtily at her, from over the top of the him book.

We had only been there a few minutes when Mother Charnick and Jenette walked in. Joe had been there for a while, and he and the Widder Pool were sitting together reading from a hymn book. Jenette looked kind of pale, and Trueman's wife looked down her nose at her from over the top of the hymn book.

Mother Charnick had a woosted work-bag on her arm. There might have been a night gown in it, and there might not. It wuz big enough to hold one, and it looked sort o' bulgy. But it wuz never known—Miss Charnick is a smart woman. It never wuz known what she had in the bag.

Mother Charnick had a knitted work bag on her arm. There could have been a nightgown in it, or maybe not. It was big enough to hold one, and it looked a bit bulgy. But no one ever knew—Miss Charnick is a clever woman. It was never revealed what she had in the bag.

Wall, the believers struck up a him, and sung it through—as mournful, skairful sort of a him as I ever hearn in my hull life; and it swelled out and riz up over the pine trees in a wailin', melancholy sort of a way, and wierd—dretful wierd.

Wall, the believers started singing a hymn, and they sang it through—such a mournful, scary kind of hymn as I have ever heard in my whole life; it rose up and echoed over the pine trees in a wailing, melancholy way, and it was strange—really strange.

And then a sort of a lurid, wild-looking chap, a minister, got up and preached the wildest and luridest discourse I ever hearn in my hull days. It wuz enough to scare a snipe. The very strongest and toughest men there turned pale, and wimmen cried and wept on every side of me, and wept and cried.

And then this sort of flashy, wild-looking guy, a preacher, stood up and delivered the craziest and most intense sermon I’d ever heard in my life. It was enough to frighten anyone. The strongest, toughest men there went pale, and women were crying and weeping all around me, just crying and weeping.

I, myself, didn't weep. But I drawed nearer to my companion, and kinder leaned up against him, and looked off on the calm blue heavens, the serene landscape, and the shinin' blue lake fur away, and thought—jest as true as I live and breathe, I thought that I didn't care much, if God willed it to be so, that my Josiah and I should go side by side, that very day and minute, out of the certainties of this life into the mysteries of the other, out of the mysteries of this life into the certainties of the other.

I didn’t cry. Instead, I moved closer to my companion, leaned against him gently, and gazed at the calm blue sky, the peaceful landscape, and the shining blue lake in the distance. I thought—just as surely as I live and breathe—that I wouldn’t mind if it was God’s will for my Josiah and me to leave this life together, at that very moment, stepping from the certainties of this life into the mysteries of the next, and from the mysteries of this life into the certainties of the next.

For, thinks I to myself, we have got to go into that other world pretty soon, Josiah and me have. And if we went in the usual way, we had got to go alone, each on us. Terrible thought! We who had been together under shine and shade, in joy and sorrow. Our two hands that had joined at the alter, and had clung so clost together ever sence, had got to leggo of each other down there in front of the dark gateway. Solemn gateway! So big that the hull world must pass through it—and yet so small that the hull world has got to go through it alone, one at a time.

For I think to myself, Josiah and I have to enter that other world pretty soon. And if we went in the usual way, we would have to go alone, each of us. What a terrible thought! We who have been together in both good times and bad. Our two hands that joined at the altar and have held tightly together ever since would have to let go of each other down there in front of the dark gateway. A solemn gateway! So big that the entire world must pass through it—and yet so small that everyone has to go through it alone, one at a time.

My Josiah would have to stand outside and let me go down under the dark, mysterious arches, alone—and he knows jest how I hate to go anywhere alone, or else I would have to stop at the gate and bid him good-by. And no matter how much we knocked at the gate, or how many tears we shed onto it, we couldn't get through till our time come, we had got to be parted.

My Josiah would have to wait outside while I ventured down into the dark, mysterious arches by myself—and he knows exactly how much I dislike going anywhere alone, or I’d have to stop at the gate and say goodbye. And no matter how hard we knocked on the gate, or how many tears we cried onto it, we couldn’t get through until our time came; we had to be separated.

And now if we went on this clear June day through the crystal gateway of the bendin' heavens—we two would be together for weal or for woe. And on whatever new, strange landscape we would have to look on, or wander through, he would be right by me. Whatever strange inhabitants the celestial country held, he would face 'em with me. Close, close by my side, he would go with me through that blue, lovely gateway of the soft June skies into the City of the King. And it wuz a sweet thought to me.

And now, if we were to walk on this clear June day through the crystal gateway of the bending heavens, we would be together for better or for worse. No matter what new, strange landscape we had to look at or explore, he would be right beside me. Whatever unusual inhabitants the celestial realm had, he would face them with me. Close, close by my side, he would accompany me through that beautiful blue gateway of the soft June skies into the City of the King. And that was a comforting thought for me.

Not that I really wanted the world to come to a end that day. No, I kinder wanted to live along for some time, for several reasons: My pardner, the babe, the children, etc.; and then I kinder like to live for the sake of livin'. I enjoy it.

Not that I really wanted the world to end that day. No, I kind of wanted to keep living for a while, for several reasons: my partner, the baby, the kids, etc.; and then I kind of like living for the sake of living. I enjoy it.

But I can say, and say with truth, and solemnity, that the idee didn't scare me none. And as my companion looked down in my face as the time approached, I could see the same thoughts that wuz writ in my eyes a-shinin' in his'n.

But I can honestly and seriously say that the idea didn't scare me at all. And as my friend looked into my face as the time drew near, I could see the same thoughts that were written in my eyes reflecting in his.

Wall, as the pinter approached the hour, the excitement grew nearly, if not quite rampant. The believers threw their white robes on over their dresses and coats, and as the pinter slowly moved round from half-past three to quarter to 4—and so on—they shouted, they sung, they prayed, they shook each other's hands—they wuz fairly crazed with excitement and fervor, which they called religion—for they wuz in earnest, nobody could dispute that.

Wall, as the clock got closer to the hour, the excitement became almost, if not completely, overwhelming. The believers put on their white robes over their dresses and coats, and as the clock slowly ticked from 3:30 to 3:45—and beyond—they shouted, sang, prayed, and shook each other's hands—they were genuinely caught up in excitement and fervor, which they referred to as religion—because they were serious, and no one could argue with that.

Joe and Miss Pool kinder hung together all this time—though I ketched him givin' several wistful looks at Jenette, as much as to say, “Oh, how I hate to leave you, Jenette!”

Joe and Miss Pool kind of stuck together all this time—though I caught him giving several longing glances at Jenette, as if to say, “Oh, how I hate to leave you, Jenette!”

But Miss Pool would roust him up agin, and he would shout and sing with the frienziedest and most zealousest of 'em.

But Miss Pool would wake him up again, and he would shout and sing with the most enthusiastic and zealous of them.

Mother Charnick stood with her bag in her hand, and the other hand on the puckerin' string. I don't say what she had in the bag, but I do say this, that she had it fixed so's she could have ondone it in a secont's time. And her eyes wuz intent on the heavens overhead. But they kep calm and serene and cloudless, nothin' to be seen there—no sign, no change—and Ma Charnick kep still and didn't draw the puckerin' string.

Mother Charnick stood with her bag in one hand and her other hand on the drawstring. I won't say what she had in the bag, but I will say that she had it set up so she could undo it in a second. Her eyes were focused on the sky above. But it remained calm, serene, and cloudless, with nothing to see—no sign, no change—and Ma Charnick stayed still and didn’t pull the drawstring.

But oh, how excitement reined and grew rampant around that school-house! Miss Pool and Joe seemin' to outdo all the rest (she always did try to), till at last, jest as the pinter swung round to the very minute, Joe, more than half by the side of himself, with the excitement he had been in for a week, and bein' urged onto it by Miss Pool, as he sez to this day, he jumped up onto the tall stump he had been a standin' by, and stood there in his long white robe, lookin' like a spook, if anybody had been calm enough to notice it, and he sung out in a clear voice—his voice always did have a good honest ring to it:

But oh, the excitement was running wild around that schoolhouse! Miss Pool and Joe seemed to be outdoing everyone else (she always tried to), until at last, just as the clock struck the exact minute, Joe, more than a little worked up by the excitement he had felt all week, and being pushed on by Miss Pool, as he says to this day, jumped up onto the tall stump he had been standing by, and stood there in his long white robe, looking like a ghost, if anyone had been calm enough to notice, and he shouted in a clear voice—his voice always had a good, honest ring to it:

Farewell my friends,
Farewell my foes;
Up to Heaven
Joe Charnick goes.

Farewell my friends,
Farewell my enemies;
Up to Heaven
Joe Charnick goes.

And jest as the clock struck, and they all shouted and screamed, he waved his arms, with their two great white wings a-flutterin', and sprung upwards, expectin' the hull world, livin' and dead, would foller him—and go right up into the heavens.

And just as the clock struck, and they all shouted and screamed, he waved his arms, with their two big white wings fluttering, and jumped up, expecting the whole world, both living and dead, would follow him—and go right up into the heavens.

And Trueman's wife bein' right by the stump, waved her wings and jumped too—jest the same direction es he jumped. But she only stood on a camp chair, and when she fell, she didn't crack no bones, it only jarred her dretfully, and hurt her across the small of her back, to that extent that I kep bread and milk poultices on day and night for three weeks, and lobelia and catnip, half and half; she a-arguin' at me every single poultice I put on that it wuzn't her way of makin' poultices, nor her way of applyin' of 'em.

And Trueman's wife, standing right by the stump, waved her arms and jumped too—just like he did. But she was only standing on a camp chair, and when she fell, she didn't break any bones; it just shook her up a lot and hurt her lower back so much that I kept bread and milk poultices on her day and night for three weeks, mixing lobelia and catnip, half and half. She argued with me every single time I put on a poultice, saying it wasn't her way of making poultices or her way of applying them.

I told her I didn't know of any other way of applyin' 'em to her back, only to put 'em on it. But she insisted to the last that I didn't apply 'em right, and I didn't crumble the bread into the milk right, and the lobelia wuzn't picked right, nor the catnip.

I told her I didn't know any other way to apply them to her back, only to put them on it. But she insisted all along that I didn’t apply them correctly, and that I didn’t crumble the bread into the milk the right way, and that the lobelia wasn’t picked properly, nor the catnip.

Not one word did she ever speak about the end of the world—not a word—but a-naggin' about everything else.

Not a single word did she ever say about the end of the world—not a word—but she kept complaining about everything else.

Wall, I healed her after a time, and glad enough wuz I to see her healed, and started off.

Wall, I healed her after a while, and I was really happy to see her better, and then I set off.

But Joe Charnick suffered worse and longer. He broke his limb in two places and cracked his rib. The bones of his arm wuz a good while a-healin', and before they wuz healed he was wounded in a new place.

But Joe Charnick endured even more pain and for a longer time. He broke his leg in two places and fractured a rib. The bones in his arm took a long time to heal, and before they were fully healed, he got a new injury.

He jest fell over head and ears in love with Jenette Finster. For bein' shet up to home with his mother and her (his mother wouldn't hear to Jenette leavin' her for a minute) he jest seemed to come to a full realizin' sense of her sweet natur' and bright, obleegin' ways; and his old affection for her bloomed out into the deepest and most idolatrous love—Joe never could be megum.

He just fell head over heels in love with Jenette Finster. Since he was stuck at home with his mother (who wouldn’t let him leave for a second to be with Jenette), he really started to appreciate her sweet nature and charming ways; his old feelings for her blossomed into the deepest and most idolizing love—Joe could never be moderate.

Jenette, and good enough for him, held him off for quite a spell—but when he got cold and relapsted, and they thought he wuz goin' to die, then she owned up to him that she worshipped him—and always had.

Jenette, good enough for him, held him off for quite a while—but when he got cold and relapsed, and they thought he was going to die, she finally admitted to him that she worshipped him—and always had.

And from that day he gained. Mother Charnick wuz tickled most to death at the idea of havin' Jenette for her own girl—she thinks her eyes on her, and so does Jenette of her. So it wuz agreeable as anything ever wuz all around, if not agreeabler.

And from that day on, he benefited. Mother Charnick was overjoyed at the thought of having Jenette as her daughter—she admires her, and Jenette feels the same about her. So, it was as pleasant as anything ever has been, if not even more so.

Jest as quick as she got well enough to walk, and before he got out of his bed, Trueman's wife walked over to see Joe. And Joe's mother hatin' her so, wouldn't let her step her foot into the house. And Joe wuz glad on't, so they say.

Jest as soon as she was well enough to walk, and before he got out of bed, Trueman's wife walked over to see Joe. And Joe's mother, hating her so much, wouldn't let her step foot into the house. And Joe was glad about it, or so they say.

Mother Charnick wuz out on the stoop in front of the house, when Trueman's wife got there, and told her that they had to keep the house still; that is, they say so, I don't know for certain, but they say that Ma Charnick offered to take Trueman's wife out to see her chickens, the ones she had brought up by hand, and Trueman's wife wantin' to please her, so's to get in, consented. And Miss Charnick showed her the hull 14 of 'em, all fat and flourishing—they wuz well took care of. And Miss Charnick looked down on 'em fondly, and sez:

Mother Charnick was sitting on the front stoop when Trueman's wife arrived and told her they needed to keep the house quiet; at least, that's what they say. I can't say for sure, but they say that Ma Charnick offered to take Trueman's wife to see her chickens, the ones she raised by hand, and Trueman's wife, wanting to please her to fit in, agreed. Miss Charnick showed her all 14 of them, all plump and thriving—they were well taken care of. And Miss Charnick looked down at them fondly and said:

“I lay out to have a good chicken pie the day that Joe and Jenette are married.”

“I plan to have a great chicken pie on the day Joe and Jenette get married.”

“Married!” sez Trueman's wife, in faint and horrified axcents. “Yes, they are goin' to be married jest as soon as my son gets well enough. Jenette is fixin' a new dress for me to wear to the weddin'—with a bask,” sez she with emphasis. And es she said it, they say she stooped down and gathered some sprigs of thoroughwert, a-mentionin' how much store she set by it for sickness.

“Married!” said Trueman's wife, in weak and shocked tones. “Yes, they are going to get married as soon as my son gets well enough. Jenette is making a new dress for me to wear to the wedding—with a basket,” she said with emphasis. And as she said it, they say she bent down and picked some sprigs of thoroughwort, mentioning how much she valued it for its healing properties.

But if she did, Trueman's wife didn't sense it, she wuz dumbfoundered and sot back by the news. And she left my home and board the week before the weddin'.

But if she did, Trueman's wife didn't notice it; she was stunned and taken aback by the news. And she left my home and meals the week before the wedding.

They had been married about a year, when Jenette wuz here a-visitin'—and she asked me in confidence (and it must be kep, it stands lo reason it must), “if I s'posed that book muslin robe would make two little dresses?”

They had been married for about a year when Jenette came to visit—and she asked me in confidence (and it must be kept, it stands to reason it must), “Do you think that book muslin robe would be enough to make two little dresses?”

And I told her, “Good land! yes, three on 'em,” and it did.

And I told her, “Wow! Yes, three of them,” and it did.

She dresses the child beautiful, and I don't know whether she would want the neighbors to know jest what and when and where she gets the materials—

She dresses the child beautifully, and I'm not sure if she'd want the neighbors to know exactly what she uses and when and where she gets the materials—

It looks some like her and some like Joe—and they both think their eyes on it—but old Miss Charnick worships it—Wall, though es I said (and I have eppisoded to a extent that is almost onprecidented and onheard on).

It looks a bit like her and a bit like Joe—and they both think they see it—but old Miss Charnick adores it—Well, as I was saying (and I've experienced it to an extent that's almost unprecedented and unheard of).

Though Josiah Allen made a excuse of borrowin' a plow (a plow, that time of night) to get away from my arguments on the Conference, and Submit's kinder skairt face, and so forth, and so on—

Though Josiah Allen made an excuse about borrowing a plow (a plow, at that time of night) to escape my discussions about the Conference, and Submit's somewhat scared expression, and so on—

He resumed the conversation the next mornin' with more energy than ever. (He never said nuthin' about the plow, and I never see no sign on it, and don't believe he got it, or wanted it.)

He picked up the conversation again the next morning with more energy than ever. (He never mentioned the plow, and I never saw any sign of it, and I don't believe he got it or wanted it.)

He resumed the subject, and kep on a-resumin' of it from day to day and from hour to hour.

He kept bringing up the topic over and over, day after day and hour after hour.

He would nearly exhaust the subject at home, and then he would tackle the wimmen on it at the Methodist Meetin' House, while we Methodist wimmen wuz to work.

He would almost wear out the topic at home, and then he would address the women about it at the Methodist Meeting House, while we Methodist women were working.

After leavin' me to the meetin' house, Josiah would go on to the post-office for his daily World, and then he would stop on his way back to give us female wimmen the latest news from the Conference, and give us his idees on't.

After leaving me at the meeting house, Josiah would head to the post office for his daily World, and then he would stop on his way back to share the latest news from the Conference with us women and share his thoughts on it.

And sometimes he would fairly harrow us to the very bone, with his dretful imaginins and fears that wimmen would be allowed to overdo herself, and ruin her health, and strain her mind, by bein' permitted to set!

And sometimes he would really upset us to the core with his terrible thoughts and fears that women would be allowed to overwork themselves, ruin their health, and stress their minds by being allowed to sit!

Why Submit Tewksbury, and some of the other weaker sisters, would look fairly wild-eyed for some time after he would go.

Why Submit Tewksbury, along with some of the other more vulnerable women, would look quite jittery for a while after he left.

He never could stay long. Sometimes we would beset him to stay and do some little job for us, to help us along with our work, such as liftin' somethin' or movin' some bench, or the pulpit, or somethin'.

He could never stay for long. Sometimes we would ask him to stick around and help us with a little task, like lifting something or moving a bench, the pulpit, or something else.

But he never had the time; he always had to hasten home to get to work. He wuz in a great hurry with his spring's work, and full of care about that buzz saw mill.

But he never had the time; he always had to rush home to get to work. He was in a big hurry with his spring tasks and worried about that buzz saw mill.

And that wuz how it wuz with every man in the meetin' house that wuz able to work any. They wuz all in a hurry with their spring's work, and their buzz saws, and their inventions, and their agencys, etc., etc., etc.

And that was how it was with every man in the meeting house who could work. They were all in a rush with their spring work, and their buzz saws, and their inventions, and their agencies, and so on, and so forth.

And that wuz the reason why we wimmen wuz havin' such a hard job on the meetin' house.

And that was the reason why we women were having such a hard time at the meeting house.

CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER 17.

You see the way on't wuz: we had to do sumthin' to raise the minister's salary, which wuz most half a year behindhand, to say nothin' of the ensuin' year a-comin'. And as I have hinted at before but hain't gi'n petickulers, the men in the meetin' house had all gi'n out, and said they had gi'n every cent they could, and they couldn't and they wouldn't do any more, any way.

You see, here’s how it was: we had to do something to raise the minister's salary, which was almost half a year overdue, not to mention the coming year. And as I mentioned before but didn’t go into details, the men in the meeting house had all said they had given every penny they could, and they couldn’t and wouldn’t give any more, anyway.

As I have said more formally, there wuz a hardness arozen amongst the male brethern.

As I mentioned before, there was a toughness that arose among the male members.

Deacon Peedick thought he had gi'n more than his part in proportion, and come right out plain and said so.

Deacon Peedick believed he had contributed more than his fair share and openly stated it.

And Deacon Bobbet said “he wuzn't the man to stand it to be told right to his face that he hadn't done his share,” and he said “he wuzn't the man either, to be hinted at from the pulpit about things.” I don't believe he wuz hinted at, and Sister Bobbet don't And she felt like death to have him so riz up in his mind, and act so. I know what the tex' wuz; it wuz these words:

And Deacon Bobbet said, "I’m not the kind of man who will accept being told to my face that I haven't done my part," and he said, "I’m also not the kind of man who will tolerate being hinted at from the pulpit about anything." I don't think he was hinted at, and Sister Bobbet doesn't either. She felt terrible about him being so worked up and acting that way. I know what the text was; it was these words:

“The Lord loveth a cheerful giver.”

“The Lord loves a cheerful giver.”

The minister didn't mean nothin' only pure gospel, when he preached about it. But it proved to be a tight-breasted, close-fittin' coat to several of the male brothers, and it fitted 'em so well it fairly pinched 'em.

The minister didn't say anything but the truth when he preached about it. But it turned out to be a restrictive, tight-fitting coat for several of the male members, and it fit them so well it practically squeezed them.

But there it wuz, Deacon Bobbet wouldn't gi'n a cent towards raisin' the money. And there wuz them that said, and stuck to it, that he said “he wouldn't give a darn cent.”

But there it was, Deacon Bobbet wouldn't give a cent towards raising the money. And there were those who said, and insisted, that he said “he wouldn't give a darn cent.”

But I don't know as that is so. I wouldn't want to be the one that said that he had demeaned himself to that extent.

But I don't know if that's true. I wouldn't want to be the one to say that he had lowered himself to that level.

Wall, he wouldn't give a cent, and Peedick wouldn't give, and Deacon Henzy and Deacon Sypher wouldn't. They said that there wuz certain members of the meetin' house that had said to certain people suthin' slightin' about buzz saws.

Wall, he wouldn’t give a dime, and Peedick wouldn’t give either, and Deacon Henzy and Deacon Sypher wouldn’t. They said that there were certain members of the meeting house who had said something disrespectful about buzz saws to certain people.

I myself thought then, and think still, that the subject of buzz saws had a great deal to do in makin' 'em act so riz up and excited. I believe the subject rasped 'em, and made 'em nervous. But when these various hardnesses aroze amongst some of the brethern, the rest of the men kinder joined in with 'em, some on one side, and some on the other, and they all baulked right out of the harness. (Allegory.) And there the minister wuz, good old creeter, jest a-sufferin' for the necessities of life, and most half a year's salery due.

I thought back then, and still believe, that the topic of buzz saws contributed a lot to how agitated and worked up they got. I think the subject really bothered them and made them anxious. But when these different tensions arose among some of the guys, the others kind of picked sides, some joining one group and some joining the other, and they all completely fell out of line. (Allegory.) And there was the minister, good old soul, just struggling to get by, with almost half a year's salary still owed to him.

I tell you it looked dark. The men all said they couldn't see no way out of the trouble, and some of the wimmen felt about so. And old Miss Henn, one of our most able sisters, she had gi'n out, she wuz as mad as her own sirname about how her Metilda had been used.

I tell you it looked dark. The men all said they couldn’t see any way out of the trouble, and some of the women felt the same. And old Miss Henn, one of our most capable sisters, she had given up; she was as mad as her own last name about how her Metilda had been treated.

The meetin' house had just hauled her up for levity. And I thought then, and think now, that the meetin' house wuz too hard on Metilda Henn.

The meeting house had just brought her up for laughter. And I thought then, and still think now, that the meeting house was too harsh on Metilda Henn.

She did titter right out in protracted meetin', Sister Henn don't deny it, and she felt dretful bad about it, and so did I. But Metilda said, and stuck to it, that she couldn't have helped laughin' if it had been to save her life. And though I realized the awfulness of it, still, when some of the brethern wuz goin' on dretful about it, I sez to 'em:

She laughed out loud during that long meeting, and Sister Henn can't deny it, and she felt really bad about it, and so did I. But Metilda said, and stood by it, that she couldn't have stopped herself from laughing even if her life depended on it. And even though I understood how terrible it was, still, when some of the brothers were going on about it, I said to them:

“The Bible sez there is a time to laugh, and I don't know when that is, unless it is when you can't help it.”

“The Bible says there's a time to laugh, and I don’t know when that is, unless it’s when you can’t help it.”

What she wuz a-laughin' at wuz this:

What she was laughing at was this:

There wuz a widder woman by the name of Nancy Lum that always come to evenin' meetin's.

There was a widow named Nancy Lum who always came to evening meetings.

She wuz very tall and humbly, and she had been on the look out (so it wuz s'pozed) for a 3d husband for some time.

She was very tall and modest, and she had been on the lookout (or so it was supposed) for a third husband for some time.

She had always made a practice of saying one thing over and over to all the protracted and Conference meetin's, and she would always bust out a-cryin' before she got it all out.

She always made a point of repeating the same thing at all the lengthy conference meetings, and she would always break down crying before she could finish.

She always said “she wanted to be found always at the foot of the Cross.”

She always said she wanted to be found at the foot of the Cross.

She would always begin this remark dretful kinder loud and hysterical, and then would dwindle down kinder low at the end on't, and bustin' out into tears somewhere through it from first to last.

She would always start this comment really loud and hysterical, and then it would gradually get quieter at the end, and she would break down in tears somewhere throughout it from beginning to end.

But this evenin' suthin' had occurred to make her more hysterical and melted down than usial. Some say it wuz because Deacon Henshaw wuz present for the first time after his wive's death.

But this evening something had happened to make her more hysterical and upset than usual. Some say it was because Deacon Henshaw was there for the first time since his wife's death.

But any way, she riz up lookin' awful tall and humbly—she was most a head taller than any man there—and she sez out loud and strong:

But anyway, she stood up looking really tall and humble—she was almost a head taller than any man there—and she said out loud and strong:

“I want to be found—”

"I want to be discovered—"

And then she busted right out a-cryin' hard. And she sobbed for some time. And then she begun agin,

And then she broke down crying hard. And she sobbed for a while. And then she started again,

“I want to be found—”

"I want to be seen—"

And then she busted out agin.

And then she broke out again.

And so it went on for some time—she a-tellin' out ever and anon loud and firm, “that she wanted to be found—” and then bustin' into tears.

And so it went on for a while—she kept saying out loud and firmly, “that she wanted to be found—” and then bursting into tears.

Till finally Deacon Henshaw (some mistrust that he is on the point of gettin' after her, and he always leads the singin' any way) he struck right out onto the him—

Till finally Deacon Henshaw (some doubt that he's about to go after her, and he always leads the singing anyway) he went straight at him—

“Oh, that will be joyful!”

“Oh, that will be great!”

And Sister Lum sot down.

And Sister Lum sat down.

Wall, that wuz what made Metilda Henn titter. And that was what made me bring forward that verse of scripter. That the Bible said “'there wuz a time to laugh,' and I didn't know when it wuz unless it wuz when you couldn't help it—”

Wall, that was what made Metilda Henn giggle. And that was why I brought up that verse from the scripture. The Bible said “there was a time to laugh,” and I didn’t know when it was unless it was when you just couldn't help it—

But I didn't say it to uphold Metilda—no, indeed. I only said it because they wuz so bitter on her, and laid the rules of the meetin' house down on her so heavy.

But I didn't say it to support Metilda—definitely not. I only said it because they were so harsh on her and imposed the rules of the meeting house on her so strictly.

But Josiah said, “What would become of the meetin' house if it didn't punish its unruly members?”

But Josiah said, “What would happen to the meeting house if it didn't discipline its unruly members?”

And I sez to Josiah, “Do you remember the case of Deacon Widrig over in Loontown. He wuz rich and influential, and when he wuz complained of, and the meetin' house sot on him, they sot light, and you know it, Josiah Allen. And he was kep in the church, the meen old creeter. And Miss Henn is a widder and poor.”

And I said to Josiah, “Do you remember the case of Deacon Widrig over in Loontown? He was rich and influential, and when there were complaints about him, the church didn't take it seriously, and you know it, Josiah Allen. And he was kept in the church, that mean old guy. And Miss Henn is a widow and struggling.”

“Yes,” sez Josiah, calmly, “she hain't been able to help the meetin' house much, and Brother Widrig contributes largely.”

“Yes,” says Josiah, calmly, “she hasn't been able to help the meeting house much, and Brother Widrig contributes a lot.”

Sez I, in a fearful meanin' axent, “I hearn he did at the time he wuz up—I hearn he contributed lots to the male brethren who was a-judgin' him—but,” sez I, “do you spoze, Josiah Allen, that if wimmen wuz allowed their way in the matter, that that man would be allowed to stay in the meetin' house, and keep on a-makin' and a-sellin' the poisen that is sendin' men to ruin all round him—

I said, in a scared tone, “I heard he did when he was here—I heard he gave lots to the men who were judging him—but,” I said, “do you think, Josiah Allen, that if women were allowed to have a say in this, that guy would be allowed to stay in the church and keep making and selling the poison that's ruining men all around him—

“Makin' his hard cider by the barell and hogset and fixin' it some way so it will make a far worse drunk than whiskey, and then supplyin' every low saloon fur and near with it, and peddlin' it out to every man and boy that wants it.

“Makin' his hard cider by the barrel and hogshead and fixing it in such a way that it gets you way more drunk than whiskey, then supplying every low saloon around with it, and selling it to every man and boy who wants it.

“And boys think they can drink cider without doin' any harm—so he jest entices 'em down into the road to ruin—doin' as much agin harm as a whiskey seller.

“And boys think they can drink cider without doing any harm—so he just leads them down the path to destruction—doing just as much damage as a whiskey seller.

“And mothers have to set still and see it go on. It is men that are always appinted to deal with sinners, male or female. Men are judged by their peers, but wimmen never are.

“And mothers have to sit still and watch it happen. It's always men who are assigned to handle sinners, whether they're male or female. Men are judged by their peers, but women never are.

“I wonder if that is just? I wonder how Deacon Widrig would have liked it to have had Miss Henn set on him? He wuz dretful excited, so I hearn, about Metilda's case—thought it wuz highly incumbient on the meetin' house to have her made a example of, so's to try to abolish such wicked doin's as snickerin' out in meetin'.

“I wonder if that’s fair? I wonder how Deacon Widrig would have felt about having Miss Henn go after him? He was really worked up, from what I heard, about Metilda's situation—thought it was really important for the church to make an example of her, to try to put a stop to things like laughing during the service.”

“I wonder how he would have liked it to have had Charley Lanfear's mother set on him? She is a Sister in the meetin' house and Charley is a ruined boy—and Deacon Widrig is jest as much the cause of his ruin— jest as guilty of murderin' all that wuz sweet and lovely in him es if he had fed arsenic to him with a teaspoon.”

“I wonder how he would have felt if Charley Lanfear's mom came after him? She's part of the church community, and Charley is a lost cause—Deacon Widrig is just as much to blame for his downfall—just as guilty of killing everything good and beautiful in him as if he had poisoned him with arsenic spoon by spoon.”

Sez I, “In that very meetin' house to Loontown, there are mothers who have to set and take the bread and wine tokens of the blood and body of their crucified Redeemer from a man's hands that they know are red with the blood of their own sons. Fur redder than human blood and deeper-stained with the ruin of their immortal souls.

Sez I, “In that very meeting house in Loontown, there are mothers who have to accept the bread and wine tokens representing the blood and body of their crucified Savior from a man whose hands they know are stained red with the blood of their own sons. Far redder than human blood and more deeply stained with the ruin of their eternal souls.

“What thoughts does these mothers keep on a-thinkin' as they set there and see a man guilty of worse than murder set up as a example to other young souls? What thoughts do they keep on a-thinkin' of the young hearts that wuz pure before this man laid holt of 'em. Young eyes that wuz true and tender till this man made 'em look on his accursed drink. Young lips that smiled on their mothers till he gin 'em that that changed the smiles to curses?

“What thoughts do these mothers keep thinking as they sit there and see a man guilty of worse than murder held up as an example to other young souls? What thoughts do they keep pondering about the young hearts that were innocent before this man got a hold of them? Young eyes that were sincere and loving until this man made them look upon his cursed drink. Young lips that smiled at their mothers until he gave them something that turned those smiles into curses?”

“Would a delegation of wimmen keep such a man in the meetin' house if he paved the hull floor with fine gold? No, you know they wouldn't. Let a jury of mothers set on such a man, and see if he could get up agin very easy.

“Would a group of women keep a man like that in the meeting house if he covered the entire floor with fine gold? No, you know they wouldn’t. Let a jury of mothers judge such a man, and see if he could easily get back up again.”

“They are the ones who have suffered by him, who have agonized, who went down into deeper than the Valley of Death led by his hand. They went down into that depth where they lose their boy. Lose him eternally.

“They are the ones who have been hurt by him, who have endured pain, who descended deeper than the Valley of Death guided by his hand. They went down into that abyss where they lose their boy. Lose him forever."

“Death, jest death, would give 'em a chance to meet their child again. But what hope does a mother have when down in the darkness that has no mornin', her boy tears his hand from her weak grasp and plunges downward?

“Death, just death, would give them a chance to meet their child again. But what hope does a mother have when down in the darkness that has no morning, her boy tears his hand from her weak grip and plunges downward?

“How does such a mother feel as she sets there in a still meetin' house, and the man who has done all this passes her the emblems of a deathless love, a divine purity?”

“How does a mother feel as she sits there in a quiet meeting house, and the man who has done all this hands her the symbols of an everlasting love, a divine purity?”

Josiah sat demute and, didn't say nuthin', and I went on, for I wuz very roze up in my mind, and by the side of myself with emotions.

Josiah sat in silence and didn’t say anything, and I continued talking, because I was really worked up in my mind and overwhelmed with emotions.

And sez I, “Take the case of Simeon Lathers. Why wuz it that Sister Irene Filkins wuz turned out of the meetin' house and the man who wuz the first cause of her goin' astray kep in—the handsome, smooth-faced hypocrite?—it wuz because he wuz rich as a Jew, and jest plastered over the consciences of them that tried him with his fine speeches and his money.”

And I said, “Look at Simeon Lathers. Why was Sister Irene Filkins kicked out of the meeting house while the guy who drove her to go off the path stayed in—the charming, smooth-faced liar? It was because he was loaded, and just covered the consciences of those who judged him with his fancy words and his cash.”

“Fixed over the meetin' house there in Zoar, built a new steeple, a towerin' one. If wimmen had had their way, that steeple would have pinted the other way.”

“Fixed over the meeting house there in Zoar, built a new steeple, a towering one. If women had had their way, that steeple would have pointed the other way.”

Josiah looked up from Ayers' Almanac, which he wuz calmly perusin', and sez he,

Josiah looked up from Ayers' Almanac, which he was quietly reading, and said,

“How a steeple would look a-pintin' down!”

“How a steeple would look pointing down!”

CHAPTER XVIII.

CHAPTER 18.

Josiah's face wuz smooth and placid, he hadn't took a mite of sense of what I had been a-sayin', and I knew it. Men don't. They know at the most it is only talk, wimmen hain't got it in their power to do anything. And I s'pose they reason on it in this way—a little wind storm is soon over, it relieves old Natur and don't hurt anything.

Josiah's face was calm and relaxed; he hadn't taken a bit of what I was saying seriously, and I knew it. Men usually don't. At most, they think it's just talk; women don’t have the ability to do anything. And I guess they think of it this way—a little whirlwind passes quickly, it eases things up, and doesn’t really cause any harm.

Yes, my pardner's face wuz as calm as the figger on the outside of the almanac a-holdin' the bottle, and his axent wuz mildly wonderin' and gently sarcestickle.

Yes, my partner's face was as calm as the figure on the outside of the almanac holding the bottle, and his accent was mildly curious and gently sarcastic.

“How a steeple would look a-pintin' down! That is a true woman's idee.”

“How a steeple would look pointing down! That is a true woman’s idea.”

Sez I, “I would have it a-pintin' down towards the depths of darkness that wuz in that man's heart that roze it up, and the infamy of the deed that kep him in the meetin' house and turned his victim out of it.”

Sez I, “I would have it pointing down towards the depths of darkness that was in that man's heart that raised it up, and the shame of the act that kept him in the meeting house and kicked his victim out of it.”

“I d'no as she wuz his victim,” sez Josiah.

"I don't know if she was his victim," says Josiah.

Sez I, “Every one knows that in the first place Simeon Lathers wuz the man that led her astray.”

Sez I, “Everyone knows that, first of all, Simeon Lathers was the one who led her off track.”

“It wuzn't proved,” sez Josiah, a-turnin' the almanac over and lookin' at the advertisement on the back side on't.

“It wasn't proven,” says Josiah, turning the almanac over and looking at the advertisement on the back side of it.

“And why wuzn't it proved?” sez I, “because he held a big piece of gold against the mouths of the witnesses.”

“And why wasn’t it proven?” I said, “because he held a large piece of gold in front of the witnesses.”

“I didn't see any in front of my mouth,” sez Josiah, lookin' 'shamed but some composed.

“I didn't see any in front of my mouth,” says Josiah, looking ashamed but somewhat composed.

“And you know what the story wuz,” sez he, “accordin' to that, he did it all to try her faith.”

“And you know what the story was,” he said, “according to that, he did it all to test her faith.”

I wouldn't encourage Josiah by even smilin' at his words, though I knew well what the story wuz he referred to.

I wouldn't encourage Josiah by even smiling at his words, though I knew well what story he was referring to.

It wuz at a Conference meetin', when Simeon Lathers wuz jest a-beginnin' to take notice of how pretty Irene Filkins wuz.

It was at a conference meeting when Simeon Lathers was just starting to notice how pretty Irene Filkins was.

She had gone forward to the anxious seat, with some other young females, their minds bein' wrought on, so it wuz spozed, by Deacon Lathers's eloquent exhortations, and urgin's to 'em to come forward and be saved.

She had gone up to the anxious seat, along with some other young women, their minds being stirred, as it was thought, by Deacon Lathers's powerful encouragements, urging them to come forward and be saved.

And they had gone up onto the anxious seat a-sheddin' tears, and they all knelt down there, and Deacon Lathers he went right up and knelt down right by Sister Irene Filkins, and them that wuz there say, that right while he wuz a-prayin' loud and strong for 'em all, and her specially, he put his arm round her and acted in such a way that she resented it bitterly.

And they had gone up to the anxious seat, shedding tears, and everyone knelt down there. Deacon Lathers went right up and knelt beside Sister Irene Filkins, and those who were there say that while he was praying loudly and earnestly for everyone, especially for her, he put his arm around her and acted in a way that she strongly resented.

She wuz a good, virtuous girl then, any way.

She was a good, virtuous girl back then, anyway.

And she resented his overtoors in such a indignant and decided way that it drawed the attention of a hull lot of brothers and sisters towards 'em.

And she resented his actions so strongly and definitively that it drew the attention of a whole lot of siblings toward them.

And Deacon Lathers got right up from his knees and sez, “Bretheren and sisters, let us sing these lines:

And Deacon Lathers got right up from his knees and said, “Brothers and sisters, let’s sing these lines:

“He did it all to try her faith.”

“He did everything to test her faith.”

I remembered this story, but I wuzn't goin' to encourage Josiah Allen by lettin' my attention be drawed off by any anectotes—nor I didn't smile—oh, no I But I went right on with a hull lot of burnin' indignatin in my axents, and sez I, “Josiah Allen, can you look me in the face and say that it wuzn't money and bad men's influence that keep such men as Deacon Widrig and Simeon Lathers in the meetin' house?” Sez I, “If they wuz poor men would they have been kep', or if it wuzn't for the influence of men that like hard drink?”

I remembered this story, but I wasn’t going to encourage Josiah Allen by letting my attention be distracted by any anecdotes—nor did I smile—oh, no! But I went right on with a lot of burning indignation in my tone, and I said, “Josiah Allen, can you look me in the face and honestly say that it wasn’t money and the influence of bad men that kept people like Deacon Widrig and Simeon Lathers in the meeting house?” I said, “If they were poor men, would they still be there, or is it because of the influence of men who like to drink?”

“Wall, as it were,” sez Josiah, “I—that is—wall, it is a-gettin' bed-time, Samantha.”

“Wall, you know,” says Josiah, “I—that is—well, it’s getting to be bedtime, Samantha.”

And he wound up the clock and went to bed.

And he wound the clock and went to bed.

And I set there, all rousted up in my mind, for more'n a hour—and I dropped more'n seven stitches in Josiah's heel, and didn't care if I did.

And I sat there, all stirred up in my mind, for over an hour—and I dropped more than seven stitches in Josiah's heel, and didn’t care at all.

But I have episoded fearfully, and to resoom and go on.

But I've been afraid, and now it's time to resume and continue.

Miss Henn wuz mad, and she wuz one of our most enterprizen' sisters, and we felt that she wuz a great loss.

Miss Henn was angry, and she was one of our most enterprising sisters, and we felt that she was a great loss.

Things looked dretful dark. And Sister Bobbet, who is very tender hearted, shed tears several times a-talkin' about the hard times that had come onto our meetin' house, and how Zion wuz a-languishin', etc., etc.

Things looked really bleak. And Sister Bobbet, who is very tender-hearted, cried several times while talking about the tough times that had hit our meeting house, and how Zion was suffering, etc., etc.

And I told Sister Bobbet in confidence, and also in public, that it wuz time to talk about Zion's languishin' when we had done all we could to help her up. And I didn't believe Zion would languish so much if she had a little help gin her when she needed it.

And I told Sister Bobbet in confidence, and also in public, that it was time to talk about Zion's struggles when we had done everything we could to help her. I didn't think Zion would struggle so much if she had a little support when she needed it.

And Miss Bobbet said “she felt jest so about it, but she couldn't help bein' cast down.” And so most all of the sisters said. Submit Tewksbury wept, and shed tears time and agin, a-talkin' about it, and so several of 'em did. But I sez to 'em—

And Miss Bobbet said she felt just the same way about it, but she couldn't help feeling down. And so pretty much all the sisters agreed. Submit Tewksbury cried and shed tears over it again and again while talking about it, and several of them did too. But I said to them—

“Good land!” sez I. “We have seen jest as hard times in the Methodist meetin' house before, time and agin, and we wimmen have always laid holt and worked, and laid plans, and worked, and worked, and with the Lord's help have sailed the old ship Zion through the dark waters into safety, and we can do it agin.”

“Goodness gracious!” I said. “We’ve faced tough times in the Methodist meeting house before, over and over, and we women have always stepped up, worked hard, made plans, and worked some more, and with the Lord’s help, we’ve navigated the old ship Zion through the rough waters to safety, and we can do it again.”

Though what we wuz to do we knew not, and the few male men who didn't jine in the hardness, said they couldn't see no way out of it, but what the minister would have to go, and the meetin' house be shet up for a spell.

Though we didn't know what to do, and the few men who didn't participate in the harshness said they couldn't see any way out of it except that the minister would have to leave, and the meeting house would be closed for a while.

But we female wimmen felt that we could not have it so any way. And we jined together, and met in each other's housen (not publickly, oh no! we knew our places too well as Methodist Sisters).

But we women felt that we couldn’t have it that way. So we joined together and met at each other’s homes (not publicly, oh no! We knew our places too well as Methodist Sisters).

We didn't make no move in public, but we kinder met round to each other's housen, sort o' private like, and talked, and talked, and prayed—we all knew that wuzn't aginst the church rules, so we jest rastled in prayer, for help to pay our honest debts, and keep the Methodist meetin' house from disgrace, for the men wuz that worked up and madded, that they didn't seem to care whether the meetin' house come to nothin' or not.

We didn't do anything in public, but we kind of met at each other's houses, sort of privately, and talked, and talked, and prayed—we all knew that wasn't against the church rules, so we just wrestled in prayer for help to pay our honest debts and keep the Methodist meeting house from disgrace, because the men were so worked up and angry that they didn't seem to care whether the meeting house fell apart or not.

Wall, after settin' day after day (not public settin', oh, no! we knew our places too well, and wouldn't be ketched a-settin' public till we had a right to).

Wall, after sitting day after day (not publicly sitting, oh no! We knew our places too well and wouldn't be caught sitting publicly until we had a right to).

After settin' and talkin' it over back and forth, we concluded the very best thing we could do wuz to give a big fair and try to sell things enough to raise some money.

After discussing it back and forth, we concluded that the best thing we could do was to hold a big fair and try to sell enough items to raise some money.

It wuz a fearful tuff job we had took onto ourselves, for we had got to make all the things to sell out of what we could get holt of, for, of course, our husbands all kep the money purses in their own hands, as the way of male pardners is. But we laid out to beset 'em when they wuz cleverer than common (owin' to extra good vittles) and get enough money out of 'em to buy the materials to work with, bedquilts (crazy, and otherwise), embroidered towels, shawl straps, knit socks and suspenders, rugs, chair covers, lap robes, etc., etc., etc.

It was a really tough job we had taken on, because we had to make everything we could sell from whatever we could get our hands on, since, of course, our husbands kept the money in their own control, as is typical for male partners. But we planned to catch them when they were feeling more generous than usual (thanks to some really good meals) and get enough money from them to buy the materials we needed to work with: bed quilts (crazy quilts and otherwise), embroidered towels, shawl straps, knit socks, suspenders, rugs, chair covers, lap robes, and so on.

It wuz a tremendus hard undertakin' we had took onto ourselves, with all our spring's work on hand, and not one of us Sisters kep a hired girl at the time, and we had to do our own house cleanin', paintin' floors, makin' soap, spring sewin', etc., besides our common housework.

It was an incredibly tough task we had taken on, with all our spring work ahead of us, and none of us Sisters had a hired girl at the time, so we had to handle our own house cleaning, floor painting, soap making, spring sewing, and so on, in addition to our regular housework.

But the very worst on't wuz the meetin' house wuz in such a shape that we couldn't do a thing till that wuz fixed.

But the absolute worst part was that the meeting house was in such bad shape that we couldn't do anything until that was fixed.

The men had undertook to fix over the meetin' house jest before the hardness commenced. The men and wimmen both had labored side by side to fix up the old house a little.

The men had taken on the task of repairing the meeting house just before the cold weather started. Both the men and women had worked side by side to improve the old building a bit.

The men had said that in such church work as that wimmen had a perfect right to help, to stand side by side with the male brothers, and do half, or more than half, or even all the work. They said it wuzn't aginst the Discipline, and all the Bishops wuz in favor of it, and always had been. They said it wuz right accordin' to the Articles. But when it come to the hard and arjuous duties of drawin' salleries with 'em, or settin' up on Conferences with 'em, why there a line had to be drawed, wimmen must not be permitted to strain herself in no such ways—nor resk the tender delicacy of her nature, by settin' in a meetin' house as a delegate by the side of a man once a year. It wuz too resky. But we could lay holt and work with 'em in public, or in private, which we felt wuz indeed a privelege, for the interests of the Methodist meetin' house wuz dear to our hearts, and so wuz our pardners' approvals—and they wuz all on 'em unanimus on this pint—we could work all we wanted to.

The men had said that in church work like that, women had every right to help, to stand side by side with the male counterparts, and do half, or more than half, or even all of the work. They claimed it wasn’t against the Discipline, and all the Bishops were in favor of it, and always had been. They stated it was in line with the Articles. But when it came to the tough and demanding tasks of handling salaries with them, or attending Conferences with them, there had to be a boundary drawn—women must not be allowed to strain themselves in those ways—or risk the delicate nature of their gender by sitting in a meeting house as a delegate next to a man once a year. It was too risky. Yet we could get involved and work with them in public or private, which we felt was indeed a privilege, because the interests of the Methodist meeting house were dear to our hearts, and so were our partners’ approvals—and they were all unanimous on this point—we could work as much as we wanted.

So we had laid holt and worked right along with the men from day to day, with their full and free consents, and a little help from 'em, till we had got the work partly done. We had got the little Sabbath-school room painted and papered, and the cushions of the main room new covered, and we had engaged to have it frescoed, but the frescoer had turned out to be a perfect fraud, and, of all the lookin' things, that meetin' house wuz about the worst. The plaster, or whatever it wuz he had put on, had to be all scraped off before it could be papered, the paper wuz bought, and the scrapin' had begun.

So we had settled in and worked alongside the guys day after day, with their full support and a bit of help from them, until we got the job partly done. We had painted and wallpapered the small Sunday school room, reupholstered the cushions in the main room, and we had arranged to have it frescoed, but the fresco artist turned out to be a complete fraud, and honestly, that meeting house was one of the worst looking places. The plaster, or whatever it was he had applied, needed to be completely scraped off before we could wallpaper it, the paper was bought, and the scraping had started.

The young male and female church members had give a public concert together, and raised enough money to get the paper—it wuz very nice, and fifty cents a roll (double roll). These young females appearin' in public for this purpose wuz very agreeable to the hull meetin' house, and wuz right accordin' to the rules of the Methodist Meetin' House, for I remember I asked about it when the question first come up about sendin' female delegates to the Conference, and all the male members of our meetin' house wuz so horrified at the idee.

The young men and women from the church held a public concert together and raised enough money to get the paper—it was really nice, and fifty cents a roll (double roll). These young women performing in public for this purpose was very well-received by the whole meeting house, and it was completely in line with the rules of the Methodist Meeting House. I remember asking about it when the question first came up about sending female delegates to the Conference, and all the male members of our meeting house were so shocked by the idea.

I sez, “I'll bet there wouldn't one of the delegates yell half so loud es she that wuz Mahala Gowdey at the concert. Her voice is a sulferino of the very keenest edge and highest tone, and she puts in sights and sights of quavers.”

I said, “I bet none of the delegates would yell as loud as Mahala Gowdey did at the concert. Her voice is sharp and high-pitched, and she adds a ton of trills.”

But they all said that wuz a very different thing.

But they all said that was a very different thing.

And sez I, “How different? She wuz a yellin' in public for the good of the Methodist Meetin' House (it wuz her voice that drawed the big congregatin, we all know). And them wimmen delegates would only have to 'yea' and 'nay' in a still small voice for the good of the same. I can't see why it would be so much more indelicate and unbecomin' in them”—and sez I, “they would have bonnets and shawls on, and she that wuz Mahala had on a low neck and short sleeves.” But they wouldn't yield, and I wouldn't nuther.

And I said, “How is that different? She was yelling in public for the good of the Methodist Meeting House (it was her voice that attracted the big crowd, we all know). And those women delegates would only have to say 'yes' and 'no' in a soft voice for the same reason. I don't see why it would be so much more inappropriate for them”—and I said, “They would have bonnets and shawls on, while Mahala was wearing a low-neck dress and short sleeves.” But they wouldn't back down, and neither would I.

But I am a eppisodin fearful, and to resoom. Wall, as I said, the scrapin' had begun. One side of the room wuz partly cleaned so the paper could go on, and then the fuss come up, and there it wuz, as you may say, neither hay nor grass, neither frescoed nor papered nor nuthin'. And of all the lookin' sights it wuz.

But I am a little nervous, and to get back on track. Well, as I said, the scraping had started. One side of the room was partially cleaned so the paper could go up, and then the fuss started, and there it was, so to speak, neither hay nor grass, neither painted nor wallpapered nor anything. And of all the sights to see, it was a mess.

Wall, of course, if we had a fair in that meetin' house, we couldn't have it in such a lookin' place to disgrace us in the eyes of Baptists and 'Piscopals.

Wall, of course, if we had a fair in that meeting house, we couldn't have it in such an unappealing place that would shame us in front of Baptists and Episcopalians.

No, that meetin' house had got to be scraped, and we wimmen had got to do the scrapin' with case knives.

No, that meeting house needed to be scraped, and we women had to do the scraping with paring knives.

It wuz a hard job. I couldn't help thinkin' quite a number of thoughts as I stood on a barell with a board acrost it, afraid as death of fallin' and a workin' for dear life, and the other female sisters a standin' round on similar barells, all a-workin' fur beyond their strengths, and all afraid of fallin', and we all a-knowin' what we had got ahead on us a paperin' and a gettin' up the fair.

It was a tough job. I couldn't help but think a lot of thoughts as I stood on a barrel with a board across it, terrified of falling and working for dear life, while the other women stood around on similar barrels, all working beyond their limits, and all afraid of falling, and we all knew what was ahead of us – wallpapering and getting ready for the fair.

CHAPTER XIX.

CHAPTER 19.

Couldn't help a-methinkin' to myself several times. It duz seem to me that there hain't a question a-comin' up before that Conference that is harder to tackle than this plasterin' and the conundrum that is up before us Jonesville wimmen how to raise 300 dollars out of nuthin', and to make peace in a meetin' house where anarky is now rainin' down.

I couldn't help but think to myself several times. It does seem to me that there isn't a question coming up at that Conference that's tougher to deal with than this issue about raising $300 from nothing, and figuring out how to create peace in a meeting house where chaos is currently reigning.

But I only thought these thoughts to myself, fur I knew every women there wuz peacible and law abidin' and there wuzn't one of 'em but what would ruther fall offen her barell then go agin the rules of the Methodist Meetin' House.

But I kept these thoughts to myself, because I knew every woman there was peaceful and law-abiding, and not one of them would rather fall off her barrel than go against the rules of the Methodist Meeting House.

Yes, I tried to curb down my rebellous thoughts, and did, pretty much all the time. And good land! we worked so hard that we hadn't time to tackle very curius and peculier thoughts, them that wuz dretful strainin' and wearin' on the mind. Not of our own accord we didn't, fur we had to jest nip in and work the hull durin' time.

Yes, I tried to control my rebellious thoughts, and I mostly succeeded. We worked so hard that we didn't have time to deal with any strange or peculiar thoughts that were really tiring and stressful. It wasn’t our choice, either, because we had to just jump in and work the entire time.

And then we all knew how deathly opposed our pardners wuz to our takin' any public part in meetin' house matters or mountin' rostrums, and that thought quelled us down a sight.

And then we all realized how strongly our partners were against us taking any public role in church matters or speaking on stages, and that idea really calmed us down a lot.

Of course when these subjects wuz brung up before us, and turned round and round in front of our eyes, why we had to look at 'em and be rousted up by 'em more or less. It was Nater.

Of course, when these topics were brought up in front of us and turned over and over in our minds, we had to look at them and get stirred up by them, more or less. It was Nature.

And Josiah not havin' anything to do evenin's only to set and look at the ceilin'. Every single night when I would go home from the meetin' house, Josiah would tackle me on it, on the danger of allowin' wimmen to ventur out of her spear in Meetin' House matters, and specially the Conference.

And Josiah had nothing to do in the evenings except sit and stare at the ceiling. Every single night when I would come home from the meeting house, Josiah would confront me about it, warning me about the dangers of letting women step out of their role in meeting house matters, especially the Conference.

It begin to set in New York the very day we tackled the meetin' in Jonesville with a extra grip.

It started in New York the very day we approached the meeting in Jonesville with an extra boost.

So's I can truly say, the Meetin' House wuz on me day and night. For workin' on it es I did, all day long, and Josiah a-talkin' abut it till bed time, and I a-dreamin' abut it a sight, that, and the Conference.

So I can honestly say, the Meeting House was on my mind day and night. I worked on it all day long, and Josiah talked about it until bedtime, and I dreamed about it a lot, along with the Conference.

Truly, if I couldn't set on the Conference, the Conference sot on me, from mornin' till night, and from night till mornin'.

Truly, if I couldn't sit in on the Conference, the Conference sat on me, from morning till night, and from night till morning.

I spoze it wuz Josiah's skairful talk that brung it onto me, it wuz brung on nite mairs mostly, in the nite time.

I guess it was Josiah's scary talk that brought it on for me; it mostly happened at night, during the nighttime.

He would talk very skairful, and what he called deep, and repeat pages of Casper Keeler's arguments, and they would appear to me (drawed also by nite mairs) every page on 'em lookin' fairly lurid.

He would speak very carefully, and what he called profound, and repeat pages of Casper Keeler's arguments, which to me (also drawn by nightmares) looked pretty intense on every page.

I suffered.

I struggled.

Josiah would set with the World and other papers in his hand, a-perusin' of 'em, while I would be a-washin' up my dishes, and the very minute I would get 'em done and my sleeves rolled down, he would tackle me, and often he wouldn't wait for me to get my work done up, or even supper got, but would begin on me as I filled up my tea kettle, and keep up a stiddy drizzle of argument till bed time, and as I say, when he left off, the nite mairs would begin.

Josiah would sit with the World and other papers in his hands, reading them, while I washed my dishes. The moment I finished and rolled my sleeves down, he would start on me. Often, he wouldn’t even wait for me to finish my work or prepare supper; he would start up while I filled the tea kettle and keep up a steady stream of arguments until bedtime. And like I said, when he finally stopped, the night arguments would begin.

I suffered beyond tellin' almost.

I suffered more than I can say.

The secont night of my arjuous labors on the meetin' house, he began wild and eloquent about wimmen bein' on Conferences, and mountin' rostrums. And sez he, “That is suthin' that we Methodist men can't stand.”

The second night of my exhausting work on the meeting house, he got really passionate and eloquent about women being at Conferences and getting up on stages. And he said, “That is something that we Methodist men can't accept.”

And I, havin' stood up on a barell all day a-scrapin' the ceilin', and not bein' recuperated yet from the skairtness and dizziness of my day's work, I sez to him:

And I, having stood on a barrel all day scraping the ceiling, and not yet recovered from the fear and dizziness of my work, said to him:

“Is rostrums much higher than them barells we have to stand on to the meetin' house?”

“Is the platform much higher than those barrels we have to stand on to get to the meeting house?”

And Josiah said, “it wuz suthin' altogether different.” And he assured me agin,

And Josiah said, “It was something completely different.” And he assured me again,

“That in any modest, unpretendin' way the Methodist Church wuz willin' to accept wimmen's work. It wuzn't aginst the Discipline. And that is why,” sez he, “that wimmen have all through the ages been allowed to do most all the hard work in the church—such as raisin' money for church work—earnin' money in all sorts of ways to carry on the different kinds of charity work connected with it—teachin' the children, nursin' the sick, carryin' on hospital work, etc., etc. But,” sez he, “this is fur, fur different from gettin' up on a rostrum, or tryin' to set on a Conference. Why,” sez he, in a haughty tone, “I should think they'd know without havin' to be told that laymen don't mean women.”

“That in any modest, unpretentious way the Methodist Church was willing to accept women's work. It wasn't against the Discipline. And that's why,” he said, “women have historically been allowed to do most of the hard work in the church—like raising money for church initiatives—earning money in all sorts of ways to support various charitable activities connected to it—teaching the children, caring for the sick, running hospital work, etc., etc. But,” he stated, “this is very, very different from getting up on a platform or trying to sit on a Conference. Why,” he said, in a haughty tone, “I would think they'd know without being told that laymen doesn't include women.”

Sez I, “Them very laymen that are tryin' to keep wimmen out of the Conference wouldn't have got in themselves if it hadn't been for wimmen's votes. If they can legally vote for men to get in why can't men vote for them?”

Sez I, “Those very laymen who are trying to keep women out of the Conference wouldn't have been able to get in themselves if it weren't for women's votes. If they can legally vote for men to get in, why can't men vote for them?”

“That is the pint,” sez Josiah, “that is the very pint I have been tryin' to explain to you. Wimmen can help men to office, but men can't help wimmen; that is law, that is statesmanship. I have been a-tryin' to explain it to you that the word laymen always means woman when she can help men in any way, but not when he can help her, or in any other sense.”

“That is the point,” says Josiah, “that is the very point I’ve been trying to explain to you. Women can help men get elected, but men can’t help women; that’s just how it is, that’s statesmanship. I’ve been trying to make it clear to you that the term laymen always refers to women when they can assist men in any way, but not when men can assist them, or in any other context.”

Sez I, “It seemed to mean wimmen when Metilda Henn wuz turned out of the meetin' house.”

Sez I, “It seemed to be about women when Metilda Henn was kicked out of the meeting house.”

“Oh, yes,” sez Josiah in a reasonin' tone, “the word laymen always means wimmen when it is used in a punishin' and condemnatory sense, or in the case of work and so fourth, but when it comes to settin' up in high places, or drawin' sallerys, or anything else difficult, it alweys means men.”

“Oh, yes,” says Josiah in a reasoning tone, “the word laymen always refers to women when it’s used in a punishing and condemning sense, or in terms of work and so on, but when it comes to holding high positions, earning salaries, or anything else challenging, it always means men.”

Sez I, in a very dry axent, “Then the word man, when it is used in church matters, always means wimmen, so fur as scrubbin' is concerned, and drowdgin' round?”

Sez I, in a very dry accent, “So the word man, when it's used in church matters, always means women, as far as cleaning is concerned and hanging around?”

“Yes,” sez Josiah haughtily, “And it always means men in the higher and more difficult matters of decidin' questions, drawin' sallerys, settin' on Conferences, etc. It has long been settled to be so,” sez he.

“Yes,” says Josiah arrogantly, “And it always refers to men dealing with the more complex issues of making decisions, drawing salaries, leading conferences, and so on. It has been agreed upon for a long time,” he says.

“Who settled it?” sez I.

"Who settled it?" I said.

“Why the men, of course,” sez he. “The men have always made the rules of the churches, and translated the Bibles, and everything else that is difficult,” sez he. Sez I, in fearful dry axents, almost husky ones, “It seems to take quite a knack to know jest when the word laymen means men and when it means wimmen.”

“Why the men, of course,” he said. “The men have always made the rules of the churches, and translated the Bibles, and everything else that is difficult,” he said. I replied, in a slightly dry voice, almost hoarse, “It seems like it takes quite a skill to know just when the word laymen means men and when it means women.”

“That is so,” sez Josiah. “It takes a man's mind to grapple with it; wimmen's minds are too weak to tackle it It is jest as it is with that word 'men' in the Declaration of Independence. Now that word 'men', in that Declaration, means men some of the time, and some of the time men and wimmen both. It means both sexes when it relates to punishment, taxin' property, obeyin' the laws strictly, etc., etc., and then it goes right on the very next minute and means men only, as to wit, namely, votin', takin' charge of public matters, makin' laws, etc.

“That’s true,” says Josiah. “It takes a guy’s mind to figure it out; women’s minds are too weak for it. It’s just like that word ‘men’ in the Declaration of Independence. That word ‘men’ in the Declaration means men some of the time, and sometimes it includes both men and women. It refers to both sexes when it comes to punishment, property tax, strictly following laws, and so on, but then it goes right on and only means men when it comes to voting, handling public affairs, making laws, and the like.”

“I tell you it takes deep minds to foller on and see jest to a hair where the division is made. It takes statesmanship.

“I tell you it takes sharp minds to follow along and see exactly where the division is made. It takes leadership.”

“Now take that claws, 'All men are born free and equal.'

“Now take that quote, 'All men are born free and equal.'”

“Now half of that means men, and the other half men and wimmen. Now to understand them words perfect you have got to divide the tex. 'Men are born.' That means men and wimmen both—men and wimmen are both born, nobody can dispute that. Then comes the next claws, 'Free and equal.' Now that means men only—anybody with one eye can see that.

“Now half of that refers to men, and the other half refers to both men and women. To fully understand those words, you need to break down the text. 'Men are born.' That means both men and women are born—there's no argument about that. Then comes the next clause, 'Free and equal.' That refers to men only—anyone with one eye can see that."

“Then the claws, 'True government consists.' That means men and wimmen both—consists—of course the government consists of men and wimmen, 'twould be a fool who would dispute that. 'In the consent of the governed.' That means men alone. Do you see, Samantha?” sez he.

“Then the claws, 'True government consists.' That means men and women both—consists—of course the government consists of men and women, 'twould be a fool who would argue that. 'In the consent of the governed.' That means men alone. Do you see, Samantha?” he said.

I kep' my eye fixed on the tea kettle, fer I stood with my tea-pot in hand waitin' for it to bile—“I see a great deal, Josiah Allen.”

I kept my eye on the tea kettle because I stood with my teapot in hand, waiting for it to boil—“I see a lot, Josiah Allen.”

“Wall,” sez he, “I am glad on't. Now to sum it up,” sez he, with some the mean of a preacher—or, ruther, a exhauster—“to sum the matter all up, the words 'bretheren,' 'laymen,' etc., always means wimmen so fur as this: punishment for all offenses, strict obedience to the rules of the church, work of any kind and all kinds, raisin' money, givin' money all that is possible, teachin' in the Sabbath school, gettin' up missionary and charitable societies, carryin' on the same with no help from the male sect leavin' that sect free to look after their half of the meanin' of the word—sallerys, office, makin' the laws that bind both of the sexes, rulin' things generally, translatin' Bibles to suit their own idees, preachin' at 'em, etc., etc. Do you see, Samantha?” sez he, proudly and loftily.

"Wall," he said, "I'm glad about it. Now, to sum it up," he continued, with something of a preacher—or rather, an exhaust pipe—"to summarize the whole issue, the terms 'brethren,' 'laymen,' etc., always refer to women in this way: punishment for all offenses, strict adherence to the church's rules, all kinds of work, raising money, contributing money as much as possible, teaching in Sunday school, organizing missionary and charitable societies, carrying on all this without help from men, leaving that group free to focus on their share of the responsibilities—salaries, offices, making the laws that govern both genders, generally ruling things, translating Bibles to fit their own ideas, preaching to them, etc., etc. Do you see, Samantha?" he asked proudly and loftily.

“Yes,” sez I, as I filled up my tea-pot, for the water had at last biled. “Yes, I see.”

“Yes,” I said, as I filled my teapot, since the water had finally boiled. “Yes, I see.”

And I spoze he thought he had convinced me, for he acted high headeder and haughtier for as much as an hour and a half. And I didn't say anything to break it up, for I see he had stated it jest as he and all his sect looked at it, and good land! I couldn't convince the hull male sect if I tried—clergymen, statesmen and all—so I didn't try, and I wuz truly beat out with my day's work, and I didn't drop more than one idee more. I simply dropped this remark es I poured out his tea and put some good cream into it—I merely sez:

And I suppose he thought he had won me over because he acted all superior and haughty for about an hour and a half. I didn't say anything to change the conversation because I could see he had put it exactly how he and everyone in his circle saw it, and honestly! I couldn't convince the whole male crowd if I wanted to—clergymen, politicians, and all—so I didn't bother, and I was truly worn out from my day’s work, and I didn’t bring up more than one more thought. I just made this comment as I poured his tea and added some nice cream—I simply said:

“There is three times es many wimmen in the meetin' house es there is men.”

“There are three times as many women in the meeting house as there are men.”

“Yes,” sez he, “that is one of the pints I have been explainin' to you,” and then he went on agin real high headed, and skairt, about the old ground, of the willingness of the meetin' house to shelter wimmen in its folds, and how much they needed gaurdin' and guidin', and about their delicacy of frame, and how unfitted they wuz to tackle anything hard, and what a grief it wuz to the male sect to see 'em a-tryin' to set on Conferences or mount rostrums, etc., etc.

“Yes,” he said, “that’s one of the points I’ve been explaining to you,” and then he went on again really high-headed and scared, about the old ground, about the willingness of the meeting house to shelter women within its folds, and how much they needed guarding and guiding, and about their delicacy, and how unfit they were to handle anything tough, and what a grief it was to the male sect to see them trying to take part in Conferences or speak on platforms, etc., etc.

And I didn't try to break up his argument, but simply repeated the question I had put to him—for es I said before, I wuz tired, and skairt, and giddy yet from my hard labor and my great and hazardus elevatin'; I had not, es you may say, recovered yet from my recuperation, and so I sez agin them words—

And I didn't try to interrupt his argument, but just repeated the question I had asked him—because, as I mentioned before, I was tired, scared, and still a bit dizzy from my hard work and the risky lifting I had done; I hadn't, you could say, fully recovered yet from my recuperation, and so I said those words again—

“Is rostrums much higher than them barells to stand on?” And Josiah said agin, “it wuz suthin' entirely different;” he said barells and rostrums wuz so fur apart that you couldn't look at both on 'em in one day hardly, let alone a minute. And he went on once more with a long argument full of Bible quotations and everything.

“Are the platforms much higher than those barrels to stand on?” And Josiah said again, “It was something completely different;” he said barrels and platforms were so far apart that you could hardly look at both of them in one day, let alone in a minute. And he went on again with a long argument full of Bible quotes and everything.

And I wuz too tuckered out to say much more. But I did contend for it to the last, that I didn't believe a rostrum would be any more tottlin' and skairful a place than the barell I had been a-standin' on all day, nor the work I'd do on it any harder than the scrapin' of the ceilin' of that meetin house.

And I was too worn out to say much more. But I insisted until the end that I didn’t think a podium would be any more wobbly and scary than the barrel I had been standing on all day, nor would the work I’d do on it be any harder than scraping the ceiling of that meeting house.

And I don't believe it would, I stand jest as firm on it to-day as I did then.

And I don’t believe it would. I stand just as firmly on it today as I did back then.

CHAPTER XX.

Wall, we got the scrapin' done after three hard and arjous days' works, and then we preceeded to clean the house. The day we set to clean the meetin' house prior and before paperin', we all met in good season, for we knew the hardships of the job in front of us, and we all felt that we wanted to tackle it with our full strengths.

Well, we finished the scraping after three long and exhausting days of work, and then we got to cleaning the house. On the day we decided to clean the meeting house before putting up the wallpaper, we all gathered early, knowing the challenges ahead of us, and we all felt ready to take it on with all our strength.

Sister Henzy, wife of Deacon Henzy, got there jest as I did. She wuz in middlin' good spirits and a old yeller belzerine dress.

Sister Henzy, wife of Deacon Henzy, arrived just as I did. She was in fairly good spirits and wearing an old yellow belzerine dress.

Sister Gowdy had the ganders and newraligy and wore a flannel for 'em round her head, but she wuz in workin' spirits, her will wuz up in arms, and nerved up her body.

Sister Gowdy had the goosebumps and nerve pain and wore a flannel around her head, but she was in good spirits, her will was strong, and it energized her body.

Sister Meechim wuz a-makin' soap, and so wuz Sister Sypher, and Sister Mead, and me. But we all felt that soap come after religion, not before. “Cleanliness next to godliness.”

Sister Meechim was making soap, and so was Sister Sypher, and Sister Mead, and I. But we all believed that soap comes after religion, not before. “Cleanliness next to godliness.”

So we wuz all willin' to act accordin' and tackle the old meetin' house with a willin' mind.

So we were all ready to act accordingly and take on the old meeting house with enthusiasm.

Wall, we wuz all engaged in the very heat of the warfare, as you may say, a-scrubbin' the floors, and a-scourin' the benches by the door, and a-blackin' the 2 stoves that stood jest inside of the door. We wuz workin' jest as hard as wimmen ever worked—and all of the wimmen who wuzn't engaged in scourin' and moppin' wuz a-settin' round in the pews a-workin' hard on articles for the fair—when all of a suddin the outside door opened and in come Josiah Allen with 3 of the other men bretheren.

Well, we were all caught up in the heat of the moment, you could say, scrubbing the floors, cleaning the benches by the door, and polishing the two stoves that were just inside the entrance. We were working as hard as any women ever did—and all the women who weren’t busy cleaning and mopping were sitting in the pews, bustling away on items for the fair—when suddenly the outside door swung open, and in walked Josiah Allen with three of the other men.

They had jest got the great news of wimmen bein' apinted for Deaconesses, and had come down on the first minute to tell us. She that wuz Celestine Bobbet wuz the only female present that had heard of it.

They had just received the exciting news that women were appointed as Deaconesses, and they came down immediately to tell us. The only woman present who had heard about it was Celestine Bobbet.

Josiah had heard it to the post-office, and he couldn't wait till noon to tell me about it, and Deacon Gowdy wuz anxius Miss Gowdy should hear it as soon es possible. Deacon Sypher wanted his wife to know at once that if she wuzn't married she could have become a deaconess under his derectin'.

Josiah had heard it at the post office, and he couldn't wait until noon to tell me about it, and Deacon Gowdy was anxious for Miss Gowdy to hear it as soon as possible. Deacon Sypher wanted his wife to know right away that if she weren't married, she could have become a deaconess under his direction.

And Josiah wanted me to know immegietly that I, too, could have had the privilege if I had been a more single woman, of becomin' a deaconess, and have had the chance of workin' all my hull life for the meetin' house, with a man to direct my movements and take charge on me, and tell me what to do, from day to day and from hour to hour.

And Josiah wanted me to know right away that I, too, could have had the privilege of becoming a deaconess if I had been a more single woman. I could have spent my entire life working for the meeting house, with a man to guide my actions, take charge of me, and tell me what to do, from day to day and hour to hour.

And Deacon Henzy was anxious Miss Henzy should get the news as quick as she could. So they all hastened down to the meetin' house to tell us.

And Deacon Henzy was eager for Miss Henzy to get the news as soon as possible. So they all rushed down to the meeting house to tell us.

And we left off our work for a minute to hear 'em. It wuzn't nowhere near time for us to go home.

And we paused our work for a minute to listen to them. It wasn't anywhere close to time for us to go home.

Josiah had lots of further business to do in Jonesville and so had the other men. But the news had excited 'em, and exhilerated 'em so, that they had dropped everything, and hastened right down to tell us, and then they wuz a-goin' back agin immegietly.

Josiah had a lot more to take care of in Jonesville, and so did the other men. But the news had gotten them so excited and energized that they dropped everything and rushed right down to tell us, and then they were planning to head back immediately.

I, myself, took the news coolly, or as cool as I could, with my temperature up to five or five and a half, owin' to the hard work and the heat.

I took the news calmly, or as calmly as I could, with my temperature reaching around five or five and a half, due to the hard work and the heat.

Miss Gowdy also took it pretty calm. She leaned on her mop handle, partly for rest (for she was tuckered out) and partly out of good manners, and didn't say much.

Miss Gowdy also stayed pretty composed. She leaned on her mop handle, partly to rest (since she was exhausted) and partly out of politeness, and didn't say much.

But Miss Sypheris such a admirin'woman, she looked fairly radiant at the news, and she spoke up to her husband in her enthusiastik warm-hearted way—

But Miss Sypheris, such an admirable woman, she looked truly radiant at the news, and she addressed her husband in her enthusiastic, warm-hearted way—

“Why, Deacon Sypher, is it possible that I, too, could become a deacon, jest like you?”

“Why, Deacon Sypher, is it possible that I could also become a deacon, just like you?”

“No,” sez Deacon Sypher solemnly, “no, Drusilly, not like me. But you wimmen have got the privelege now, if you are single, of workin' all your days at church work under the direction of us men.”

“No,” said Deacon Sypher seriously, “no, Drusilly, not like me. But you women have the privilege now, if you are single, of working all your days in church work under the guidance of us men.”

“Then I could work at the Deacon trade under you,” sez she admirin'ly, “I could work jest like you—pass round the bread and wine and the contribution box Sundays?”

“Then I could work at the Deacon job under you,” she said with admiration, “I could work just like you—pass around the bread and wine and the donation box on Sundays?”

“Oh, no, Drusilly,” sez he condesendinly, “these hard and arjuous dutys belong to the male deaconship. That is their own one pertickiler work, that wimmen can't infringe upon. Their hull strength is spent in these duties, wimmen deacons have other fields of labor, such as relievin' the wants of the sick and sufferin', sittin' up nights with small-pox patients, takin' care of the sufferin' poor, etc., etc.”

“Oh, no, Drusilly,” he said condescendingly, “these tough and demanding duties belong to the male deaconship. That's their specific job that women can't meddle in. Their whole strength is dedicated to these tasks, while women deacons have other areas of service, like helping the sick and suffering, staying up nights with smallpox patients, taking care of the needy, and so on.”

“But,” sez Miss Sypher (she is so good-hearted, and so awful fond of the deacon), “wouldn't it be real sweet, Deacon, if you and I could work together as deacons, and tend the sick, relieve the sufferers—work for the good of the church together—go about doin' good?”

“But,” says Miss Sypher (she's so kind-hearted and really fond of the deacon), “wouldn't it be wonderful, Deacon, if you and I could team up as deacons, take care of the sick, help those in need—work for the benefit of the church together—go around doing good?”

“No, Drusilly,” sez he, “that is wimmen's work. I would not wish for a moment to curtail the holy rights of wimmen. I wouldn't want to stand in her way, and keep her from doin' all this modest, un-pretendin' work, for which her weaker frame and less hefty brain has fitted her.

“No, Drusilly,” he said, “that’s women’s work. I wouldn’t want to take away the sacred rights of women for a second. I wouldn’t want to get in her way or stop her from doing all this humble, straightforward work, which her gentler body and less robust mind are suited for.

“We will let it go on in the same old way. Let wimmen have the privelege of workin' hard, jest as she always has. Let her work all the time, day and night, and let men go on in the same sure old way of superentendin' her movements, guardin' her weaker footsteps, and bossin' her round generally.”

“We’ll keep doing things the same old way. Let women have the privilege of working hard, just like they always have. Let them work all the time, day and night, while men continue to supervise their actions, protect their weaker steps, and boss them around in general.”

Deacon Sypher is never happy in his choice of language, and his method of argiment is such that when he is up on the affirmative of a question, the negative is delighted, for they know he will bring victery to their side of the question. Now, he didn't mean to speak right out about men's usual way of bossin' wimmen round. It was only his unfortunate and transparent manner of speakin'.

Deacon Sypher is never satisfied with the way he communicates, and his style of argument is such that when he's advocating for something, the opposing side cheers, knowing he'll end up giving them the win. He didn't intend to openly address how men typically try to control women; it was just his awkward and obvious way of speaking.

And Deacon Bobbet hastened to cover up the remark by the statement that “he wuz so highly tickled that wimmen wuzn't goin' to be admitted to the Conference, because it would weaken the Conference.”

And Deacon Bobbet quickly tried to downplay the comment by saying that “he was so pleased that women weren’t going to be allowed into the Conference, because it would weaken the Conference.”

“Yes,” sez my Josiah, a-leanin' up aginst the meetin' house door, and talkin' pretty loud, for Sister Peedick and me had gone to liftin' round the big bench by the door, and it wuz fearful heavy, and our minds wuz excersised as to the best place to put it while we wuz a-cleanin' the floor.

“Yes,” said my Josiah, leaning against the meeting house door and talking pretty loud, because Sister Peedick and I had gone to lift the big bench by the door, and it was really heavy. We were trying to figure out the best place to put it while we cleaned the floor.

“You see,” sez he, “we feel, we men do, we feel that it would be weakenin' to the Conference to have wimmen admitted, both on account of her own lack of strength and also from the fact that every woman you would admit would keep out a man. And that,” sez he (a-leanin' back in a still easier attitude, almust a luxurious one), “that, you see, would tend naterally to weakenin' the strength of a church.”

"You see," he said, "we men feel that allowing women in the Conference would weaken it, both because of her lack of strength and because every woman admitted would mean one less man. And that," he said, leaning back in a more relaxed position, almost a luxurious one, "would naturally weaken the strength of a church."

“Wall,” sez I, a-pantin' hard for breath under my burden, “move round a little, won't you, for we want to set the bench here while we scrub under it. And,” sez I, a-stoppin' a minute and rubbin' the perspiratin and sweat offen my face, “Seein' you men are all here, can't you lay holt and help us move out the benches, so we can clean the floor under 'em? Some of 'em are very hefty,” sez I, “and all of us Sisters almost are a-makin' soap, and we all want to get done here, so we can go home and bile down; we would dearly love a little help,” sez I.

“Wall,” I said, panting hard for breath under my load, “could you move a bit, please? We want to set the bench here while we clean underneath it. And,” I said, stopping for a moment to wipe the sweat off my face, “since you guys are all here, can you pitch in and help us move the benches so we can clean the floor underneath them? Some of them are pretty heavy,” I added, “and all of us Sisters are busy making soap, and we really want to finish up here so we can go home and relax; we would really appreciate a little help,” I said.

“I would help,” sez Josiah in a willin' tone, “I would help in a minute, if I hadn't got so much work to do at home.”

“I would help,” says Josiah in a willing tone, “I would help in a heartbeat, if I didn’t have so much work to do at home.”

And all the other male bretheren said the same thing—they had got to git to get home to get to work. (Some on 'em wanted to play checkers, and I knew it.)

And all the other guys said the same thing—they had to get home to get to work. (Some of them wanted to play checkers, and I knew it.)

But some on 'em did have lots of work on their hands, I couldn't dispute it.

But some of them did have a lot of work on their hands, I couldn't argue with that.

CHAPTER XXI.

CHAPTER 21.

Why, Deacon Henzy, besides all his cares about the buzz saw mill, and his farm work, had bought a steam threshin' machine that made him sights of work. It was a good machine. But it wuz fairly skairful to see it a-steamin' and a-blowin' right along the streets of Jonesville without the sign of a horse or ox or anything nigh it to draw it. A-puffin' out the steam, and a-tearin' right along, that awful lookin' that it skairt she that wuz Celestine Bobbet most into fits.

Why, Deacon Henzy, in addition to all his worries about the buzz saw mill and his farm tasks, had bought a steam threshing machine that generated a lot of work for him. It was a good machine. But it was quite scary to see it steaming and blowing right down the streets of Jonesville with no sign of a horse or ox or anything nearby to pull it. Puffing out steam and racing along, it looked so frightening that it almost sent poor Celestine Bobbet into a panic.

She lived in a back place where such machines wuz unknown, and she had come home to her father's on a visit, and wuz goin' over to visit some of his folks that day, over to Loontown.

She lived in a remote area where such machines were unheard of, and she had come home to her father's for a visit, planning to go visit some of his relatives that day, over in Loontown.

And she wuz a-travellin' along peacible, with her father's old mair, and a-leanin' back in the buggy a readin' a article her father had sent over by her to Deacon Widrig, a witherin' article about female Deaconesses, and the stern necessity of settin' 'em apart and sanctifyen' 'em to this one work—deacon work—and how they mustn't marry, or tackle any other hard jobs whatsumever, or break off into any other enterprize, only jest plain deacon work.

And she was traveling peacefully with her father's old mare, leaning back in the buggy reading an article her father had sent to Deacon Widrig. It was a dry article about female deaconesses and the strict need to set them apart and dedicate them to this one task—deacon work—and how they shouldn’t marry, take on any other tough jobs, or get involved in any other ventures, just plain deacon work.

It wuz a very flowery article. And she wuz enjoyin' of it first rate, and a-thinkin', for she is a little timid and easily skairt, and the piece had convinced her—

It was a very flowery article. And she was enjoying it thoroughly, and thinking, because she is a bit timid and easily scared, and the piece had convinced her—

She wuz jest a-thinkin' how dretful it would be if sum female deaconess should ever venter into some other branch of business, and what would be apt to become of her if she did. She hated to think of what her doom would most likely be, bein' tender hearted.

She was just thinking about how terrible it would be if some female deaconess ever ventured into another line of work, and what could happen to her if she did. She hated to imagine what her fate would probably be, being so soft-hearted.

When lo, and behold! jest as she wuz a-thinkin' these thoughts, she see this wild and skairful machine approachin', and Deacon Henzy a-standin' up on top of it a-drivin'. He looked wild and excited, bein' very tickled to think that he had threshed more with his machine, by twenty bushels, than Deacon Petengill had with his. There was a bet upon these two deacons, so it wuz spozed, and he wuz a-hastenin' to the next place where he wuz to be setup, so's to lose no time, and he was kinder hollerin'.

When suddenly, just as she was thinking these thoughts, she saw this wild and frightening machine approaching, with Deacon Henzy standing on top of it driving. He looked wild and excited, really pleased to know that he had threshed twenty more bushels with his machine than Deacon Petengill had with his. It was believed that there was a bet between these two deacons, and he was rushing to the next place where he was to set up, not wanting to waste any time, and he was kind of shouting.

And the wind took his gray hair back, and his long side whiskers, and kinder stood 'em out, and the skirts of his frock the same.

And the wind blew back his gray hair, and his long sideburns, and it kind of made them stand out, just like the edges of his coat.

His mean wuz wild.

His attitude was wild.

And it wuz more than Celestine's old mair and she herself could bear; she cramped right round in the road (the mair did) and set sail back to old Bobbet'ses, and that great concern a-puffin' and a-steamin' along after 'em.

And it was more than Celestine's old mare and she could handle; the mare turned right around in the road and headed back to old Bobbet's, with that big concern puffing and steaming along behind them.

And by the time that she that wuz Celestine got there she wuz almost in a fit, and the mair in a perfect lather.

And by the time Celestine arrived, she was almost in a fit, and the mare was in a perfect lather.

Wall, Celestine didn't get over it for weeks and weeks, nor the mair nuther.

Wall, Celestine didn’t get over it for weeks and weeks, and neither did the mayor.

And besides this enterprize of Deacon Henzy's, he had got up a great invention, a new rat trap, that wuz peculier and uneek in the extreme.

And besides this project of Deacon Henzy's, he had come up with a great invention, a new rat trap, that was peculiar and unique to the extreme.

It wuz the result of arjous study on his part, by night and day, for a long, long time, and it wuz what he called “A Travellin' Rat Trap.” It wuz designed to sort o' chase the rats round and skair 'em.

It was the result of serious study on his part, day and night, for a long, long time, and it was what he called “A Traveling Rat Trap.” It was designed to sort of chase the rats around and scare them.

It was spozed he got the idee in the first place from his threshin' machine. It had to be wound up, and then it would take after 'em—rats or mice, or anything—and they do say that it wuz quite a success.

It was said he got the idea in the first place from his threshing machine. It had to be wound up, and then it would go after them—rats or mice, or anything—and they say it was quite a success.

Only it had to move on a smooth floor. It would travel round pretty much all night; and they say that when it wuz set up in a suller, it would chase the rats back into their holes, and they would set there and look out on it, for the biggest heft of the night. It would take up their minds, and kep 'em out of vittles and other mischief.

Only it had to move on a smooth floor. It would keep moving around pretty much all night; and people say that when it was set up in a cellar, it would chase the rats back into their holes, and they would sit there and watch it for most of the night. It would occupy their minds and keep them away from food and other trouble.

It wuz somethin' like providin' a circus for 'em.

It was like putting on a circus for them.

But howsumever, the Deacon wuz a-workin' at this; he wuzn't quite satisfied with its runnin' gear, and he wuz a-perfectin' this rat trap every leisure minute he had outside of his buzz saw and threshin' machine business, and so he wuz fearful busy.

But anyway, the Deacon was working on this; he wasn't totally satisfied with its running gear, and he was perfecting this rat trap every spare moment he had outside of his buzz saw and threshing machine business, so he was pretty busy.

Deacon Sypher had took the agency for “The Wild West, or The Leaping Cow Boy of the Plain,” and wuz doin' well by it.

Deacon Sypher had taken the agency for “The Wild West, or The Leaping Cow Boy of the Plain,” and was doing well with it.

And Deacon Bobbet had took in a lot of mustangs to keep through the winter. And he wuz a ridin' 'em a good deal, accordin' to contract, and tryin' to tame 'em some before spring. And this work, with the buzz saw, took up every minute of his time. For the mustangs throwed him a good deal, and he had to lay bound up in linements a good deal of the time, and arneky.

And Deacon Bobbet had taken in a lot of mustangs to keep over the winter. He was riding them a lot, as per the contract, and trying to tame them a bit before spring. This work, along with using the buzz saw, took up all of his time. The mustangs threw him off quite a bit, and he often had to lie around with liniments for his aches and pains.

So, as I say, it didn't surprise me a mite to have 'em say they couldn't help us, for I knew jest how these jobs of theirn devoured their time.

So, as I said, it didn’t surprise me at all when they said they couldn’t help us, because I knew exactly how these jobs of theirs consumed their time.

And when my Josiah had made his excuse, it wuzn't any more than I had looked out for, to hear Deacon Henzy say he had got to git home to ile his threshin' machine. One of the cogs wuz out of gear in some way.

And when my Josiah made his excuse, it was exactly what I expected to hear Deacon Henzy say—he had to get home to oil his threshing machine. One of the cogs was out of gear somehow.

He wanted to help us, so it didn't seem as if he could tear himself away, but that steam threshin' machine stood in the way. And then on his way down to Jonesville that very mornin' a new idee had come to him about that travellin' rat trap, and he wanted to get home jest as quick as he could, to try it.

He wanted to help us, so it didn't look like he could pull himself away, but that steam threshing machine was in the way. Then, on his way down to Jonesville that very morning, a new idea hit him about that traveling rat trap, and he wanted to get home as quickly as possible to test it out.

And Deacon Bobbet said that three of them mustangs he had took in to break had got to be rid that day, they wuz a gettin' so wild he didn't hardly dast to go nigh 'em.

And Deacon Bobbet said that three of the mustangs he took in to break had to be ridden that day, they were getting so wild he hardly dared to go near them.

And Deacon Sypher said that he must hasten back, for a man wuz a-comin' to see him from way up on the State road, to try to get a agency under him for “The Leaping Cow Boy of the Plain.” And he wanted to show the “Leaping Cow Boy” to some agents to the tavern in Jonesville on his way home, and to some wimmen on the old Plank road. Two or three of the wimmen had gin hopes that they would take the “Leaping Cow Boy.”

And Deacon Sypher said he had to hurry back because someone was coming to see him from way up on the State road to try to get an agency for "The Leaping Cow Boy of the Plain." He wanted to show the "Leaping Cow Boy" to some agents at the tavern in Jonesville on his way home and to some women on the old Plank road. Two or three of the women were hopeful they would take the "Leaping Cow Boy."

And then they said—the hull three of the deacons did—that any minute them other deacons who wuz goin' into partnership with 'em in the buzz saw business wuz liable to drive down to see 'em about it.

And then they said—the three deacons did—that any minute the other deacons who were going into partnership with them in the buzz saw business were likely to drive down to see them about it.

And some of the other men brethren said their farms and their live stock demanded the hull of their time—every minute of it.

And some of the other men said that their farms and livestock took all their time—every single minute of it.

So we see jest how it wuz, we see these male deacons couldn't devote any of their time to the meetin' house, nor those other brethren nuther.

So we see just how it was, we see these male deacons couldn't dedicate any of their time to the meeting house, nor could those other brothers either.

We see that their time wuz too valuable, and their own business devoured the hull on it. And we married Sisters, who wuz acestemed to the strange and mysterius ways of male men, we accepted the situation jest es we would any other mysterius dispensation, and didn't say nothin'.

We see that their time was too valuable, and their own business consumed all of it. And we married sisters, who were accustomed to the strange and mysterious ways of men, we accepted the situation just as we would any other mysterious circumstance, and said nothing.

Good land! We wuz used to curius sayin's and doin's, every one on us. Curius as a dog, and curiuser.

Goodness! We were used to curious sayings and actions, every one of us. Curious as a dog, and even more curious.

But Sister Meechim (onmarried), she is dretful questinin' and inquirin' (men don't like her, they say she prys into subjects she's no business to meddle with). She sez to Josiah:

But Sister Meechim (unmarried), she is really into questioning and asking about things (men don’t like her, they say she pries into stuff that isn’t her business). She says to Josiah:

“Why is it, Deacon Allen, that men deacons can carry on all sorts of business and still be deacons, while wimmen deacons are obleeged to give up all other business and devote themselves wholly to their work?”

“Why is it, Deacon Allen, that male deacons can engage in all kinds of business and still be deacons, while female deacons are required to give up all other work and dedicate themselves entirely to their duties?”

“It is on account of their minds,” sez Josiah. “Men have got stronger minds than wimmen, that is the reason.”

“It’s because of their minds,” says Josiah. “Men have stronger minds than women, and that’s why.”

And Sister Meechim sez agin—

And Sister Meechim says again—

“Why is it that wimmen deacons have to remain onmarried, while men deacons can marry one wife after another through a long life, that is, if they are took from 'em by death or a divorce lawyer?”

“Why is it that women deacons have to stay unmarried, while men deacons can marry one wife after another throughout their lives, as long as they are taken from them by death or a divorce lawyer?”

“Wall,” sez Josiah, “that, too, is on account of their brains. Their brains hain't so hefty es men's.”

“Wall,” says Josiah, “that’s also because of their brains. Their brains aren’t as heavy as men’s.”

But I jest waded into the argument then. I jest interfered, and sez in a loud, clear tone,

But I just jumped into the argument then. I just interrupted, and said in a loud, clear voice,

“Oh, shaw!”

“Oh, wow!”

And then I sez further, in the same calm, clear tones, but dry as ever a dry oven wuz in its dryest times. Sez I,

And then I said further, in the same calm, clear voice, but as dry as a desert during the hottest days. I said,

“If you men can't help us any about the meetin' house, you'd better get out of our way, for we wimmen have got to go to scrubbin' right where you are a-standin'.”

“If you guys can’t help us with the meeting house, you’d better get out of our way, because we women need to start scrubbing right where you’re standing.”

“Certainly,” sez Josiah, in a polite axent, “certainly.”

“Sure,” says Josiah, with a polite tone, “sure.”

And so the rest of the men said.

And so the other men said.

And Josiah added to his remarks, as he went down the steps,

And Josiah continued his comments as he walked down the steps,

“You'd better get home, Samantha, in time to cook a hen, and make some puddin', and so forth.”

“You should get home, Samantha, in time to cook a chicken and make some pudding, and so on.”

And I sez, with quite a lot of dignity, “Have I ever failed, Josiah Allen, to have good dinners for you, and on time too?”

And I said, with quite a bit of dignity, “Have I ever let you down, Josiah Allen, when it comes to serving good dinners for you, and on time as well?”

“No,” sez he, “but I thought I would jest stop to remind you of it, and also to tell you the last news from the Conference, about the deaconesses.”

“No,” he said, “but I thought I would just stop to remind you of it, and also to tell you the latest news from the Conference about the deaconesses.”

And so they trailed down one after another, and left us to our work in the meetin' house; but as they disapered round the corner, Sister Arvilly Lanfear, who hain't married, and who has got a sharp tongue (some think that is why, but I don't; I believe Arvilly has had chances).

And so they followed one after another, leaving us to our work in the meeting house; but as they disappeared around the corner, Sister Arvilly Lanfear, who's unmarried and has a sharp tongue (some think that's the reason, but I don't; I believe Arvilly has had her chances).

But any way, she sez, as they went down the steps,

But anyway, she says, as they went down the steps,

“I'll bet them men wuz a-practisen' their new parts of men superentendents, and look on us as a lot of deaconesses.”

“I bet those guys were practicing their new roles as supervisors and looking at us like we were just a bunch of church ladies.”

“Wall,” sez Sister Gowdy—she loves to put on Arvilly—“wall, you have got one qualificatin', Arvilly!”

“Wall,” says Sister Gowdy—she loves to put Arvilly on blast—“well, you have one qualification, Arvilly!”

“Yes, thank the Lord,” sez she.

“Yeah, thank the Lord,” she said.

And I never asked what she meant, but knew well enough that she spoke of her single state. But Arvilly has had chances, I think.

And I never asked what she meant, but I understood that she was talking about being single. But I think Arvilly has had opportunities.

CHAPTER XXII.

CHAPTER 22.

I got home in time to get a good supper, though mebbe I ortn't to say it.

I got home in time to have a nice dinner, though maybe I shouldn't say that.

Sure enough, Josiah Allen had killed a hen, and dressed it ready for me to brile, but it wuz young and tender, and I knew it wouldn't take long, so I didn't care.

Sure enough, Josiah Allen had killed a chicken and got it ready for me to cook, but it was young and tender, and I knew it wouldn't take long, so I didn't mind.

Good land! I love to humor him, and he knows it. Casper Keeler come in jest as I wuz a-gettin' supper and I thought like as not he would stay to supper; I laid out to ask him. But I didn't take no more pains on his account. No, I do jest as well by Josiah Allen from day to day, as if he wuz company, or lay out to.

Goodness! I love to tease him, and he knows it. Casper Keeler came in just as I was getting dinner ready, and I thought he might stay for dinner; I planned to ask him. But I didn't put in any extra effort on his behalf. No, I treat Josiah Allen every day just as if he were company, or I planned to.

Casper came over on a errent about that buzz saw mill. He wuz in dretful good spirits, though he looked kinder peaked.

Casper came over on an errand about that buzz saw mill. He was in really good spirits, though he looked a bit peaked.

He had jest got home from the city.

He had just gotten home from the city.

It happened dretful curius, but jest at this time Casper Keeler had had to go to New York on business. He had to sign some papers that nobody else couldn't sign.

It happened in a really strange way, but just at that time, Casper Keeler had to go to New York for work. He needed to sign some papers that no one else could sign.

His mother had hearn of a investment there that promised to pay dretful well, so she had took a lot of stock in it, and it had riz right up powerful. Why the money had increased fourfold, and more too, and Casper bein' jest come of age, had to go and sign suthin' or other.

His mother had heard of an investment there that promised to pay really well, so she had bought a lot of stock in it, and it had gone up significantly. The money had increased fourfold, and more, and since Casper had just come of age, he had to go and sign something or other.

Wall, he went round and see lots of sights in New York. His ma's money that she had left him made him fairly luxurius as to comfort, and he had plenty of money to go sight seein' as much as he wanted to.

Wall, he went around and saw lots of sights in New York. His mom's money that she left him allowed him to live pretty comfortably, and he had plenty of cash to go sightseeing as much as he wanted.

He went to all the theatres, and operas, and shows of all kinds, and museums, and the Brooklyn Bridge, and circuses, and receptions, and et cetery, et cetery.

He went to all the theaters, operas, and shows of every kind, and museums, and the Brooklyn Bridge, and circuses, and receptions, and so on, and so forth.

He wuz a-tellin' me how much money he spent while he wuz there, kinder boastin' on it; he had went to one of the biggest, highest taverns in the hull village of New York, where the price wuz higher than the very highest pinakle on the top of it, fur higher.

He was telling me how much money he spent while he was there, kind of bragging about it; he went to one of the biggest, fanciest taverns in the whole village of New York, where the prices were higher than the very highest peak on top of it, way higher.

And I sez, “Did you go to the Wimmen's Exchange and the Workin' Wimmen's Association, that wuz held there while you wuz there?”

And I said, “Did you go to the Women’s Exchange and the Working Women’s Association that took place while you were there?”

And he acted real scorfin'.

And he acted really tough.

“Wimmen's work!” sez he. “No, indeed! I had too much on my hands, and too much comfort to take in higher circles, than to take in any such little trifles as wimmen's work.”

“Women's work!” says he. “No way! I had too much on my plate and too much comfort in higher circles to bother with such small stuff as women's work.”

Sez I, “Young man, it is a precious little you would take in in life if it hadn't been for wimmen's work. Who earned and left you the money you are a-usin'?” sez I, “who educated you and made your life easy before you?”

Sez I, “Young man, you wouldn’t have accomplished much in life if it weren't for women's work. Who earned and left you the money you’re using?” sez I, “who educated you and made your life easier?”

And then bein' fairly drove into a corner, he owned up that his mother wuz a good woman.

And then, feeling pretty cornered, he admitted that his mother was a good woman.

But his nose wuz kinder lifted up the hull of the time he wuz a-sayin' it, as if he hated to own it up, hated to like a dog.

But his nose was kind of lifted up the whole time he was saying it, as if he disliked admitting it, disliked it like a dog.

But he got real happified up and excited afterwards, in talkin' over with Josiah what he see to the Conference.' He stayed to supper; I wuz a seasonin' my chicken and mashed potatoes, and garnishin' 'em for the table. I wuz out to one side a little, but I listened with one side of my brain while the other wuz fixed on pepper, ketchup, parsley, etc., etc.

But he got really happy and excited afterwards, discussing with Josiah what he saw at the Conference. He stayed for supper; I was seasoning my chicken and mashed potatoes and setting them up for the table. I was a bit off to the side, but I listened with one half of my mind while the other half was focused on pepper, ketchup, parsley, and so on.

Sez Casper, “It wuz the proudest, greatest hour of my life,” sez he, “when I see a nigger delegate git up and give his views on wimmen keepin' down in their place. When I see a black nigger stand up there in that Conference and state so clearly, so logically and so powerfully the reasons why poor weak wimmen should not be admitted into that sacred enclosure—

Sez Casper, “It was the proudest, greatest hour of my life,” he says, “when I saw a Black delegate get up and share his views on women staying in their place. When I saw a Black man stand up there at that Conference and explain so clearly, so logically, and so powerfully the reasons why poor weak women should not be admitted into that sacred space—

“When I see even a nigger a-standin' there and a-knowin' so well what wimmen's place wuz, my heart beat with about the proudest emotions I have ever experienced. Why, he said,” sez Casper, “that if wimmen wuz allowed to stand up in the Conference, they wouldn't be satisfied. The next thing they would want to do would be to preach. It wuz a masterly argument,” sez Casper.

“When I see even a Black person standing there and knowing so well what women’s place was, my heart beat with some of the proudest emotions I have ever felt. Why, he said,” says Casper, “that if women were allowed to stand up in the Conference, they wouldn’t be satisfied. The next thing they would want to do is preach. It was a brilliant argument,” says Casper.

“It must have been,” sez my Josiah.

“It must have been,” says my Josiah.

“He seemed to have such a borrow of a weak-minded, helpless woman a-raisin' herself up out of her lower spear.”

“He seemed to have such a burden of a weak-minded, helpless woman raising herself up out of her lower sphere.”

“Well he might,” sez Josiah, “well he might.”

“Well, he might,” says Josiah, “well, he might.”

Truly, there are times when women can't, seeminly, stand no more. This wuz one on 'em, and I jest waded right into the argiment. I sez, real solemn like, a-holdin' the sprig of parsley some like a septer, only more sort o' riz up like and mysteriouser. Yes, I held that green sprig some as the dove did when it couldn't find no rest for the soles of its feet—no foundation under it and it sailed about seekin' some mount of truth it could settle down on. Oh how wobblin' and onsubstantial and curius I felt hearin' their talk.

Honestly, there are times when women just can't seem to take it anymore. This was one of those times, and I jumped right into the argument. I said, very seriously, holding the sprig of parsley somewhat like a scepter, only it was a bit more upright and mysterious. Yes, I held that green sprig like the dove does when it can’t find a place to rest its feet—floating around, searching for some truth it could settle on. Oh, how shaky and insubstantial and curious I felt listening to their conversation.

“And,” sez I, “nobody is tickleder than I be to think a colored man has had the right gin him to stand up in a Conference or anywhere else. I have probable experienced more emotions in his behalf,” sez I, “deep and earnest, than any other female, ancient or modern. I have bore his burdens for him, trembled under his lashes, agonized with him in his unexampled griefs and wrongs and indignities, and I have rejoiced at the very depths of my soul at his freedom.

“And,” I said, “no one is more delighted than I am to think that a Black man has the right to stand up in a Conference or anywhere else. I have probably felt more deep and sincere emotions on his behalf than any other woman, past or present. I have shared in his struggles, endured his pain, empathized with him in his unparalleled grief, injustices, and humiliations, and I have celebrated with all my heart at his freedom.”

“But,” sez I, “when he uses that freedom to enchain another and as deservin' a race, my feelin's are hurt and my indignations are riz up.

“But,” I said, “when he uses that freedom to bind another person and a deserving race, my feelings are hurt and my indignation is stirred up.

“Yes,” sez I, a-wavin' that sprig some like a warlike banner, as my emotions swelled up under my bask waste,

“Yes,” I said, waving that sprig like a battle flag, as my emotions surged beneath my loose waist.

“When that negro stands there a-advocatin' the slavery of another race, and a-sayin' that women ortn't to say her soul is her own, and wimmen are too weak and foolish to lift up their right hands, much less preach, I'd love to ask him where he and his race wuz twenty-five years ago, and where they would be to-day if it wuzn't for a woman usin' her right hand and her big heart and brain in his behalf, and preachin' for him all over the world and in almost every language under the sun. Everybody says that 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' wuz the searchin' harrow that loosened the old, hard ground of slavery so the rich seed of justice could be planted and bring forth freedom.

“When that man stands there advocating for the slavery of another race, and saying that women shouldn’t claim their own souls and that women are too weak and foolish to raise their right hands, let alone preach, I’d love to ask him where he and his race were twenty-five years ago, and where they would be today if it weren’t for a woman using her right hand and her big heart and brain on their behalf, preaching for him all over the world and in almost every language under the sun. Everyone says that 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' was the powerful force that loosened the old, hard ground of slavery so the rich seed of justice could be planted and bring forth freedom."

“If it hadn't been for that woman's preachin', that negro exhauster would to-day most likely be a hoin' cotton with a overseer a-lashin' him up to his duties, and his wife and children and himself a-bein' bought and sold, and borrowed and lent and mortgaged and drove like so many animals. And I'd like to have riz right up in that Conference and told him so.”

“If it hadn't been for that woman's preaching, that Black worker would probably be out there picking cotton today, with an overseer whipping him to keep up with his tasks, while his wife and kids, along with himself, would be bought, sold, borrowed, lent, mortgaged, and treated like animals. And I would have liked to stand up in that Conference and say so.”

“Oh, no,” sez Josiah, lookin' some meachin', “no, you wouldn't.”

“Oh, no,” says Josiah, looking a bit shy, “no, you wouldn't.”

“Yes, I would,” sez I. “And I'd 've enjoyed it richly” sez I, es I turned and put my sprig round the edge of the platter.

“Yes, I would,” I said. “And I would have enjoyed it richly,” I said, as I turned and put my sprig around the edge of the platter.

Casper wuz demute for as much as half a minute, and Josiah Allen looked machin' for about the same length of time.

Casper was silent for about half a minute, and Josiah Allen looked puzzled for about the same amount of time.

But, good land! how soon they got over it. They wuz as chipper as ever, a-runnin' down the idee of women settin', before they got half through dinner.

But, good grief! They got over it so quickly. They were as cheerful as ever, joking about the idea of women sitting down before they were even halfway through dinner.

After hard and arjuous work we got the scrapin' done, and the scrubbin' done, and then we proceeded to make a move towards puttin' on the paper.

After hard and exhausting work, we finished the scraping and the scrubbing, and then we moved on to putting up the paper.

But the very day before we wuz to put on our first breadth, Sister Bobbet, our dependence and best paperer, fell down on a apple parin' and hurt her ankle jint, so's she couldn't stand on a barell for more'n several days.

But the very day before we were supposed to start our first shift, Sister Bobbet, our main support and best paperer, fell while peeling apples and hurt her ankle, so she couldn't stand on a barrel for more than several days.

And we felt dretful cast down about it, for we all felt as if the work must stop till Sister Bobbet could be present and attend to it.

And we felt really down about it, because we all thought the work had to pause until Sister Bobbet could be there to take care of it.

But, as it turned out, it wuz perfectly providential, so fur as I wuz concerned, for on goin' home that night fearfully deprested on account of Sister Sylvester Bobbet, lo and behold! I found a letter there on my own mantletry piece that completely turned round my own plans. It come entirely onexpected to me, and contained the startlin' intelligence that my own cousin, on my mother's own side, had come home to Loontown to his sister's, and wuz very sick with nervous prostration, neuralgia, rheumatism, etc., and expected paralasys every minute, and heart failure, and such.

But, as it turned out, it was perfectly meant to be, as far as I was concerned, because when I got home that night feeling really down about Sister Sylvester Bobbet, I discovered a letter on my mantelpiece that completely changed my plans. It came totally out of the blue and contained the shocking news that my cousin on my mother's side had come home to Loontown to visit his sister and was very sick with nervous exhaustion, neuralgia, rheumatism, and so on, and was expecting a stroke any minute, along with heart failure and other issues.

And his sister, Miss Timson, who wrote the letter, beset me to come over and see him. She said, Jane Ann did (Miss Timson'ses name is Jane Ann), and sez she in Post scriptum remark to me, sez she—

And his sister, Miss Timson, who wrote the letter, urged me to come over and see him. She said, Jane Ann did (Miss Timson's name is Jane Ann), and she added in a postscript to me, she said—

“Samantha, I know well your knowledge of sickness and your powers of takin' care of the sick. Do come and help me take care of Ralph, for it seems as if I can't let him go. Poor boy, he has worked so hard, and now I wuz in hopes that he wuz goin' to take some comfort in life, unbeknown to him. Do come and help him for my sake, and for Rosy's sake.” Rosy wuz Ralph's only child, a pretty girl, but one ruther wild, and needin' jest now a father's strong hand.

“Samantha, I know you have a lot of experience with sickness and taking care of the sick. Please come and help me look after Ralph; it seems I just can't let him go. Poor guy, he has worked so hard, and I was hoping he would find some comfort in life without even realizing it. Please come help him for my sake and for Rosy's sake.” Rosy was Ralph's only child, a pretty girl, but a bit wild and really needs her father’s strong guidance right now.

Rosy's mother died when she wuz a babe, and Ralph, who had always been dretful religius, felt it to be his duty to go and preach to the savages. So Miss Timson took the baby and Ralph left all his property with Miss Timson to use for her, and then he girded up his lions, took his Bible and him book and went out West and tackled the savages.

Rosy's mother passed away when she was a baby, and Ralph, who had always been quite religious, felt it was his duty to go and preach to the indigenous people. So Miss Timson took the baby, and Ralph left all his belongings with Miss Timson for her use, then he gathered his resolve, took his Bible and his books, and headed out West to confront the indigenous people.

Tackled 'em in a perfectly religius way, and done sights of good, sights and sights. For all he wuz so mild and gentle and religius, he got the upper hand of them savages in some way, and he brung 'em into the church by droves, and they jest worshipped him.

Tackled them in a perfectly religious way, and did a lot of good, a lot and a lot. For all he was so mild and gentle and religious, he got the upper hand over those savages in some way, and he brought them into the church by the droves, and they just worshipped him.

Wall, he worked so hard a-tryin' to do good and save souls that wuz lost—a-tryin' single-handed to overthrow barberus beliefs and habits, and set up the pure and peaceful doctrines of the Master.

Well, he worked so hard trying to do good and save lost souls—trying single-handedly to overthrow barbaric beliefs and habits, and establish the pure and peaceful teachings of the Master.

He loved and followed, that his health gin out after a time—he felt weak and mauger.

He loved and followed, but after a while, his health started to decline—he felt weak and frail.

And jest about this time his sister wrote to him that Rosy havin' got in with gay companions, wuz a gettin' beyond her influence, and she needed a father's control and firm hand to guide her right, or else she would be liable to go to the wrong, and draw lots of others with her, for she wuz a born leader amongst her mates, jest as her father wuz—so wouldn't Ralph come home.

And just around this time, his sister wrote to him that Rosy, having gotten involved with flashy friends, was becoming hard to influence, and she needed a father's guidance and strong hand to steer her in the right direction; otherwise, she might go down the wrong path and lead many others with her, since she was a natural leader among her peers, just like her father was—so wouldn't Ralph come home?

Wall, Ralph come. His sister and girl jest worshipped him, and looked and longed for his comin', as only tender-hearted wimmen can love and worship a hero. For if there wuz ever a hero it wuz Ralph Smith Robinson.

Wall, Ralph is here. His sister and girlfriend just adored him, looking forward to his arrival like only caring women can love and admire a hero. Because if there was ever a hero, it was Ralph Smith Robinson.

Wall, Ralph had been in the unbroken silences of nature so long, that the clack, and crash, and clamor of what we call civilized life almost crazed him.

Wall, Ralph had been in the uninterrupted quiet of nature for so long that the noise, chaos, and racket of what we call civilized life nearly drove him insane.

He had been where his Maker almost seemed to come down and walk with him through the sweet, unbroken stillnesses of mornin' and evenin'. The world seemed so fur off to him, and the Eternal Verities of life so near, that truly, it sometimes seemed to him as if, like one of old, “he walked with God.” Of course the savages war-whooped some, but they wuz still a good deal of the time, which is more than you can say for Yankees.

He had experienced moments when it felt like his Creator was right there, walking with him through the beautiful, calm stillness of mornings and evenings. The world felt so distant, and the eternal truths of life felt so close that sometimes it genuinely seemed like, like someone from the past, “he walked with God.” Of course, the locals yelled and shouted at times, but they were still quiet a lot of the time, which is more than you can say for people from New England.

And Loontown when he got home was rent to its very twain with a Presidential election.

And Loontown, when he got home, was divided in two by a Presidential election.

Ralph suffered.

Ralph struggled.

But above all his other sufferin's, he suffered from church bells.

But more than all his other pains, he was annoyed by church bells.

Miss Timson lived, as it wuz her wish, and often her boast, right under the droppin's of the sanctuary.

Miss Timson lived, as it was her wish, and often her pride, right under the drops from the sanctuary.

She lotted on it when she bought the place. The Baptist steeple towered up right by the side of her house. Her spare bed wuz immegietly under the steeple.

She thought about it when she bought the place. The Baptist steeple loomed right next to her house. Her spare bed was directly under the steeple.

Wall, comin' as he did from a place where he wuz called to worship by the voice of his soul and his good silver watch—this volume of clamor, this rushin' Niagara of sound a-pourin' down into his ears, wuz perfectly intolerable and onbeerable. He would lay awake till mornin' dreadin' the sound, and then colapse under it, till it run along and he come down with nervous fever.

Wall, coming from a place where he was called to worship by the voice of his soul and his nice silver watch—this overwhelming noise, this rushing waterfall of sound pouring into his ears, was completely unbearable. He would lie awake all night dreading the noise, and then collapse under it, until it got to him and he came down with nervous fever.

He wuz worn out no doubt by his labors before he come, and any way he wuz took bed-sick, and couldn't be moved so's the doctor said, and he bein' outside of his own head, delerius, couldn't of course advance no idees of his own, so he lay and suffered.

He was definitely exhausted from his work before he arrived, and anyway, he got sick in bed and couldn’t be moved, according to the doctor. Being out of his mind and delirious, he obviously couldn’t express any ideas of his own, so he just laid there and suffered.

CHAPTER XXIII.

CHAPTER 23.

Miss Timson's letter wuz writ to me on the 6th day of his sickness, and Josiah and me set sail for Loontown on the follerin' day after we got it.

Miss Timson's letter was written to me on the 6th day of his illness, and Josiah and I set off for Loontown the next day after we received it.

I laid the case before the female Sisters of the meetin' house, and they all counselled me to go. For, as they all said, on account of Sister Bobbet's fallin' on the apple parin' we could not go on with the work of paperin' the meetin' house, and so the interests of Zion wouldn't languish on account of my absence for a day or two any way. And, as the female Sisters all said, it seemed as if the work I wuz called to in Loontown wuz a fair and square case of Duty, so they all counselled me to go, every one on 'em. Though, as wuz nateral, there wuz severel divisions of opinions as to the road I should take a-goin' there, what day I should come back, what remiedies wuz best for me to recommend when I got there, what dress I should wear, and whether I should wear a hankerchif pin or not—or a bib apron, or a plain banded one, etc., etc., etc., etc.

I presented my situation to the women of the meeting house, and they all advised me to go. As they all pointed out, because Sister Bobbet fell while peeling apples, we couldn't continue with the task of wallpapering the meeting house, so the interests of Zion wouldn't suffer from my absence for a day or two anyway. And, as the women agreed, it seemed like the work I needed to do in Loontown was definitely a matter of Duty, so they all encouraged me to go, every single one of them. However, as you might expect, there were several differing opinions on which route I should take to get there, what day I should return, what remedies would be best for me to suggest when I arrived, what outfit I should wear, and whether I should wear a handkerchief pin or not—or a bib apron, or a simple banded one, and so on and so forth.

But, as I sez, as to my goin' they wuz every one on 'em unanimus. They meen well, those sisters in the meetin' house do, every one on 'em.

But, as I said, about my leaving, they were all in agreement. They mean well, those sisters at the meeting house, every one of them.

Josiah acted real offish at first about goin'. And he laid the case before the male brothers of the meetin' house, for Josiah wuz fearful that the interests of the buzz saw mill would languish in his absence. One or two of the weaker brethren joined in with him, and talked kinder deprestin' about it.

Josiah was really standoffish at first about going. He brought the issue up with the men of the meeting house because he was worried that the buzz saw mill would suffer if he wasn’t there. A couple of the less confident guys agreed with him and talked pretty negatively about it.

But Deacon Sypher and Deacon Henzy said they would guard his interests with eagle visions, or somethin' to that effect, and they counselled Josiah warmly that it wuz his duty to go.

But Deacon Sypher and Deacon Henzy said they would keep a close eye on his interests, or something like that, and they strongly advised Josiah that it was his duty to go.

We hearn afterwards that Deacon Sypher and Deacon Henzy wanted to go into the North Woods a-fishin' and a-huntin' for 2 or 3 days, and it has always been spozed by me that that accounted for their religeus advice to Josiah Allen.

We later heard that Deacon Sypher and Deacon Henzy wanted to go into the North Woods to fish and hunt for a couple of days, and I've always thought that explained their religious advice to Josiah Allen.

Howsumever, I don't know that. But I do know that they started off a-fishin' the very day we left for Loontown, and that they come back home about the time we did, with two long strings of trout.

However, I don't know that. But I do know that they started fishing the very day we left for Loontown, and they came back home around the same time we did, with two long strings of trout.

And there wuz them that said that they ketched the trout, and them that said they bought 'em.

And there were those who said they caught the trout, and those who said they bought them.

And they brung back the antlers of a deer in their game bags, and some bones of a elk. And there are them that sez that they dassent, either one of 'em, shoot off a gun, not hardly a pop gun. But I don't know the truth of this. I know what they said, they said the huntin' wuz excitin' to the last degree, and the fishin' superb.

And they brought back the antlers of a deer in their game bags, along with some bones of an elk. Some people say that they wouldn't dare shoot off a gun, not even a pop gun. But I don't know if that's true. I know what they said; they said the hunting was incredibly exciting and the fishing was fantastic.

And there wuz them that said that they should think the huntin' would be excitin', a-rummagin' round on the ground for some old bones, and they should think the fishin' would be superb, a-dippin' 'em out of a barell and stringin' 'em onto their own strings.

And there were those who thought that hunting would be exciting, rummaging around for some old bones, and they thought fishing would be great, pulling them out of a barrel and stringing them onto their own lines.

But their stories are very large, that I know. And each one on 'em, accordin' to their tell, ketched more trouts than the other one, and fur bigger ones, and shot more deers.

But their stories are really big, that I know. And each one of them, according to their tale, caught more trout than the others, and much bigger ones, and shot more deer.

Wall, Deacon Sypher'ses advice and Deacon Henzy's influenced Josiah a good deal, and I said quite a few words to him on the subject, and, suffice it to say, that the next day, about 10 A.M., we set out on our journey to Loontown.

Wall, Deacon Sypher's advice and Deacon Henzy's had a big impact on Josiah, and I talked to him a lot about it. Long story short, the next day, around 10 A.M., we started our journey to Loontown.

Miss Timson and Rosy seemed dretful glad to see me, but they wuz pale and wan, wanner fur than I expected to see 'em; but after I had been there a spell I see how it wuz. I see that Ralph wuz their hero as well as their love, and they worshipped him in every way, with their hearts and their souls and their idealized fancies.

Miss Timson and Rosy looked really happy to see me, but they were pale and weak, even more so than I expected. However, after I had been there for a bit, I understood why. I realized that Ralph was their hero as well as their love, and they adored him completely, with all their hearts, souls, and idealized dreams.

Wall, he wuz a noble lookin' man as I ever see, fur or near, and as good a one as they make, he wuz strong and tender, so I couldn't blame 'em.

Well, he was one of the most handsome men I've ever seen, far or near, and as good a person as they come. He was strong yet gentle, so I couldn't fault them.

And though I wouldn't want Josiah to hear me say too much about it, or mebby it would be best that he shouldn't, before I had been there 24 hours I begun to feel some as they did.

And even though I wouldn't want Josiah to hear me say too much about it, or maybe it would be better if he didn't, before I had been there for 24 hours, I started to feel somewhat like they did.

But my feelin's wuz strictly in a meetin' house sense, strictly.

But my feelings were strictly in a church sense, strictly.

But I begun to feel with them that the middle of the world wuz there in that bedroom, and the still, white figure a-layin' there wuz the centre, and the rest of the world wuz a-revolvin' round him.

But I started to feel with them that the center of the world was in that bedroom, and the still, white figure lying there was the focal point, with the rest of the world revolving around him.

His face wuz worn and marked by the hand of Time and Endeaver. But every mark wuz a good one. The Soul, which is the best sculptor after all, had chiselled into his features the marks of a deathless endeavor and struggle toward goodness, which is God. Had marked it with the divine sweetness and passion of livin' and toilin' for the good of others.

His face was worn and marked by the hands of Time and Effort. But every mark was a good one. The Soul, which is the best sculptor after all, had carved into his features the signs of a lasting effort and struggle toward goodness, which is God. It had marked it with the divine sweetness and passion of living and working for the good of others.

He had gi'n his life jest as truly to seek and save them that wuz lost as ever any old prophet and martyr ever had sense the world began. But under all these heavenly expressions that a keen eye could trace in his good lookin' face, could be seen a deathly weakness, the consumin' fire that wuz a-consumin' of him.

He had given his life just as truly to seek and save those who were lost as any old prophet or martyr ever had since the world began. But beneath all those heavenly expressions that a sharp eye could see in his good-looking face, there was a deadly weakness, the consuming fire that was eating away at him.

Miss Timson wept when she see me, and Rosy threw herself into my arms and sobbed. But I gently ondid her arms from round my neck and give Miss Timson to understand that I wuz there to help 'em if I could.

Miss Timson cried when she saw me, and Rosy threw herself into my arms and sobbed. But I gently unclasped her arms from around my neck and let Miss Timson know that I was there to help them if I could.

“For,” sez I softly, “the hull future time is left for us to weep in, but the present wuz the time to try to help Ralph S. Robinson.”

“For,” I said softly, “the whole future is left for us to cry in, but now is the time to try to help Ralph S. Robinson.”

Wall, I laid to, Josiah a-helpin' me nobly, a-pickin' burdock leaves or beet leaves, as the case might be, and a-standin' by me nobly all through the follerin' night (that is, when he wuz awake).

Well, I settled in, with Josiah helping me out like a champ, picking burdock leaves or beet leaves, depending on what we needed, and standing by me like a hero all through the following night (that is, when he was awake).

Josiah and I took care on him all that night, Miss Timson refusin' to give him into the charge of underlin's, and we a-offerin' and not to be refused.

Josiah and I took care of him all night, with Miss Timson refusing to hand him over to the underlings, and we offering to help and not taking no for an answer.

Wall, Josiah slept some, or that is, I s'poze he did. I didn't hear much from him from 10 P.M. to 5 A.M., only once I heard him murmer in his sleep, “buzz saw mill.”

Wall, Josiah slept a bit, or at least I guess he did. I didn't hear much from him between 10 P.M. and 5 A.M., but once I heard him mumble in his sleep, “buzz saw mill.”

But every time I would come out into the settin' room where he sot and roust him up to get sunthin' for me, he would say, almost warmly—

But every time I would come out into the sitting room where he sat and wake him up to get something for me, he would say, almost warmly—

“Samantha, that last remark of your'n wuz very powerful.” And I wouldn't waste my time nor hisen by tellin' him that I hadn't made no remark, nor thought on't. I see it would hurt his feelin's, specilly as he would add in haste—

“Samantha, that last comment of yours was very impactful.” And I wouldn't waste my time or his by telling him that I hadn’t made any comment or given it a thought. I could see it would hurt his feelings, especially since he would quickly add—

“That he didn't see how folks needed so much sleep; as for him, it wuz a real treat to keep awake all night, now and then.”

“That he didn’t understand why people needed so much sleep; for him, it was a real pleasure to stay awake all night, every once in a while.”

No, I would let it go, and ask him for burdock or beet, as the case might be. Truly I had enugh on my mind and heart that night without disputin' with my Josiah.

No, I would just let it go and ask him for burdock or beet, depending on the situation. Honestly, I had enough on my mind and heart that night without arguing with my Josiah.

Ralph S. Robinson would lay lookin' like a dead man some of the time, still and demute, and then he would speak out in a strange language, stranger than any I ever heard. He would preach sermons in that language, I a-knowin' it wuz a sermen by his gestures, and also by my feelin's. And then he would shet up his eyes and pray in that strange, strange tongue, and anon breakin' out into our own language. And once he said:

Ralph S. Robinson would sometimes lie there looking like a dead man, quiet and still, and then he would start to speak in a strange language, one that I'd never heard before. He would deliver sermons in that language, and I could tell it was a sermon by his gestures and my own feelings. Then he would close his eyes and pray in that very strange tongue, and suddenly he would switch back to our language. And once he said:

“And now may the peace of God be with you all. Amen. The peace of God! the peace! the peace!”

“And now may the peace of God be with you all. Amen. The peace of God! The peace! The peace!”

His voice lingered sort o' lovin'ly over that word, and I felt that he wuz a-thinkin' then of the real peace, the onbroken stillness, outside and inside, that he invoked.

His voice lingered kind of lovingly over that word, and I felt that he was thinking then of the real peace, the unbroken stillness, outside and inside, that he called to mind.

Rosy would steal in now and then like a sweet little shadow, and bend down and kiss her Pa, and cry a little over his thin, white hands which wuz a-lyin' on the coverlet, or else lifted in that strange speech that sounded so curius to us, a-risin' up out of the stillness of a Loontown spare bedroom on a calm moonlit evenin'.

Rosy would sneak in now and then like a gentle little shadow, bend down, kiss her dad, and cry a bit over his thin, pale hands that were resting on the blanket, or sometimes lift them in that strange way that sounded so curious to us, rising up from the quietness of a Loontown spare bedroom on a calm, moonlit evening.

Wall, Friday and Saturday he wuz crazier'n a loon, more'n half the time he wuz, but along Saturday afternoon the Doctor told us that the fever would turn sometime the latter part of the night, and if he could sleep then, and not be disturbed, there would be a chance for his life.

Wall, on Friday and Saturday he was crazier than a loon, more than half the time he was, but by Saturday afternoon the doctor told us that the fever would turn sometime later that night, and if he could sleep then without being disturbed, there would be a chance for his life.

Wall, Miss Timson and Rosy both told me how the ringin' of the bells seemed to roust him up and skair him (as it were) and git him all excited and crazy. And they both wuz dretful anxius about the mornin' bells which would ring when Ralph would mebby be sleepin'. So thinkin' it wuz a case of life and death, and findin' out who wuz the one to tackle in the matter, I calmly tied on my bonnet and walked over and tackled him.

Wall, Miss Timson and Rosy both told me how the ringing of the bells seemed to wake him up and scare him (so to speak) and get him all excited and wild. They were both really worried about the morning bells that would ring while Ralph might be sleeping. So thinking it was a matter of life and death, and figuring out who needed to handle it, I calmly put on my hat and walked over to confront him.

CHAPTER XXIV.

CHAPTER 24.

It wuz Deacon Garven and he wuz a close communion Baptist by perswaision, and a good man, so fur as firm morals and a sound creed goes.

It was Deacon Garven, and he was a close communion Baptist by conviction, and a good man, as far as having strong morals and a solid belief system goes.

Some things he lacked: he hadn't no immagination at all, not one speck. And in makin' him up, it seems as if he had a leetle more justice added to him to make up a lack of charity and pity. And he had a good deal of sternness and resolve gin him, to make up, I spoze, for a lack of tenderness and sweetness of nater.

Some things he was missing: he didn't have any imagination at all, not even a little bit. And in shaping him up, it seems like they added a bit more fairness to compensate for his lack of kindness and compassion. He also had quite a bit of sternness and determination, I suppose, to make up for a lack of gentleness and sweetness in his nature.

A good sound man Deacon Garven wuz, a man who would cheat himself before he would cheat a neighber. He wuz jest full of qualities that would hender him from ever takin' a front part in a scandel and a tragedy. Yes, if more men wuz like Deacon Garven the pages of the daily papers would fairly suffer for rapiners, embezzlers, wife whippers, etc.

Deacon Garven was a good sound man, someone who would rather cheat himself than cheat a neighbor. He was just full of qualities that would prevent him from ever being involved in a scandal or a tragedy. Yes, if more men were like Deacon Garven, the daily papers would hardly have space for robbers, embezzlers, abusive husbands, and so on.

Wall, he wuz in his office when I tackled him. The hired girl asked me if I come for visitin' purposes or business, and I told her firmly, “business!”

Wall, he was in his office when I approached him. The hired girl asked me if I came for a visit or for business, and I told her firmly, “business!”

So she walked me into a little office one side of the hall, where I spoze the Deacon transacted the business that come up on his farm, and then he wuz Justice of the Peace, and trustee of varius concerns (every one of 'em good ones).

So she walked me into a small office off to the side of the hall, where I guess the Deacon handled the business that came up on his farm, and then he was a Justice of the Peace and a trustee for various organizations (all of them good ones).

He is a tall, bony man, with eyes a sort of a steel gray, and thin lips ruther wide, and settin' close together. And without lookin' like one, or, that is, without havin' the same features at all, the Deacon did make me think of a steel trap. I spoze it wuz because he wuz so sound, and sort o' firm. A steel trap is real firm when it lays hold and tries to be.

He is a tall, thin man with eyes like a steel gray and wide, thin lips that are set close together. Even though he doesn't look like one, the Deacon reminded me of a steel trap. I guess it was because he was so solid and a bit inflexible. A steel trap is really tight when it grabs hold and tries to be.

Wall, I begun the subject carefully, but straight to the pint, as my way is, by tellin' him that Ralph S. Robinson wuz a-layin' at death's door, and his life depended on his gettin' sleep, and we wuz afraid the bells in the mornin' would roust him up, and I had come to see if he would omit the ringin' of 'em in the mornin'.

Well, I started the topic carefully, but got straight to the point, as I usually do, by telling him that Ralph S. Robinson was close to death, and his life depended on getting some sleep. We were worried that the bells would wake him up in the morning, and I had come to see if he could skip ringing them.

“Not ring the bells!” sez he, in wild amaze. “Not ring the church bells on the Sabbath day?”

“Don’t ring the bells!” he says, in wild astonishment. “Don’t ring the church bells on the Sabbath?”

His look wuz skairful in the extreme, but I sez—

His look was extremely scary, but I said—

“Yes, that is what I said, we beg of you as a Christian to not ring the bells in the mornin'.”

“Yes, that's what I said. We ask you as a Christian not to ring the bells in the morning.”

“A Christian! A Christian! Advise me as a Christian to not ring the Sabbath bells!”

“A Christian! A Christian! Please, as a Christian, tell me not to ring the Sabbath bells!”

I see the idee skairt him. He wuz fairly pale with surprise and borrow. And I told him agin', puttin' in all the perticilers it needed to make the story straight and good, how Ralph S. Robinson had labored for the good of others, and how his strength had gin out, and he wuz now a-layin' at the very pint of death, and how his girl and his sister wuz a-breakin' their hearts over him, and how we had some hopes of savin' his life if he could get some sleep, that the doctors said his life depended on it, and agin I begged him to do what we asked.

I could see the idea scared him. He looked pretty pale with surprise and worry. And I told him again, adding all the details needed to make the story clear and compelling, how Ralph S. Robinson had worked hard for the good of others, and how his strength had run out, and he was now lying at the very point of death, and how his girlfriend and sister were breaking their hearts over him, and how we had some hope of saving his life if he could get some sleep; the doctors said his life depended on it. I pleaded with him again to do what we asked.

But the Deacon had begin to get over bein' skairt, and he looked firm as anybody ever could, as he sez: “The bells never hurt anybody, I know, for here I have lived right by the side of 'em for 20 years. Do I look broke down and weak?” sez he.

But the Deacon had started to get over being scared, and he looked as steady as anyone ever could, as he said: “The bells never hurt anyone, I know, because I’ve lived right next to them for 20 years. Do I look broken down and weak?” he asked.

“No,” sez I, honestly. “No more than a grannit monument, or a steel trap.”

“No,” I said honestly. “No more than a granite monument or a steel trap.”

“Wall,” sez he, “what don't hurt me won't hurt nobody else.”

“Wall,” he says, “what doesn’t hurt me won’t hurt anyone else.”

“But,” sez I, “folks are made up different.” Sez I, “The Bible sez so, and what might not hurt you, might be the ruin of somebody else. Wuz you ever nervous?” sez I.

“But,” I said, “people are different.” I said, “The Bible says so, and what might not hurt you could be the downfall of someone else. Have you ever been nervous?” I said.

“Never,” sez he. And he added firmly, “I don't believe in nerves. I never did. There hain't no use in 'm.”

“Never,” he said. And he added firmly, “I don't believe in nerves. I never have. They're no use.”

“It wuz a wonder they wuz made, then,” sez I. “As a generel thing the Lord don't make things there hain't no use on. Howsumever,” sez I, “there hain't no use in disputin' back and forth on a nerve. But any way, sickness is so fur apart from health, that the conditions of one state can't be compared to the other; as Ralph S. Robinson is now, the sound of the bells, or any other loud noise means torture and agony to him, and, I am afraid, death. And I wish you would give orders to not have 'em rung in the mornin'.”

“It’s a wonder they were made, then,” I said. “In general, the Lord doesn't create things that have no purpose. However,” I continued, “there’s no use in arguing about it when it starts to get tense. But anyway, sickness is so far removed from health that the conditions of one state can’t be compared to the other; as Ralph S. Robinson is right now, the sound of bells or any loud noise feels like torture and agony to him, and, I’m afraid, could even mean death. I wish you would order them not to be rung in the morning.”

“Are you a professor?” sez he.

“Are you a professor?” he said.

“Yes,” sez I.

"Yes," I said.

“What perswaision?” sez he.

“What persuasion?” says he.

“Methodist Episcopal,” sez I.

"Methodist Episcopal," I said.

“And do you, a member of a sister church, which, although it has many errors, is still a-gropin' after the light! Do you counsel me to set aside the sacred and time honored rules of our church, and allow the Sabbath to go by unregarded, have the sanctuary desecrated, the cause of religion languish—I cannot believe it. Think of the widespread desolation it would cause if, as the late lamented Mr. Selkirk sung:

“And do you, a member of a sister church, which, although it has many mistakes, is still searching for the truth! Do you advise me to ignore the sacred and long-standing rules of our church, let the Sabbath go unnoticed, allow the sanctuary to be disrespected, and let the cause of religion suffer—I can’t believe it. Consider the widespread devastation it would cause if, as the recently deceased Mr. Selkirk sang:

“'The sound of the church-going bells,
These valleys and hills never heard.'”

“The sound of the church bells,
These valleys and hills have never heard.”

“No church, no sanctuary, no religius observances.”

“No church, no sanctuary, no religious practices.”

“Why,” sez I, “that wouldn't hinder folks from goin' to church. Folks seem to get to theatres, lectures, and disolvin' views on time, and better time than they do to meetin',” sez I. “In your opinin' it hain't necessary to beat a drum and sound on a bugle as the Salvation Army duz, to call folks to meetin'; you are dretful hard on them, so I hear.”

“Why,” I said, “that wouldn't stop people from going to church. People seem to make it to theaters, lectures, and movie shows on time, and better time than they do to church,” I said. “In your opinion, it isn't necessary to beat a drum and blow a bugle like the Salvation Army does to call people to church; you are really tough on them, so I've heard.”

“Yes, they make a senseless, vulgar, onnecessary racket, disturbin' and agrivatin' to saint and sinner.”

“Yes, they make a pointless, loud, unnecessary noise, disturbing and annoying both the good and the bad.”

“But,” sez I, “they say they do it for the sake of religion.”

"But," I said, "they claim they do it for the sake of religion."

“Religion hain't to be found in drum-sticks,” sez he bitterly.

“Religion isn't found in drumsticks,” he said bitterly.

“No,” sez I, “nor in a bell clapper.”

“No,” I said, “not even in a bell clapper.”

“Oh,” sez he, “that is a different thing entirely, that is to call worshippers together, that is necessary.”

“Oh,” he says, “that’s a whole different thing, that’s about gathering people for worship, that’s important.”

Sez I, “One hain't no more necessary than the other in my opinion.”

Sez I, “One isn’t any more necessary than the other in my opinion.”

Sez he, “Look how fur back in the past the sweet bells have sounded out.”

Sez he, “Look how far back in the past the sweet bells have sounded.”

“Yes,” sez I candidly, “and in the sweet past they wuz necessary,” sez I. “In the sweet past, there wuzn't a clock nor a watch, the houses wuz fur apart, and they needed bells. But now there hain't a house but what is runnin' over with clocks—everybody knows the time; they know it so much that time is fairly a drug to 'em. Why, they time themselves right along through the day, from breakfast to midnight. Time their meals, their business, their pleasures, their music, their lessons, their visits, their visitors, their pulse beats, and their dead beats. They time their joys and their sorrows, and everything and everybody, all through the week, and why should they stop short off Sundays? Why not time themselves on goin' to meetin'? They do, and you know it. There hain't no earthly need of the bells to tell the time to go to meetin', no more than there is to tell the time to put on the tea-kettle to get supper. If folks want to go to meetin' they will get there, bells or no bells, and if they don't want to go, bells hain't a-goin' to get 'em started.

“Yes,” I said honestly, “and in the good old days they were necessary,” I said. “Back then, there wasn’t a clock or a watch, the houses were far apart, and they needed bells. But now, every house is filled with clocks—everyone knows the time; they know it so well that time is practically a nuisance to them. They time themselves throughout the day, from breakfast to midnight. They time their meals, their work, their leisure, their music, their lessons, their visits, their guests, their heartbeats, and their downtime. They time their joys and their sorrows, and everything and everyone, all week long, so why should they stop on Sundays? Why not time themselves going to church? They do, and you know it. There’s no real need for bells to signal when it’s time to go to church, any more than there is to signal when to start boiling the kettle for dinner. If people want to go to church, they will get there, with or without bells, and if they don’t want to go, bells aren’t going to make them go.”

“Take a man with the Sunday World jest brung in, a-layin' on a lounge, with his feet up in a chair, and kinder lazy in the first place, bells hain't a-goin' to start him.

“Take a guy with the Sunday World brought in, lying on a couch, with his feet up in a chair, and kind of lazy to begin with, bells aren't going to get him going.”

“And take a woman with her curl papers not took down, and a new religeus novel in her hand, and a miliner that disapinted her the night before, and bells hain't a-goin' to start her. No, the great bell of Moscow won't start 'em.

“And take a woman with her curlers still in her hair, a new religious novel in her hand, and a milliner who disappointed her the night before, and the bells aren’t going to wake her up. No, the great bell of Moscow won't wake her up.”

“And take a good Christian woman, a widow, for instance, who loves church work, and has a good handsome Christian pasture, who is in trouble, lost his wife, mebby, or sunthin' else bad, and the lack of bells hain't a-goin' to keep that women back, no, not if there wuzn't a bell on earth.”

“And take a good Christian woman, a widow, for example, who loves church activities and has a nice, handsome Christian man who is struggling, having lost his wife or maybe something else unfortunate. The absence of bells isn’t going to stop that woman, not at all, even if there wasn’t a single bell on earth.”

“Oh, wall, wavin' off that side of the subject,” sez he (I had convinced him, I know, but he wouldn't own it, for he knew well that if folks wanted to go they always got there, bells or no bells). “But,” sez he wavin' off that side of the subject, “the observance is so time honored, so hallowed by tender memories and associations all through the past.”

“Oh, forget that part of the topic,” he said (I had convinced him, I know, but he wouldn't admit it, because he knew that if people wanted to go, they always made it, bells or no bells). “But,” he said, brushing that part of the topic aside, “the tradition is so well-established, so cherished by warm memories and connections throughout the past.”

“Don't you 'spoze, Deacon Garven,” sez I, “that I know every single emotion them bells can bring to anybody, and felt all those memorys and associations. I'll bet, or I wouldn't be afraid to bet, if I believed in bettin', that there hain't a single emotion in the hull line of emotions that the sound of them bells can wake up, but what I have felt, and felt 'em deep too, jest as deep as anybody ever did, and jest es many of 'em. But it is better for me to do without a upliftin', soarin' sort of a feelin' ruther than have other people suffer agony.”

“Don’t you think, Deacon Garven,” I said, “that I know every single emotion those bells can bring to anyone, and I’ve felt all those memories and associations? I’d bet, or I wouldn’t hesitate to bet, if I believed in betting, that there isn’t a single emotion in the whole range of emotions that the sound of those bells can stir up, that I haven’t felt, and felt them deeply too, just as deeply as anyone ever did, and just as many of them. But it’s better for me to do without an uplifting, soaring kind of feeling rather than have other people suffer.”

“Agony!” sez he, “talk about their causin' agony, when there hain't a more heavenly sound on earth.”

“Agony!” he said, “talk about their causing agony, when there isn't a more beautiful sound on earth.”

“So it has been to me,” sez I candidly. “To me they have always sounded beautiful, heavenly. Why,” sez I, a-lookin' kinder fur off, beyond Deacon Garven, and all other troubles, as thoughts of beauty and insperation come to me borne out of the past into my very soul, by the tender memories of the bells—thoughts of the great host of believers who had gathered together at the sound of the bells—the great army of the Redeemed—

“So it has been for me,” I said honestly. “To me, they’ve always sounded beautiful, heavenly. Why,” I continued, looking a bit distant, beyond Deacon Garven and all other troubles, as thoughts of beauty and inspiration emerged from my past into my very soul, carried by the gentle memories of the bells—thoughts of the vast gathering of believers who came together at the sound of the bells—the great army of the Redeemed—

'Some of the host have crossed the flood,
and some are crossin' now,'

'Some of the guests have crossed the flood,
and some are crossing now,'

thinks I a-lookin' way off in a almost rapped way. And then I sez to Deacon Garven in a low soft voice, lower and more softer fur, than I had used to him,

thinks I'm looking way off in an almost wrapped way. And then I said to Deacon Garven in a low, soft voice, lower and softer than I had used with him,

“Don't I know what it is to stand a-leanin' over the front gate on a still spring mornin', the smell of the lilacs in the air, and the brier roses. A dew sparklin' on the grass under the maples, and the sunshine a-fleckin' the ground between 'em, and the robins a-singin' and the hummin' birds a-hoverin' round the honeysuckles at the door. And over all and through all, and above all clear and sweet, comin' from fur off a-floatin' through the Sabbath stillness, the sound of the bells, a-bringin' to us sweet Sabbath messages of love and joy. Bringin' memories too, of other mornin's as fair and sweet, when other ears listened with us to the sound, other eyes looked out on the summer beauty, and smiled at the sound of the bells. Heavenly emotions, sweet emotions come to me on the melody of the bells, peaceful thoughts, inspirin' thoughts of the countless multitude that has flocked together at the sound of the bells. The aged feet, the eager youthful feet, the children's feet, all, all walkin' to the sound of the bells. Thoughts of the happy youthful feet that set out to walk side by side, at their ringin' sounds. Thoughts of the aged ones grown tired, and goin' to their long dreamless sleep to their solemn sound. Thoughts of the brave hero's who set out to protect us with their lives while the bells wuz ringin' out their approval of such deeds. Thoughts of how they pealed out joyfully on their return bearin' the form of Peace. Thoughts of how the bells filled the mornin' and evenin' air, havin' throbbed and beat with every joy and every pain of our life, till they seem a part of us (as it were) and the old world would truly seem lonesome without 'em.

“Don’t I know what it’s like to lean over the front gate on a still spring morning, with the scent of lilacs and brier roses in the air? Dew sparkling on the grass under the maples, sunshine dappling the ground between them, robins singing, and hummingbirds hovering around the honeysuckles at the door. And above all, floating through the quiet of the Sabbath, comes the sound of the bells, bringing us sweet messages of love and joy. It brings back memories of other mornings just as beautiful, when other ears listened with us to the sound, other eyes looked out on the summer beauty, smiling at the chime of the bells. Heavenly feelings, sweet emotions, wash over me with the melody of the bells—peaceful thoughts, inspiring thoughts of the countless people who gathered at the sound of the bells. The aged feet, the eager youthful feet, the children's feet—all walking to the sound of the bells. Thoughts of the happy young feet that set out to walk side by side, inspired by their ringing sounds. Thoughts of the elderly, tired and heading to their long, dreamless sleep to the solemn toll of the bells. Thoughts of the brave heroes who set out to protect us with their lives while the bells rang in approval of such deeds. Thoughts of how they joyfully rang upon their return, bringing the gift of peace. Thoughts of how the bells filled the morning and evening air, having pulsed with every joy and every pain of our lives, till they seem like a part of us, and the old world would truly feel lonely without them.”

“As I told you, and told you truly, I don't believe there is a single emotion in the hull line of emotions, fur or near, but what them bells have rung into my very soul.

“As I told you, and told you truly, I don't believe there is a single emotion in the whole range of feelings, far or near, that those bells haven't rung into my very soul."

“But such emotions, beautiful and inspirin' though they are, can be dispensed with better than justice and mercy can. Sweet and tender sentiment is dear to me, truly, near and dear, but mercy and pity and common sense, have also a powerful grip onto my right arm, and have to lead me round a good deal of the time.

“But such feelings, beautiful and inspiring as they are, can be set aside more easily than justice and mercy can. Sweet and tender sentiments are precious to me, truly, very close to my heart, but mercy, compassion, and common sense also have a strong hold on my right arm and often guide me a great deal of the time.”

“Beautiful emotion, when it stands opposed to eternal justice, ort to step gently aside and let justice have a free road. Sentiment is truly sweet, but any one can get along without it, take it right along through the year, better than they can without sleep.

“Beautiful emotion, when it is in conflict with eternal justice, should step aside and let justice take the lead. Sentiment is nice, but anyone can manage without it throughout the year, better than they can without sleep."

“You see if you can't sleep you must die, while a person can worry along a good many years without sentiment. Or, that is, I have been told they could. I don't know by experience, for I have always had a real lot of it. You see my experience has been such that I could keep sentiment and comfort too. But my mind is such, that I have to think of them that hain't so fortunate as I am.

“You see, if you can't sleep, you might as well die, while a person can stress over things for many years without feeling much. Or at least, that's what I've heard. I can't say from experience, because I’ve always had plenty of feelings. My experience has been such that I can hold onto both feelings and comfort. But my mind works in a way that makes me think of those who aren't as lucky as I am.”

“I have looked at the subject from my own standpoint, and have tried also to look at it through others' eyes, which is the only way we can get a clear, straight light on any subject. As for me, as I have said, I would love to hear the sweet, far off sound of the bells a-tremblin' gently over the hills to me from Jonesville; it sounds sweeter to me than the voices of the robins and swallers, a-comin' home from the South in the spring of the year. And I would deerly love to have it go on and on as fur as my own feelins are concerned. But I have got to look at the subject through the tired eyes, and feel it through the worn-out nerves of others, who are sot down right under the wild clamor of the bells.

“I've looked at this topic from my own perspective and have also tried to see it through the eyes of others, which is the only way to truly understand any issue. As for me, as I mentioned, I would love to hear the sweet, distant sound of the bells gently ringing over the hills from Jonesville; it sounds sweeter to me than the voices of the robins and swallows returning from the South in the spring. And I would really love for that sound to continue as far as my feelings are concerned. But I have to consider the topic through the tired eyes and feel it through the worn-out nerves of others, who are right under the chaotic noise of the bells.

“What comes to me as a heavenly melody freighted full of beautiful sentiment and holy rapture comes to them as an intolerable agony, a-maddenin' discord, that threatens their sanity, that rouses 'em up from their fitful sleep, that murders sleep—the bells to them seem murderus, strikin' noisily with brazen hands, at their hearts.

“What I hear as a beautiful melody filled with lovely feelings and pure joy sounds to them like excruciating pain, a maddening noise that drives them crazy, that pulls them from their restless sleep, that kills sleep—the bells to them seem deadly, striking loudly with harsh hands at their hearts."

“To them tossin' on beds of nervous sufferin', who lay for hours fillin' the stillness with horror, with dread of the bells, where fear and dread of 'em exceed the agony of the clangor of the sound when it comes at last. Long nights full of a wakeful horror and expectency, fur worse than the realization of their imaginin's. To them the bells are a instrument of torture jest as tuff to bear as any of the other old thumb screws and racks that wrung and racked our old 4 fathers in the name of Religion.

“To those tossing on beds of nervous suffering, who lie for hours filling the stillness with horror, with dread of the bells, where their fear and anxiety about them exceed the agony of the noise when it finally comes. Long nights filled with a wakeful horror and anticipation, far worse than the reality of their imaginations. For them, the bells are an instrument of torture just as hard to bear as any of the old thumb screws and racks that tormented our forefathers in the name of religion.”

“I have to think of the great crowd of humanity huddled together right under the loud clangor of the bells whose time of rest begins when the sun comes up, who have toiled all night for our comfort and luxury. So we can have our mornin' papers brought to us with our coffee. So we can have the telegraphic messages, bringing us good news with our toast. So's we can have some of our dear ones come to us from distant lands in the morning. I must think of them who protect us through the night so we can sleep in peace.

“I need to consider the huge crowd of people gathered together right under the loud ringing of the bells that get their break when the sun rises, who have worked all night for our comfort and luxury. So we can have our morning papers delivered to us with our coffee. So we can receive telegraphic messages, bringing us good news with our toast. So we can have some of our loved ones come to us from faraway places in the morning. I must think of those who watch over us through the night so we can sleep peacefully.”

“Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of these, our helpers and benafacters, work all night for our sakes, work and toil. The least we can do for these is to help 'em to the great Restorer, sleep, all we can.

“Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of these, our helpers and benefactors, work all night for us, putting in hard work. The least we can do for them is to help them find the great Restorer, sleep, as much as we can.”

“Some things we can't do; we can't stop the creakin' sounds of the world's work; the big roar of the wheel of business that rolls through the week days, can't be oiled into stillness; but Sundays they might get a little rest Sunday is the only day of rest for thousands of men and wimmen, nervous, pale, worn by their week's hard toil.

“Some things we can't change; we can't silence the creaking sounds of the world's work; the loud roar of the business wheel that turns through the weekdays can't be quieted; but Sundays might offer a bit of peace. Sunday is the only day of rest for thousands of men and women, anxious, pale, and exhausted from their week of hard work.”

“The creakin' of the wheels of traffic are stopped on this day. They could get a little of the rest they need to carry on the fight of life to help support wife, child, father, husband; but religeon is too much for 'em—the religeon that the Bible declares is mild, peacible, tender. It clangs and bangs and whangs at 'em till the day of rest is a torment.

“The creaking of the wheels of traffic is halted today. They can get some of the rest they need to carry on the struggle of life to support their wife, child, father, husband; but religion is too much for them—the religion that the Bible calls mild, peaceful, tender. It clatters and thunders at them until the day of rest becomes a torment.”

“Now the Lord wouldn't approve of this. I know He wouldn't, for He was always tender and pitiful full of compassion. I called it religeon for oritory, but it hain't religeon, it is a relict of old Barberism who, under the cloak of Religeon, whipped quakers and hung prophetic souls, that the secrets of Heaven had been revealed to, secrets hidden from the coarser, more sensual vision.”

“Now the Lord wouldn’t approve of this. I know He wouldn’t, because He was always kind and full of compassion. I called it religion for rhetoric, but it isn’t religion; it’s a remnant of old Barberism, which, under the guise of Religion, whipped Quakers and hanged prophetic souls that had been revealed the secrets of Heaven, secrets hidden from the coarser, more sensual vision.”

Sez Deacon Garven: “I consider the bells as missionarys. They help spread the Gospel.”

Sez Deacon Garven: “I see the bells as missionaries. They help spread the Gospel.”

“And,” sez I, for I waz full of my subject, and kep him down to it all I could, “Ralph S. Robinson has spread the Gospel over acres and acres of land, and brung in droves and droves of sinners into the fold without the help of church or steeple, let alone bells, and it seems es if he ortn't to be tortured to death now by 'em.”

“And,” I said, because I was really into my topic and kept him focused on it as much as I could, “Ralph S. Robinson has spread the Gospel over vast amounts of land and brought in countless sinners into the fold without the help of a church or steeple, let alone bells, and it seems like he shouldn’t be punished to death now by them.”

“Wall,” he said, “he viewed 'em as Gospel means, and he couldn't, with his present views of his duty to the Lord, omit 'em.”

“Wall,” he said, “he saw them as divine messages, and he couldn't, with his current understanding of his responsibilities to God, ignore them.”

Sez I, “The Lord didn't use 'em. He got along without 'em.”

Sez I, “The Lord didn't need them. He managed just fine without them.”

“Wall,” he said, “it wuz different times now.”

“Wall,” he said, “it was different times now.”

Sez I, “The Lord, if He wuz here to-day, Deacon Garven, if He had bent over that form racked with pain and sufferin' and that noise of any kind is murderous to, He would help him, I know He would, for He wuz good to the sick, and tender hearted always.”

Sez I, “The Lord, if He were here today, Deacon Garven, if He had leaned over that body wracked with pain and suffering, and that noise of any kind is basically torture to, He would help him, I know He would, because He was good to the sick and always had a tender heart.”

“Wall, I will help him,” sez Deacon Garven, “I will watch, and I will pray, and I will work for him.”

“Wall, I will help him,” says Deacon Garven, “I will watch, and I will pray, and I will work for him.”

Sez I, “Will you promise me not to ring the bells to-morrow mornin'; if he gets into any sleep at all durin' the 24 hours, it is along in the mornin', and I think if we could keep him asleep, say all the forenoon, there would be a chance for him. Will you promise me?”

Sez I, “Will you promise me not to ring the bells tomorrow morning? If he gets any sleep at all during the 24 hours, it’ll be early in the morning, and I think if we can keep him asleep, let’s say all morning, there might be a chance for him. Will you promise me?”

“Wall,” sez he kinder meltin' down a little, “I will talk with the bretheren.”

“Wall,” he said, softening a bit, “I will talk with the brothers.”

Sez I, “Promise me, Deacon Eben Garven, before you see 'em.”

Sez I, "Promise me, Deacon Eben Garven, before you see them."

Sez he, “I would, but I am so afraid of bringin' the Cause of Religeon into contempt. And I dread meddlin' with the old established rules of the church.”

He says, “I would, but I'm really afraid of bringing the Cause of Religion into disrepute. And I worry about interfering with the long-standing rules of the church.”

Sez I, “Mercy and justice and pity wuz set up on earth before bells wuz, and I believe it is safe to foller 'em.”

Sez I, “Mercy, justice, and compassion were established on earth long before bells were, and I believe it's safe to follow them.”

But he wouldn't promise me no further than to talk with the bretheren, and I had to leave him with that promise. As things turned out afterwuds, I wuz sorry, sorry es a dog that I didn't shet up Deacon Garven in his own smoke house, or cause him to be shet, and mount a guard over him, armed nearly to the teeth with clubs.

But he wouldn't promise me anything more than to talk with the others, and I had to leave him with that promise. As things turned out later, I was really sorry, as sorry as a dog, that I didn't shut Deacon Garven in his own smokehouse, or have him locked up, and put a guard over him, armed to the teeth with clubs.

But I didn't, and I relied some on the bretheren.

But I didn't, and I depended a bit on the others.

Ralph wuz dretful wild all the forepart of the night. He'd lay still for a few minutes, and then he would get all rousted up, and he would set up in bed and call out some words in that strange tongue. And he would lift up his poor weak right arm, strong then in his fever, and preach long sermons in that same strange curius language. He would preach his sermon right through, earnest and fervent as any sermon ever wuz. I would know it by the looks of his face. And then he would sometimes sing a little in that same singular language, and then he would lay down for a spell.

Ralph was extremely restless all night long. He'd lie still for a few minutes, then get all worked up, sitting up in bed and calling out words in that strange language. He would lift his weak right arm, strong from the fever, and preach long sermons in that same peculiar language. He would deliver his sermon passionately and earnestly, just like any sermon ever was. I could tell by the expression on his face. Sometimes, he would sing a little in that same unique language, and then he would lie down for a while.

But along towards mornin' I see a change, his fever seemed to abate and go down some—very gradual, till just about the break of day, he fell into a troubled sleep—or it wuz a troubled sleep at first—but growin' deeper and more peaceful every minute. And along about eight o'clock he wuz a-sleepin' sweet for the first time durin' his sickness; it wuz a quiet restful sleep, and some drops of presperation and sweat could be seen on his softened features.

But as morning approached, I noticed a change; his fever seemed to loosen and gradually decrease until just around dawn, he fell into a troubled sleep—or it was troubled at first—but became deeper and more peaceful with each passing minute. By about eight o'clock, he was sleeping soundly for the first time during his illness; it was a calm, restful sleep, and some beads of perspiration could be seen on his relaxed features.

We were all as quiet, almost, as if we were robots; we were so scared of making even the slightest noise to disturb him. We nearly held our breath, anxious to keep every bit of sound out of his room. But I did whisper to Rosy in a soft, still voice—

“Your father is saved, the Lord be praised, we shall pull him through.”

“Your dad is saved, thank God, we’ll get him through this.”

She jest dropped onto her knees, and laid her head in my lap and cried and wept, but soft and quiet so's it wouldn't disturb a mice.

She just dropped onto her knees, laid her head in my lap, and cried softly so it wouldn't disturb a mouse.

Miss Timson wuz a-prayin', I could see that. She wuz a-returnin' thanks to the Lord for his mercy.

Miss Timson was praying; I could see that. She was thanking the Lord for His mercy.

As for me, I sot demute, in that hushed and darkened room, a-watchin' every shadow of a change that might come to his features, with a teaspoon ready to my hand, to give him nourishment at the right time if he needed it, or medicine.

As for me, I sat quiet in that quiet and dark room, watching every shadow of change that might come to his face, with a teaspoon ready in my hand to give him food or medicine at the right moment if he needed it.

When all of a sudden—slam! bang! rush! roar! slam! slam! ding! dong! bang!!! come right over our heads the wild, deafening clamor of the bells.

When suddenly—slam! bang! rush! roar! slam! slam! ding! dong! bang!!! the wild, deafening noise of the bells comes crashing right over our heads.

Ralph started up wilder than ever because of his momentary repose. He never knew us, nor anything, from that time on, and after sufferin' for another 24 hours, sufferin' that made us all willin' to have it stop, he died.

Ralph started up wilder than ever after his brief rest. He never recognized us, nor anything else, from that moment on, and after suffering for another 24 hours, suffering that made us all ready for it to end, he died.

And so he who had devoted his hull life to religeon wuz killed by it. He who had gin his hull life for the true, wuz murdered by the false.

And so the one who had dedicated his whole life to religion was killed by it. He who had given his entire life for the truth was murdered by the false.

His last move wuz to spread out his hands, and utter a few of them strange words, as if in benediction over a kneelin' multitude. And I thought then, and I think still, that he wuz pronouncin' a benediction on the savages. And I have always hoped that the mercy he besought from on High at that last hour brought down God's pity and forgiveness on all benighted savages, and bigoted ones, Deacon Garven, and the hull on 'em.

His last move was to spread out his hands and say a few of those strange words as if he were blessing a kneeling crowd. And I thought then, and I still think, that he was giving a blessing to the savages. I've always hoped that the mercy he asked for from above at that final moment brought God's compassion and forgiveness to all lost savages, including the bigoted ones, Deacon Garven, and all of them.

CHAPTER XXV.

CHAPTER 25.

The very next day after I got home from Miss Timson'ses, we wimmen all met to the meetin' house agin as usial, for we knew very well that the very hardest and most arjuous part of our work lay before us.

The very next day after I got home from Miss Timson's, we women all gathered at the meeting house again as usual, because we knew very well that the hardest and most challenging part of our work lay ahead of us.

For if it had been hard and tuckerin' to what it seemed the utmost limit of tucker, to stand up on a lofty barell, and lift up one arm, and scrape the ceilin', what would it be, so we wildly questioned our souls, and each other, to stand up on the same fearful hites, and lift both arms over our heads, and get on them fearful lengths of paper smooth.

For if it had been tough and exhausting to what seemed like the absolute limit of effort, to stand on a tall barrel, lift one arm, and scrape the ceiling, what would it feel like, we desperately wondered to ourselves and each other, to stand on those same terrifying heights, lift both arms over our heads, and get on those long, smooth sheets of paper.

I declare, when the hull magnitude of the task we had tackled riz before us, it skairt the hull on us, and nuthin' but our deathless devotion to the Methodist meetin' house, kep us from startin' off to our different homes on the run.

I swear, when the sheer size of the task we were facing rose up before us, it scared us all, and nothing but our unwavering dedication to the Methodist meeting house kept us from taking off for our homes in a hurry.

But lovin' it as we did, as the very apples in our eyes, and havin' in our constant breasts a determinate to paper that meetin' house, or die in the attempt, we made ready to tackle it.

But loving it as we did, like the very apples of our eyes, and having in our hearts a firm determination to reach that meeting house, or die trying, we got ready to take it on.

Yet such wuz the magnitude of the task, and our fearful apprehensions, that after we had looked the ceilin' all over, and examined the paper—we all sot down, as it were, instinctivly, and had a sort of a conference meetin' (we had to wait for the paste to bile anyway, it wuz bein' made over the stove in the front entry). And he would lift up his poor weak right arm, strong then in his fever, and preach long sermons in that same strange curius language. He would preach his sermon right through, earnest and fervent as any sermon ever wuz. I would know it by the looks of his face. And then he would sometimes sing a little in that same singular language, and then he would lay down for a spell.

Yet the task was so huge, and our fears were so strong, that after we had checked the ceiling thoroughly and looked at the wallpaper, we all sat down instinctively and had a sort of meeting (we had to wait for the paste to boil anyway, as it was being made over the stove in the front entry). He would raise his frail right arm, strong from his fever, and preach long sermons in that odd, curious language. He would deliver his sermon with the same earnestness and fervor as any sermon ever was. I could tell by the expression on his face. Sometimes, he would sing a bit in that same unique language, and then he would lie down for a while.

But early in the morning, I noticed a change; his fever seemed to decrease gradually until, just around dawn, he fell into a troubled sleep—at first it was restless—but it grew deeper and more peaceful with each passing minute. By around eight o'clock, he was sleeping soundly for the first time during his illness; it was a quiet, restful sleep, and a few drops of perspiration could be seen on his relaxed features.

We all wuz as still, almost, as if we wuz automatoes, we wuz so afraid of makin' a speck of noise to disturb him. We kep almost breathless, in our anxiety to keep every mite of noise out of his room. But I did whisper to Rosy in a low still voice—it middlin calm, and Miss Gowdy offered to be the one to carry it back to Jonesville, and change it that very afternoon—for we could not afford to buy a new one, and we had the testimony of as many as twenty-one or two pairs of eyes, that the handle didn't come out by our own carelessness, but by its own inherient weakness—so we spozed he would swap it, we spozed so. But it wuz arrainged before we disbanded (the result of our conference), that the next mornin' we would each one on us bring our offerin's to the fair, and hand 'em in to the treasurer, so's she would know in time what to depend on, and what she had to do with.

We all were so quiet, almost like we were statues, because we were so scared to make a sound that might disturb him. We stayed almost breathless, anxious to keep every bit of noise out of his room. But I did whisper to Rosy in a low, calm voice—it was pretty calm, and Miss Gowdy offered to be the one to take it back to Jonesville and exchange it that very afternoon—since we couldn’t afford to buy a new one, and we had the support of around twenty-one or two witnesses that the handle didn’t break due to our carelessness, but because of its own inherent weakness—so we figured he would swap it, we thought so. But it was arranged before we broke up (the result of our meeting) that the next morning each of us would bring our contributions to the fair and hand them to the treasurer, so she would know in time what to expect and what she had to work with.

And we agreed (also the result of our conference) that we would, each one on us, tell jest how we got the money and things to give to the fair.

And we agreed (also the result of our meeting) that each of us would share how we got the money and items to donate to the fair.

And then we disbanded and started off home but I'll bet that each one on us, in a sort of secret unbeknown way, gin a look on that lofty ceilin', them dangerus barells, and that pile of paper, and groaned a low melancholy groan all to herself.

And then we broke up and headed home, but I bet that each one of us, in a sort of secret way we didn't talk about, took a look at that high ceiling, those dangerous barrels, and that stack of paper, and quietly sighed a sad sigh to ourselves.

I know I did, and I know Submit Tewksbury did, for I stood close to her and heard her. But then to be exactly jest, and not a mite underhanded, I ort mebby to say, that her groan may be caused partly by the fact that that aniversery of hern wuz a-drawin' so near. Yes, the very next day wuz the day jest 20 years ago that Samuel Danker went away from Submit Tewksbury to heathen lands. Yes, the next day wuz the one that she always set the plate on for him—the gilt edged chiny with pink sprigs.

I know I did, and I know Submit Tewksbury did, because I was close to her and heard her. But to be completely honest and not sneaky at all, I should probably mention that her groan might be partly because the anniversary was coming up soon. Yes, the very next day was the day, just 20 years ago, that Samuel Danker left Submit Tewksbury for distant lands. Yes, the next day was the one when she always set the plate out for him—the gilded china with pink sprigs.

But I'll bet that half or three quarters of that low melancholy groan of her'n wuz caused by the hardness of the job that loomed up in front of us, and the hull of mine wuz.

But I'm sure that half or three quarters of that sad, low groan of hers was caused by the tough job ahead of us, and the same goes for me.

Wall, that night Josiah Allen wuz a-feelin' dretful neat, fer he had sold our sorell colt for a awful big price.

Wall, that night Josiah Allen was feeling really great, because he had sold our sorrel colt for a really good price.

It wuz a good colt; its mother wuz took sick when it wuz a few days old, and we had brung it up as a corset, or ruther I did, fer Josiah Allen at that time had the rheumatiz to that extent that he couldn't step his foot on the floor for months, so the care of the corset come on me, most the hull on it, till it got big enough to run out in the lot and git its own livin'.

It was a good colt; its mother got sick when it was just a few days old, and I raised it like a pet, since Josiah Allen at that time had rheumatism so bad that he couldn't put his foot on the floor for months. So, the responsibility of caring for the colt fell mostly on me until it got big enough to run out in the lot and fend for itself.

Night after night I used to get up and warm milk for it, when it wuz very small, for it wuz weakly, and we didn't know as we could winter it.

Night after night I would get up and warm milk for it, when it was very small, because it was weak, and we weren't sure we could keep it alive through the winter.

We kep it in a little warm shed offen the wood house for quite a spell, but still I used to find it considerable cold when I would meander out there in a icy night to feed it. But jest as it is always the way with wimmen, the more care I took on it, the more it needed me and depended on me, the better I liked it.

We kept it in a small warm shed near the wood house for quite a while, but I still found it pretty cold when I would wander out there on a chilly night to feed it. But just like it always is with women, the more care I took of it, the more it needed me and relied on me, the more I liked it.

Till I got to likin' it so well that it wuzn't half so hard a job for me to go out to feed it in the night as it would have been to laid still in my warm bed and think mebby it wuz cold and hungry.

Till I got to liking it so much that it wasn't half as hard for me to go out and feed it at night as it would have been to lie still in my warm bed, thinking maybe it was cold and hungry.

So I would pike out and feed it two or three times a night.

So I would go out and feed it two or three times a night.

That is the nater of wimmen, the weaker it wuz and the humblier it wuz, and the more it needed me, the more I thought on it.

That’s the nature of women; the weaker they were and the humbler they were, and the more they needed me, the more I thought about it.

And as is the nater of man, Josiah Allen didn't seem to care so much about it while it wuz weak and humbly and spindlin'.

And as is the nature of man, Josiah Allen didn't seem to care as much about it when it was weak, humble, and thin.

He told me time and agin, that I couldn't save it, and it never would amount to anythin', and wuzn't nothin' but legs any way, and lots of other slightin' remarks. And he'd call it “horse corset” in a kind of a light, triflin' way, that wuz apt to gaul a woman when she come back with icy night-gown and frosty toes and fingers, way along in the night.

He told me time and again that I couldn't save it, and it would never amount to anything, and was just legs anyway, along with lots of other dismissive comments. He'd call it "horse corset" in a light, teasing way that was likely to annoy a woman when she came back with an icy nightgown and chilly toes and fingers late at night.

He'd wake up, a-layin' there warm and comfortable on his soft goose feather piller and say to me: “Been out to tend to your 'horse corset,' have you?”

He'd wake up, lying there warm and comfortable on his soft goose feather pillow and say to me: “Been out to take care of your 'horse corset,' have you?”

“Horse corset! 'Wall, what if it wuz?”

“Horse corset! Well, what if it was?”

Such language way along in the night, from a warm comfortable pardner to a cold one, is apt to make some words back and forth.

Such language late at night, from a warm, comfortable partner to a cold one, tends to lead to some words exchanged back and forth.

And then he'd speak of its legs agin, in the most slightin' terms—and he'd ask me if didn't want its picter took—etc., etc., etc.

And then he’d talk about its legs again, in the most insulting way—and he’d ask me if I didn’t want its picture taken—etc., etc., etc.

(I believe one thing that ailed Josiah Allen wuz he didn't want me to get up and get my feet so cold).

(I believe one thing that bothered Josiah Allen was that he didn't want me to get up and have cold feet).

But, as I wuz a-sayin', though I couldn't deny some of his words, for truly its legs did seem to be at the least calculation a yard and a half long, specilly in the night, why they'd look fairly pokerish.

But, as I was saying, even though I couldn't deny some of his words, because its legs really did seem to be at least a yard and a half long, especially at night, they looked pretty stick-like.

And though I knew it wuz humbly still I persevered, and at last it got to thrivin' and growin' fast. And the likelier it grew, and the stronger, and the handsomer, so Josiah Allen's likin' for it grew and increased, till he got to settin' a sight of store by it.

And even though I knew it was humble, I kept at it, and eventually it started to thrive and grow quickly. The more it grew, the stronger and more beautiful it became, which made Josiah Allen's fondness for it grow and grow, until he started to really value it.

And now it wuz a two-year-old, and he had sold it for two hundred and fifteen dollars. It wuz spozed it wuz goin' to make a good trotter.

And now it was a two-year-old, and he had sold it for two hundred and fifteen dollars. It was supposed to be a good trotter.

Wall, seem' he had got such a big price for the colt, and knowin' well that I wuz the sole cause of its bein' alive at this day, I felt that it wuz the best time in the hull three hundred and sixty-five days of the year to tackle him for sunthin' to give to the fair. I felt that the least he could do would be to give me ten or fifteen dollars for it. So consequently after supper wuz out of the way, and the work done up, I tackled him.

Wall, seeing he had gotten such a high price for the colt, and knowing I was the only reason it was alive today, I felt it was the best time in the whole three hundred sixty-five days of the year to ask him for something to give to the fair. I figured the least he could do was give me ten or fifteen dollars for it. So after dinner was over and the work was done, I approached him.

CHAPTER XXVI.

CHAPTER 26.

He wuz jest a-countin' out his money prior to puttin' it away in his tin box, and I laid the subject before him strong and eloquent, jest the wants and needs of the meetin' house, and jest how hard we female sisters wuz a-workin', and jest how much we needed some money to buy our ingregiencies with for the fair.

He was just counting his money before putting it away in his tin box, and I brought up the topic passionately, explaining the needs of the meeting house, how hard we women were working, and how much we needed some funds to buy our supplies for the fair.

He set still, a-countin' out his money, but I know he heard me. There wuz four fifty dollar bills, a ten, and a five, and I felt that at the very least calculation he would hand me out the ten or the five, and mebby both on 'em.

He sat quietly, counting his money, but I knew he heard me. There were four fifty-dollar bills, a ten, and a five, and I thought that at the very least he would give me either the ten or the five, maybe both.

But he laid 'em careful in the box, and then pulled out his old pocket-book out of his pocket, and handed me a ten cent piece.

But he carefully placed them in the box, then took out his old wallet from his pocket and handed me a dime.

I wuz mad. And I hain't a-goin' to deny that we had some words. Or at least I said some words to him, and gin him a middlin' clear idee of how I felt on the subject.

I was angry. And I won’t deny that we had a few words. At least, I said some things to him and gave him a pretty clear idea of how I felt about it.

Why, the colt wuz more mine than his in the first place, and I didn't want a cent of money for myself, but only wanted it for the good of the Methodist meetin' house, which he ort to be full as interested in as I wuz.

Why, the colt was more mine than his to begin with, and I didn't want a penny for myself; I only wanted it for the benefit of the Methodist meeting house, which he should be just as interested in as I was.

Yes, I gin him a pretty lucid idee of what my feelin's wuz on the subject—and spozed mebby I had convinced him. I wuz a-standin' with my back to him, a-ironin' a shirt for him, when I finished up my piece of mind. And thought more'n as likely as not he'd break down and be repentent, and hand me out a ten dollar bill.

Yes, I gave him a pretty clear idea of how I felt about the situation—and figured maybe I had convinced him. I was standing with my back to him, ironing a shirt for him, when I finished expressing my thoughts. And I thought more than likely he'd break down, feel sorry, and give me a ten-dollar bill.

But no, he spoke out as pert and cheerful as anything and sez he:

But no, he spoke up as lively and cheerful as ever and said:

“Samantha, I don't think it is necessary for Christians to give such a awful sight. Jest look at the widder's mit.”

“Samantha, I don't think it's necessary for Christians to show such an awful sight. Just look at the widow's mitt.”

I turned right round and looked at him, holdin' my flat-iron in my right hand, and sez I:

I turned around and looked at him, holding my flat iron in my right hand, and said:

“What do you mean, Josiah Allen? What are you talkin' about?”

“What do you mean, Josiah Allen? What are you talking about?”

“Why the widder's mit that is mentioned in Scripter, and is talked about so much by Christians to this day. Most probable it wuz a odd one, I dare persume to say she had lost the mate to it. It specilly mentions that there wuzn't but one on 'em. And jest see how much that is talked over, and praised up clear down the ages, to this day. It couldn't have been worth more'n five cents, if it wuz worth that.”

“Why the widow's mite is mentioned in Scripture and is still talked about by Christians today. It's very likely it was a unique one; I would assume she had lost its pair. It specifically mentions that there was only one of them. Just look at how much that has been discussed and praised throughout the ages, even to this day. It couldn’t have been worth more than five cents, if it was worth that.”

“How do you spell mit, Josiah Allen?” sez I.

“How do you spell mit, Josiah Allen?” I said.

“Why m-i-t-e, mit.”

“I should think,” sez I, “that that spells mite.”

“I would think,” I said, “that that means a lot.”

“Oh well, when you are a-readin' the Bible, all the best commentaters agree that you must use your own judgment. Mite! What sense is there in that? Widder's mite! There hain't any sense in it, not a mite.”

“Oh well, when you’re reading the Bible, all the best commentators agree that you have to use your own judgment. Right! What sense does that make? Widow's mite! There isn’t any sense in it, not at all.”

And Josiah kinder snickered here, as if he had made a dretful cute remark, bringin' the “mite” in in that way. But I didn't snicker, no, there wuzn't a shadow, or trace of anything to be heard in my linement, but solemn and bitter earnest. And I set the flat-iron down on the stove, solemn, and took up another, solemn, and went to ironin' on his shirt collar agin with solemnety and deep earnest. “No,” Josiah Allen continued, “there hain't no sense in that—but mit! there you have sense. All wimmen wear mits; they love 'em. She most probable had a good pair, and lost one on 'em, and then give the other to the church. I tell you it takes men to translate the Bible, they have such a realizin' sense of the weaknesses of wimmen, and how necessary it is to translate it in such a way as to show up them weaknesses, and quell her down, and make her know her place, make her know that man is her superior in every way, and it is her duty as well as privilege to look up to him.”

And Josiah kind of chuckled here, like he had made a really cute comment, bringing in the “mite” that way. But I didn’t chuckle; no, there wasn’t a hint of anything in my expression, just serious and bitter earnestness. I set the flat-iron down on the stove, serious, and picked up another one, serious, and went back to ironing his shirt collar again with seriousness and deep earnestness. “No,” Josiah Allen continued, “there’s no sense in that—but mitts! There you have sense. All women wear mitts; they love them. She probably had a nice pair and lost one, then gave the other to the church. I tell you it takes men to translate the Bible; they have a real understanding of women’s weaknesses and how important it is to translate it in a way that highlights those weaknesses, keeps them in check, and makes them know their place, makes them know that man is superior in every way, and it’s both her duty and privilege to look up to him.”

And Josiah Allen crossed his left leg over his right one, as haughty and over bearin' a-crossin' as I ever see in my life, and looked up haughtily at the stove-pipe hole in the ceilin', and resoomed,

And Josiah Allen crossed his left leg over his right one, as proud and arrogant as I’ve ever seen in my life, and looked up disdainfully at the stovepipe hole in the ceiling, and resumed,

“But, as I wuz sayin' about her mit, the widder's, you know. That is jest my idee of givin', equinomical, savin', jest as it should be.”

“But, as I was saying about her mitten, the widow's, you know. That is just my idea of giving, economical, saving, just as it should be.”

“Yes,” sez I, in a very dry axent, most as dry as my flat-iron, and that wuz fairly hissin' hot. “She most probable had some man to advise her, and to tell her what use the mit would be to support a big meetin' house.” Oh, how dry my axent wuz. It wuz the very dryest, and most irony one I keep by me—and I keep dretful ironikle ones to use in cases of necessity.

“Yes,” I said in a very dry tone, almost as dry as my flat iron, which was pretty much hissing hot. “She probably had some guy to advise her and to tell her how the mitt would be used to support a large meeting house.” Oh, how dry my tone was. It was the driest and most ironic one I have on hand—and I have some really ironic ones to use in cases of necessity.

“Most probable,” sez Josiah, “most probable she did.” He thought I wuz praisin' men up, and he acted tickled most to death.

“Most likely,” says Josiah, “most likely she did.” He thought I was praising men, and he seemed thrilled to bits.

“Yes, some man without any doubt, advised her, told her that some other widder would lose one of hern, and give hers to the meetin' house, jest the mate to hern. That is the way I look at it,” sez he “and I mean to mention that view of mine on this subject the very next time they take up a subscription in the meetin' house and call on me.”

“Yes, some guy definitely told her that another widow would lose hers and give hers to the meeting house, just like hers. That’s how I see it,” he said, “and I plan to mention my perspective on this the very next time they raise funds at the meeting house and come to me.”

But I turned and faced him then with the hot flat-iron in my hand, and burnin' indignation in my eys, and sez I:

But I turned and faced him then with the hot iron in my hand, and burning anger in my eyes, and I said:

“If you mention that, Josiah Allen, in the meetin' house, or to any livin' soul on earth, I'll part with you.” And I would, if it wuz the last move I ever made.

“If you bring that up, Josiah Allen, in the meeting house, or to anyone alive on this planet, I’ll break ties with you.” And I would, if it was the last thing I ever did.

But I gin up from that minute the idea of gettin' anything out of Josiah Allen for the fair. But I had some money of my own that I had got by sellin' three pounds of geese feathers and a bushel of dried apples, every feather picked by me, and every quarter of apple pared and peeled and strung and dried by me. It all come to upwerds of seven dollars, and I took every cent of it the next day out of my under bureau draw and carried it to the meetin' house and gin it to the treasurer, and told 'em, at the request of the hull on 'em, jest how I got the money.

But from that moment, I gave up on getting anything from Josiah Allen for the fair. However, I had some money of my own that I earned by selling three pounds of goose feathers and a bushel of dried apples, which I picked every feather from and pared, peeled, strung, and dried every quarter of apple myself. It all added up to over seven dollars, and the next day, I took every cent out of my drawer and carried it to the meeting house, gave it to the treasurer, and told them, at the request of everyone, exactly how I got the money.

And so the hull of the female sisters did, as they handed in their money, told jest how they come by it.

And so the sisters' ship did, as they handed in their money, jokingly explained how they got it.

Sister Moss had seated three pairs of children's trouses for young Miss Gowdy, her children are very hard on their trouses (slidin' down the banesters and such). And young Miss Gowdy is onexperienced yet in mendin', so the patches won't show. And Sister Moss had got forty-seven cents for the job, and brung it all, every cent of it, with the exception of three cents she kep out to buy peppermint drops with. She has the colic fearful, and peppermint sometimes quells it.

Sister Moss had repaired three pairs of kids' trousers for young Miss Gowdy because her children are really tough on their clothes (sliding down the banisters and all that). And young Miss Gowdy isn't experienced yet at mending, so the patches won't be noticeable. Sister Moss earned forty-seven cents for the job and brought it all, every penny, except for three cents she kept to buy peppermint drops. She has a really bad case of colic, and peppermint sometimes helps soothe it.

Young Miss Gowdy wuz kep at home by some new, important business (twins). But she sent thirty-two cents, every cent of money she could rake and scrape, and that she had scrimped out of the money her husband had gin her for a woosted dress. She had sot her heart on havin' a ruffle round the bottom (he didn't give her enough for a overshirt), but she concluded to make it plain, and sent the ruffle money.

Young Miss Gowdy was kept at home due to some important new business (twins). But she sent thirty-two cents, every bit of money she could gather, which she had saved from the money her husband gave her for a wool dress. She had her heart set on having a ruffle around the bottom (he didn't give her enough for an overshirt), but she decided to keep it simple and sent the money for the ruffle instead.

And young Sister Serena Nott had picked geese for her sister, who married a farmer up in Zoar. She had picked ten geese at two cents apiece, and Serena that tender-hearted that it wuz like pickin' the feathers offen her own back.

And young Sister Serena Nott had plucked geese for her sister, who married a farmer up in Zoar. She had plucked ten geese at two cents each, and Serena was so tender-hearted that it felt like pulling the feathers off her own back.

And then she is very timid, and skairt easy, and she owned up that while the pickin' of the geese almost broke her heart, the pickin' of the ganders almost skairt her to death. They wuz very high headed and warlike, and though she put a stockin' over their heads, they would lift 'em right up, stockin' and all, and hiss, and act, and she said she picked 'em at what seemed to her to be at the resk of her life.

And then she was really shy and got scared easily. She admitted that while plucking the geese nearly broke her heart, plucking the ganders almost scared her to death. They were very aggressive and tough, and even though she put a stocking over their heads, they'd just lift it right off and hiss at her. She said she felt like she was risking her life while doing it.

But she loved the meetin' house, so she grin and bore it, as the sayin' is, and she brung the hull of her hard earned money, and handed it over to the treasurer, and everybody that is at all educated knows that twice ten is twenty. She brung twenty cents.

But she loved the meeting house, so she grinned and bore it, as the saying goes, and she brought all of her hard-earned money and handed it over to the treasurer, and everyone who’s at all educated knows that two times ten is twenty. She brought twenty cents.

Sister Grimshaw had, and she owned it right out and out, got four dollars and fifty-three cents by sellin' butter on the sly. She had took it out of the butter tub when Brother Grimshaw's back wuz turned, and sold it to the neighbors for money at odd times through the year, and besides gettin' her a dress cap (for which she wuz fairly sufferin'), she gin the hull to the meetin' house.

Sister Grimshaw fully admitted that she had made four dollars and fifty-three cents by secretly selling butter. She had taken it from the butter tub when Brother Grimshaw wasn’t looking and sold it to the neighbors for cash at various times throughout the year. Besides buying herself a dress cap (which she really needed), she gave the whole amount to the meeting house.

There wuz quite dubersome looks all round the room when she handed in the money and went right out, for she had a errent to the store.

There were quite a few puzzled looks all around the room when she handed in the money and went straight out, because she had a errand to the store.

And Sister Gowdy spoke up and said she didn't exactly like to use money got in that way.

And Sister Gowdy spoke up and said she didn't really like using money earned that way.

But Sister Lanfear sprunted up, and brung Jacob right into the argument, and the Isrealites who borrowed jewelry of the Egyptians, and then she brung up other old Bible characters, and held 'em up before us.

But Sister Lanfear jumped up and brought Jacob right into the argument, and the Israelites who borrowed jewelry from the Egyptians, and then she brought up other old Bible characters and held them up before us.

But still we some on us felt dubersome. And then another sister spoke up and said the hull property belonged to Sister Grimshaw, every mite of it, for he wuzn't worth a cent when he married her—she wuz the widder Bettenger, and had a fine property. And Grimshaw hadn't begun to earn what he had spent sense (he drinks). So, sez she, it all belongs to Sister Grimshaw, by right.

But still some of us felt uneasy. Then another sister spoke up and said that all the property belonged to Sister Grimshaw, every bit of it, because he wasn't worth a dime when he married her—she was the widow Bettenger and had a nice property. And Grimshaw hadn't managed to earn back what he had spent since (he drinks). So, she said, it all rightfully belongs to Sister Grimshaw.

Then the sisters all begin to look less dubersome. But I sez:

Then the sisters all start to look less gloomy. But I say:

“Why don't she come out openly and take the money she wants for her own use, and for church work, and charity?”

“Why doesn’t she come out openly and take the money she wants for herself, for church work, and for charity?”

“Because he is so hard with her,” sez Sister Lanfear, “and tears round so, and cusses, and commits so much wickedness. He is willin' she should dress well—wants her to—and live well. But he don't want her to spend a cent on the meetin' house. He is a atheist, and he hain't willin' she should help on the Cause of religeon. And if he knows of her givin' any to the Cause, he makes the awfulest fuss, scolds, and swears, and threatens her, so's she has been made sick by it, time and agin.”

“Because he’s so tough on her,” says Sister Lanfear, “and he storms around, cursing and doing so many terrible things. He wants her to dress nicely—he wants that—and live well. But he doesn’t want her to spend a dime on the church. He’s an atheist, and he doesn’t want her to support the cause of religion. And if he finds out she’s giving anything to the cause, he throws the biggest tantrum, scolds, swears, and threatens her, to the point where it’s made her sick time and again.”

“Wall,” sez I, “what business is it to him what she does with her own money and her own property?”

“Wall,” I said, “what does it matter to him what she does with her own money and her own property?”

I said this out full and square. But I confess that I did feel a little dubersome in my own mind. I felt that she ort to have took it more openly.

I said this clearly and honestly. But I admit that I felt a bit uncertain in my own mind. I thought she should have accepted it more openly.

And Sister Grimshaw's sister Amelia, who lives with her (onmarried and older than Sister Grimshaw, though it hain't spozed to be the case, for she has hopes yet, and her age is kep). She had been and contoggled three days and a half for Miss Elder Minkley, and got fifty cents a day for contogglin'.

And Sister Grimshaw's sister Amelia, who lives with her (unmarried and older than Sister Grimshaw, even though it's not supposed to be that way, as she still has hopes, and her age is kept secret). She had been a caretaker for Miss Elder Minkley for three and a half days and earned fifty cents a day for that work.

She had fixed over the waists of two old dresses, and contoggled a old dress skirt so's it looked most as well as new. Amelia is a good contoggler and a good Christian. And I shouldn't be surprised any day to see her snatched away by some widower or bachelder of proper age. She would be willin', so it is spozed.

She had mended the waist of two old dresses and adjusted an old dress skirt so it looked almost brand new. Amelia is a talented seamstress and a good Christian. I wouldn't be surprised any day to see her swept away by some widower or eligible bachelor of the right age. She would be willing, or so it’s assumed.

Wall, Sister Henn kinder relented at the last, and brung two pairs of fowls, all picked, and tied up by their legs. And we thought it wuz kinder funny and providential that one Henn should bring four more of'em.

Wall, Sister Henn kind of gave in at the end and brought two pairs of birds, all cleaned and tied by their legs. We thought it was kind of funny and fortunate that one Henn brought four more of them.

But we wuz tickled, for we knew we could sell 'em to the grocer man at Jonesville for upwerds of a dollar bill.

But we were excited because we knew we could sell them to the grocer in Jonesville for over a dollar.

And Submit Tewksbury, what should that good little creeter bring, and we couldn't any of us hardly believe our eyes at first, and think she could part with it, but she did bring that plate. That pink edged, chiny plate, with gilt sprigs, that she had used as a memorial of Samuel Danker for so many years. Sot it up on the supper table and wept in front of it.

And Submit Tewksbury, what could that good little creature bring, and none of us could hardly believe our eyes at first, thinking she could let it go, but she actually brought that plate. That pink-edged, china plate, with golden sprigs, that she had kept in memory of Samuel Danker for so many years. She set it up on the dinner table and cried in front of it.

Wall, she knew old china like that would bring a fancy price, and she hadn't a cent of money she could bring, and she wanted to do her full part towerds helpin' the meetin' house along—so she tore up her memorial, a-weepin' on it for hours, so we spozed, and offered it up, a burnt chiny offerin' to the Lord.

Wall, she knew that old china like that would sell for a good price, but she didn’t have a single cent to contribute. She wanted to do her part to help the meeting house, so she tore up her memorial, crying over it for hours, or so we thought, and offered it up as a burned china offering to the Lord.

Wall, I am safe to say, that nothin' that had took place that day had begun to affect us like that.

Wall, I can confidently say that nothing that happened that day started to affect us like that.

To see that good little creeter lookin' pale and considerble wan, hand in that plate and never groan over it, nor nothin', not out loud she didn't, but we spozed she kep up a silent groanin' inside of her, for we all knew the feelin' she felt for the plate.

To see that good little creature looking pale and pretty worn out, putting her hand in that plate and not making a sound about it, or anything else, not out loud at least, but we assumed she was silently groaning inside, since we all understood the feeling she had for the plate.

It affected all on us fearfully.

It affected all of us fearfully.

But the treasurer took it, and thanked her almost warmly, and Submit merely sez, when she wuz thanked: “Oh, you are entirely welcome to it, and I hope it will fetch a good price, so's to help the cause along.”

But the treasurer accepted it and thanked her almost warmly, and Submit just said, when she was thanked, “Oh, you’re totally welcome to it, and I hope it sells for a good price, so it can help the cause.”

And then she tried to smile a little mite. But I declare that smile wuz more pitiful than tears would have been.

And then she tried to smile just a bit. But I swear that smile was more heartbreaking than tears would have been.

Everybody has seen smiles that seemed made up, more than half, of unshed tears, and withered hopes, and disappointed dreams, etc., etc.

Everybody has seen smiles that looked fake, mostly made up of uncried tears, faded hopes, and broken dreams, and so on.

Submit's smile wuz of that variety, one of the very curiusest of 'em, too. Wall, she gin, I guess, about two of 'em, and then she went and sot down.

Submit's smile was one of those kinds, one of the very strangest too. Well, she gave, I guess, about two of them, and then she went and sat down.

CHAPTER XXVII.

CHAPTER 27.

And now I am goin' to relate the very singulerist thing that ever happened in Jonesville, or the world—although it is eppisodin' to tell on it now, and also a-gettin' ahead of my story, and hitchin', as you may say, my cart in front of my horse. But it has got to be told and I don't know but I may as well tell it now as any time.

And now I’m going to share the most extraordinary thing that ever happened in Jonesville, or anywhere else—although it feels kind of awkward to mention it now, and I’m also getting ahead of my story, putting my cart before the horse, so to speak. But it needs to be told, and I might as well share it now as any other time.

Mebby you won't believe it. I don't know as I should myself, if it wuz told to me, that is, if it come through two or three. But any way it is the livin' truth.

Maybe you won't believe it. I don't know if I should either, if it was told to me, that is, if it came from two or three sources. But anyway, it is the living truth.

That very night as Submit Tewksbury sat alone at her supper table, a-lookin' at that vacent spot on the table-cloth opposite to her, where the plate laid for Samuel Danher had set for over twenty years, she heard a knock at the door, and she got up hasty and wiped away her tears and opened the door. A man stood there in the cold a-lookin' into the warm cosy little room. He didn't say nothin', he acted strange. He gin Submit a look that pierced clear to her heart (so they say). A look that had in it the crystallized love and longin' of twenty years of faithfulness and heart hunger and homesickness. It wuz a strange look.

That very night, as Submit Tewksbury sat alone at her dinner table, staring at the empty spot on the tablecloth across from her where the plate for Samuel Danher had been set for over twenty years, she heard a knock at the door. She quickly got up, wiped away her tears, and opened the door. A man stood there in the cold, looking into the warm, cozy little room. He didn't say anything; he acted oddly. He gave Submit a look that seemed to cut straight to her heart. A look filled with the crystallized love and longing of twenty years of loyalty, heartache, and homesickness. It was a strange look.

Submit's heart begun to flutter, and her face grew red and then white, and she sez in a little fine tremblin' voice,

Submit's heart started to race, and her face turned red and then pale, and she said in a soft, trembling voice,

“Who be you?”

"Who are you?"

And he sez,

And he says,

“I am Samuel Danker.”

"I'm Samuel Danker."

And then they say she fainted dead away, and fell over the rockin' chair, he not bein' near enough to ketch her.

And then they say she fainted completely and fell over the rocking chair, he not being close enough to catch her.

And he brung her to on a burnt feather that fell out of the chair cushion when she fell. There wuz a small hole in it, so they say, and the feather oozed out.

And he brought her to on a burnt feather that fell out of the chair cushion when she fell. There was a small hole in it, so they say, and the feather oozed out.

I don't tell this for truth, I only say that they say thus and so.

I’m not saying this is the truth; I’m just saying that they say it is so.

But as to Samuel's return, that I can swear to, and so can Josiah. And that they wuz married that very night of his return, that too can be swore to. A old minister who lived next door to Submit—superanuated, but life enough in him to marry 'em safe and sound, a-performin' the ceremony.

But regarding Samuel's return, I can swear to it, and so can Josiah. And that they got married that very night of his return is something I can attest to as well. An old minister who lived next door to Submit—retired, but still had enough life in him to safely perform the ceremony.

It made a great stir in Jonesville, almost enormus.

It caused a huge uproar in Jonesville, almost massive.

But they wuz married safe enough, and happy as two gambolin' lambs, so they say. Any way Submit looks ten years younger than she did, and I don't know but more. I don't know but she looks eleven or twelve years younger, and Samuel, why they say it is a perfect sight to see how happy he looks, and how he has renewed his age.

But they were married safely enough, and happy as two frolicking lambs, or so they say. In any case, Submit looks ten years younger than she did, and maybe even more. I wouldn't be surprised if she looks eleven or twelve years younger. And Samuel, well, people say it’s a perfect sight to see how happy he looks and how he seems to have renewed his youth.

The hull affair wuz very pleasin' to the Jonesvillians. Why there wuzn't more'n one or two villians but what wuz fairly delighted by it, and they wuz spozed to be envius.

The hull affair was very pleasing to the Jonesvillians. Why, there wasn't more than one or two villains who weren't fairly delighted by it, and they were supposed to be envious.

And I drew severel morals from it, and drew 'em quite a good ways too, over both religous and seckuler grounds.

And I took several lessons from it, and explored them quite thoroughly, on both religious and secular grounds.

One of the seekuler ones wuz drawed from her not settin' the table for him that night, for the first time for twenty years, givin' away the plate, and settin' on (with tears) only a stun chiny one for herself. How true it is that if a female woman keeps dressed up slick, piles of extra good cookin' on hand, and her house oncommon clean, and she sets down in a rockin' chair, lookin' down the road for company.

One of the clues he picked up was from her not setting the table for him that night, for the first time in twenty years, giving away the plate and sitting down (with tears) only a plain china one for herself. How true it is that if a woman keeps herself looking nice, has plenty of great food ready, and keeps her house exceptionally clean, and sits down in a rocking chair, waiting for company.

They don't come!

They're not coming!

But let her on a cold mornin' leave her dishes onwashed, and her floors onswept, and put on her husband's old coat over her meanest dress, and go out (at his urgent request) to help him pick up apples before the frost spiles 'em. She a-layin' out to cook up some vittles to put on to her empty shelves when she goes into the house, she not a-dreamin' of company at that time of day.

But let her on a cold morning leave her dishes unwashed and her floors unswept, put on her husband’s old coat over her simplest dress, and go out (at his urgent request) to help him pick up apples before the frost spoils them. She plans to cook some meals to stock her empty shelves when she goes into the house, not even thinking about company at that time of day.

They come!

They're here!

Another moral and a more religeus one. When folks set alone sheddin' tears on their empty hands, that seem to 'em to be emptied of all hope and happiness forever. Like es not some Divine Compensation is a-standin' right on the door steps, ready to enter in and dwell with 'em.

Another moral, and a more religious one. When people sit alone shedding tears on their empty hands, which seem to them to be void of all hope and happiness forever, it’s very likely that some Divine Compensation is standing right at the doorstep, ready to come in and stay with them.

Also that when Submit Tewksbury thought she had gin away for conscience' sake, her dearest treasure, she had a dearer one gin to her—Samuel Danker by name.

Also, when Submit Tewksbury thought she had given up her most precious possession for the sake of her conscience, she actually gained an even more cherished one—Samuel Danker, to be precise.

Also I drew other ones of various sizes, needless to recapitulate, for time is hastenin', and I have eppisoded too fur, and to resoom, and take up agin on my finger the thread of my discourse, that I dropped in the Methodist meetin' house at Jonesville, in front of the treasurer.

Also, I drew other ones of different sizes, no need to go over it again, because time is moving fast, and I've strayed too far. To get back on track, I’ll pick up the thread of my story that I dropped in the Methodist meeting house in Jonesville, right in front of the treasurer.

Wall, Submit brought the plate.

Wall, Submit brought the dish.

Sister Nash brought twenty-three cents all in pennys, tied up in the corner of a old handkercif. She is dretful poor, but she had picked up these here and there doin' little jobs for folks.

Sister Nash brought twenty-three cents, all in pennies, tied up in the corner of an old handkerchief. She is really poor, but she had collected this here and there doing small jobs for people.

And we hadn't hardly the heart to take 'em, nor the heart to refuse takin' 'em, she wuz so set on givin' 'em. And it wuz jest so with Mahala Crane, Joe Cranes'es widder.

And we barely had the heart to take them, nor the heart to refuse accepting them, she was so determined to give them. It was the same with Mahala Crane, Joe Crane's widow.

She, too, is poor, but a Christian, if there ever wuz one. She had made five pair of overhawls for the clothin' store in Loontown, for which she had received the princely revenue of fifty cents.

She’s also poor, but a Christian, if there ever was one. She made five pairs of overalls for the clothing store in Loontown, for which she got the impressive amount of fifty cents.

She handed the money over to the treasurer, and we wuz all on us extremely worked upon and wrought up to see her do it, for she did it with such a cheerful air. And her poor old calico dress she had on wuz so thin and wore out, and her dingy alpaca shawl wuz thin to mendin', and all darned in spots. We all felt that Mahala had ort to took the money to get her a new dress.

She handed the money to the treasurer, and we were all really moved and excited to see her do it because she did it with such a cheerful attitude. Her poor old calico dress was so thin and worn out, and her dingy alpaca shawl was falling apart and patched in places. We all felt that Mahala should have taken the money to get herself a new dress.

But we dasted none on us to say so to her. I wouldn't have been the one to tell her that for a dollar bill, she seemed to be so happy a-givin' her part towerds the fair, and for the good of the meetin' house she loved.

But we didn’t dare say that to her. I wouldn’t have been the one to tell her that for a dollar bill, she seemed so happy to contribute her part towards the fair and for the good of the meeting house she loved.

Wall, Sister Meachim had earned two dollars above her wages—she is a millinner by perswasion, and works at a millinner's shop in Jonesville. She had earned the two dollars by stayin' and workin' nights after the day's work wuz done.

Wall, Sister Meachim had made two dollars on top of her paycheck—she's a milliner by trade and works at a milliner's shop in Jonesville. She earned the two dollars by staying late and working nights after her regular shift was over.

And Sister Arvilly Lanfear had earned three dollars and twenty-eight cents by canvassin' for a book. The name of the book wuz: “The Wild, Wicked, and Warlike Deeds of Man.”

And Sister Arvilly Lanfear had earned three dollars and twenty-eight cents by promoting a book. The title of the book was: “The Wild, Wicked, and Warlike Deeds of Man.”

And Arvilly said she had took solid comfort a-sellin' it, though she had to wade through snow and slush half way up to her knees some of the time, a-trailin' round from house to house a-takin' orders fer it. She said she loved to sell a book that wuz full of truth from the front page to the back bindin'.

And Arvilly said she found real satisfaction in selling it, even though she had to wade through snow and slush halfway up to her knees at times, going from house to house taking orders for it. She said she loved selling a book that was full of truth from the front page to the back cover.

As for me I wouldn't gin a cent for the book, and I remember we had some words when she come to our house with it. I told her plain that I wouldn't buy no book that belittled my companion, or tried to—sez I, “Arvilly, men are jest as good as wimmen and no better, not a mite better.”

As for me, I wouldn’t give a cent for the book, and I remember we had some heated words when she came to our house with it. I told her straight up that I wouldn’t buy any book that belittled my friend, or tried to— I said, “Arvilly, men are just as good as women and no better, not even a bit better.”

And Arvilly didn't like it, but I made it up to her in other ways. I gin her some lamb's wool yarn for a pair of stockin's most immegictly afterwerds, and a half bushel of but'nuts. She is dretful fond of but'nuts.

And Arvilly didn't like it, but I made it up to her in other ways. I gave her some lamb's wool yarn for a pair of stockings right afterwards, and a half bushel of walnuts. She is really fond of walnuts.

Wall, Sister Shelmadine had sold ten pounds of maple sugar, and brought the worth on it.

Wall, Sister Shelmadine had sold ten pounds of maple sugar and brought the money from it.

And Sister Henzy brung four dollars and a half, her husband had gin her for another purpose, but she took it for this, and thought there wuzn't no harm in it, as she laid out to go without the four dollars and a halt's worth. It was fine shoes he had gin the money for, and she calculated to make the old ones do.

And Sister Henzy brought four and a half dollars, which her husband had given her for another reason, but she took it for this, thinking there was no harm in it, since she planned to manage without the four and a half dollars' worth. He had given her the money for nice shoes, but she figured she could make the old ones last.

And Sister Henzy's mother, old Miss Balch, she is eighty-three years old, and has inflamatery rheumatiz in her hands, which makes 'em all swelled up and painful. But Sister Henzy said her mother had knit three pairs of fringed mittens (the hardest work for her hands she could have laid holt of, and which must have hurt her fearful). But Miss Henzy said a neighbor had offered her five dollars fer the three pairs, and so she felt it wuz her duty to knit 'em, to help the fair along. She is a very strong Methodist, and loved to forwerd the interests of Zion.

And Sister Henzy's mom, old Miss Balch, is eighty-three years old and has inflammatory arthritis in her hands, which makes them all swollen and painful. But Sister Henzy said her mom knitted three pairs of fringed mittens (the hardest work for her hands she could have taken on, and it must have hurt her a lot). But Miss Henzy said a neighbor offered her five dollars for the three pairs, so she felt it was her duty to knit them to help the fair. She is a very dedicated Methodist and loved to support the interests of Zion.

She wuz goin' to give every cent of the money to the meetin' house, so Sister Henzy said, all but ten cents, that she had to have to get Pond's Extract with, to bathe her hands. They wuz in a fearful state. We all felt bad for old Miss Balch, and I don't believe there wuz a woman there but what gin her some different receipt fer helpin' her hands, besides sympathy, lots and lots of it, and pity.

She was going to give every cent of the money to the meeting house, so Sister Henzy said, except for ten cents that she had to keep to buy Pond's Extract to bathe her hands. They were in terrible shape. We all felt bad for old Miss Balch, and I don't think there was a woman there who didn't give her some different recipe for helping her hands, along with sympathy—plenty of it—and pity.

Wall, Sister Sypher'ses husband is clost, very clost with her. She don't have anythin' to give, only her labor, as well off as they be. And now he wuz so wrapped up in that buzz saw mill business that she wouldn't have dasted to approach him any way, that is, to ask him for a cent.

Wall, Sister Sypher's husband is really close with her. She doesn't have anything to offer, only her hard work, even though they are fairly well-off. And now he was so caught up in that sawmill business that she wouldn't have dared to approach him at all, especially to ask him for a dime.

Wall, what should that good little creeter do but gin all the money she had earned and saved durin' the past year or two, and had laid by for emergincies or bunnets.

Wall, what should that good little creature do but spend all the money she had earned and saved over the past year or two, which she had set aside for emergencies or bonnets.

She had got over two dollars and seventy-five cents, which she handed right over to the treasurer of the fair to get materials for fancy work. When they wuz got she proposed to knit three pairs of men's socks out of zephyr woosted, and she said she was goin' to try to pick enough strawberrys to buy a pair of the socks for Deacon Sypher. She said it would be a comfort for her to do it, for they would be so soft for the Deacon's feet.

She had collected over two dollars and seventy-five cents, which she handed directly to the treasurer of the fair to buy supplies for crafts. Once she had the materials, she planned to knit three pairs of men’s socks out of soft yarn, and she mentioned that she was going to try to gather enough strawberries to buy a pair of socks for Deacon Sypher. She said it would bring her joy to do this, as they would be really soft for the Deacon's feet.

Wall, Sister Gowdy wuz the last one to gin in dress gin to her by her uncle out to the Ohio. It wuz gin her to mourn for her mother-in-law in.

Wall, Sister Gowdy was the last one to get the dress given to her by her uncle out in Ohio. It was given to her to mourn for her mother-in-law in.

And what should that good, willin' creeter do but bring that dress and gin it to the fair to sell.

And what should that good, willing creature do but take that dress and bring it to the fair to sell?

We hated to take it, we hated to like dogs, for we knew Sister Gowdy needed it.

We didn’t want to take it, we didn’t want to like dogs, because we knew Sister Gowdy needed it.

But she would make us take it; she said “if her Mother Gowdy wuz alive, she would say to her,

But she would make us take it; she said “if her Mother Gowdy was alive, she would tell her,

“Sarah Ann, I'd ruther not be mourned for in bombazeen than to have the dear old meetin' house in Jonesville go to destruction. Sell the dress and mourn fer me in a black calico.”

“Sarah Ann, I’d rather not be mourned for in fancy fabric than to have the dear old meeting house in Jonesville fall apart. Sell the dress and mourn for me in a black calico.”

That Sister Gowdy said would be, she knew, what Mother Gowdy would say to her if she wuz alive.

That Sister Gowdy knew would be what Mother Gowdy would say to her if she were alive.

And we couldn't dispute Sarah Ann, for we all knew that old Miss Gowdy worked for the meetin' house as long as she could work for anything. She loved the Methodist meetin' house better than she loved husband or children, though she wuz a good wife and mother. She died with cramps, and her last request wuz to have this hymn sung to her funeral:

And we couldn't argue with Sarah Ann, because we all knew that old Miss Gowdy worked at the church for as long as she could. She loved the Methodist church more than she loved her husband or children, even though she was a good wife and mother. She died from cramps, and her last request was for this hymn to be sung at her funeral:

“I love thy kingdom, Lord,
The house of thine abode,
The church our dear Redeemer bought
With His most precious blood.”

“I love your kingdom, Lord,
The home where you reside,
The church that our beloved Redeemer purchased
With His most precious blood.”

The quire all loved Mother Gowdy, and sung it accordin' to her wishes, and broke down, I well remember, at the third verse—

The whole choir loved Mother Gowdy and sang it according to her wishes, and I clearly remember that they broke down at the third verse—

“For her my tears shall fall,
For her my prayers ascend,
For her my toil and life be given,
Till life and toil shall end.”

"For her, my tears will fall,
For her, my prayers will rise,
For her, I’ll dedicate my work and life,
Until my life and work come to an end."

The quire broke down, and the minister himself shed tears to think how she had carried out her belief all her life, and died with the thought of the church she loved on her heart and its name on her lips.

The choir fell apart, and the minister himself was in tears thinking about how she had lived her beliefs throughout her life and died with the church she loved in her heart and its name on her lips.

Wall, the dress would sell at the least calculation for eight dollars; the storekeeper had offered that, but Sarah Ann hoped it would bring ten to the fair.

Wall, the dress would sell for at least eight dollars; the storekeeper had offered that, but Sarah Ann was hoping it would go for ten at the fair.

It wuz a cross to Sarah Ann, so we could see, for she had loved Mother Gowdy dretful well, and loved the uncle who had gin it to her, and she hadn't a nice black dress to her back. But she said she hadn't lived with Mother Gowdy twenty years for nothin', and see how she would always sacrifice anything and everything but principle for the good of the meetin' house.

It was tough for Sarah Ann, as we could see, because she had really loved Mother Gowdy and cared for the uncle who had given her that love, and she didn’t have a nice black dress to wear. But she said she hadn’t lived with Mother Gowdy for twenty years for nothing, and look how she would always give up anything and everything except her principles for the sake of the meeting house.

Sister Gowdy is a good-hearted woman, and we all on us honored her for this act of hern, though we felt it wuz almost too much for her to do it.

Sister Gowdy is a kind-hearted woman, and we all respected her for this gesture of hers, even though we felt it was almost too much for her to take on.

Wall, Sister Gowdy wuz the last one to gin in her testimony, and havin' got through relatin' our experiences we proceeded to business and paperin'.

Wall, Sister Gowdy was the last one to give her testimony, and after sharing our experiences, we moved on to business and paperwork.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

CHAPTER 28.

Sister Sylvester Bobbet and I had been voted on es the ones best qualified to lead off in the arjeous and hazerdous enterprize.

Sister Sylvester Bobbet and I had been voted as the ones best qualified to lead off in the arduous and hazardous enterprise.

And though we deeply felt the honor they wuz a-heapin' on to us, yet es it hes been, time and agin, in other high places in the land, if it hadn't been fer duty that wuz a-grippin' holt of us, we would gladly have shirked out of it and gin the honor to some humble but worthy constituent.

And even though we really felt the honor they were piling on us, just like we have many times before in other important situations in the country, if it hadn’t been for the sense of duty that was holding us back, we would have happily avoided it and given the honor to some humble but deserving person.

Fer the lengths of paper wuz extremely long, the ceilin' fearfully high, and oh! how lofty and tottlin' the barells looked to us. And we both on us, Sister Sylvester Bobbet and I, had giddy and dizzy spells right on the ground, let alone bein' perched up on barells, a-liftin' our arms up fur, fur beyond the strength of their sockets.

Fer the lengths of paper were extremely long, the ceiling fearfully high, and oh! how lofty and teetering the barrels looked to us. And we both, Sister Sylvester Bobbet and I, felt giddy and dizzy right on the ground, not to mention being perched on barrels, lifting our arms way beyond the strength of their sockets.

But duty wuz a-callin' us, and the other wimmen also, and it wuzn't for me, nor Sister Sylvester Bobbet to wave her nor them off, or shirk out of hazerdous and dangerous jobs when the good of the Methodist Meetin' House wuz at the Bay.

But duty was calling us, as well as the other women, and it wasn't for me or Sister Sylvester Bobbet to wave either of them off or avoid risky and dangerous tasks when the good of the Methodist Meeting House was at stake.

No, with as lofty looks as I ever see in my life (I couldn't see my own, but I felt 'em), and with as resolute and martyrous feelin's as ever animated two wimmen's breasts, Sister Sylvester Bobbet and I grasped holt of the length of paper, one on each end on it, Sister Arvilly Lanfear and Miss Henzy a-holdin' it up in the middle like Aaron and Hur a-holdin' up Moses'ses arms. We advanced and boldly mounted up onto our two barells, Miss Gowdy and Sister Sypher a-holdin' two chairs stiddy for us to mount up on.

No, with the most proud looks I’ve ever seen in my life (I couldn’t see my own, but I felt them), and with as much determined and heroic spirit as ever motivated two women’s hearts, Sister Sylvester Bobbet and I grabbed hold of the long piece of paper, each of us on one end, while Sister Arvilly Lanfear and Miss Henzy held it up in the middle like Aaron and Hur propping up Moses’s arms. We stepped forward and confidently climbed onto our two barrels, with Miss Gowdy and Sister Sypher holding two chairs steady for us to climb up on.

Every eye in the meetin' house wuz on us. We felt nerved up to do our best, even if we perished in so doin', and I didn't know some of the time but we would fall at our two posts. The job wuz so much more wearin' and awful than we had foreboded, and we had foreboded about it day and night for weeks and weeks, every one on us.

Every eye in the meeting house was on us. We felt pumped to do our best, even if it meant we might fail in the process, and I wasn't sure at times if we would make it through our roles. The task was so much more exhausting and overwhelming than we had anticipated, and we had been worrying about it day and night for weeks, every one of us.

The extreme hite of the ceilin'; the slipperyness and fragility of the lengths of paper; the fearful hite and tottlin'ness of the barells; the dizzeness that swept over us at times, in spite of our marble efforts to be calm. The dretful achin' and strainin' of our armpits, that bid fair to loosen 'em from their four sockets. The tremenjous responsibility that laid onto us to get the paper on smooth and onwrinkled.

The extreme height of the ceiling; the slickness and fragility of the rolls of paper; the terrifying height and wobbliness of the barrels; the dizziness that sometimes overtook us, despite our best efforts to stay calm. The awful aching and straining of our armpits, which felt like they might come loose from their sockets. The tremendous responsibility that rested on us to get the paper on smoothly and without wrinkles.

It wuz, takin' it altogether, the most fearful and wearisome hour of my hull life.

It was, all in all, the most terrifying and exhausting hour of my entire life.

Every female in the room held her breath in deathless anxiety (about thirty breaths). And every eye in the room wuz on us (about fifty-nine eyes—Miss Shelmadine hain't got but one workin' eye, the other is glass, though it hain't known, and must be kep).

Every woman in the room held her breath in endless anxiety (about thirty breaths). And every eye in the room was on us (about fifty-nine eyes—Miss Shelmadine only has one working eye, the other is glass, though this isn't known and must be kept).

Wall, it wuz a-goin' on smooth and onwrinkled—smiles broke out on every face, about thirty smiles—a half a minute more and it would be done, and done well. When at that tryin' and decisive moment when the fate of our meetin' house wuz, as you may say, at the stake, we heard the sound of hurryin' feet, and the door suddenly opened, and in walked Josiah Allen, Deacon Sypher, and Deacon Henzy followed by what seemed to me at the time to be the hull male part of the meetin' house.

Well, everything was going smoothly and without a hitch—smiles appeared on every face, about thirty smiles—and in half a minute, it would be finished, and finished well. At that tense and crucial moment when the fate of our meeting house was, so to speak, at stake, we heard the sound of rushing feet, and the door suddenly opened. In walked Josiah Allen, followed by Deacon Sypher and Deacon Henzy, along with what seemed to me at the time to be the entire male contingent of the meeting house.

But we found out afterwerds that there wuz a few men in the meetin' house that thought wimmen ort to set; they argued that when wimmen had been standin' so long they out to set down; they wuz good dispositioned. But as I sez at the time, it looked to us as if every male Methodist in the land wuz there and present.

But we found out later that there were a few men in the meeting house who thought women should sit down; they argued that when women had been standing for so long, they should be able to sit. They were well-intentioned. But as I said at the time, it seemed to us like every male Methodist in the country was there.

They wuz in great spirits, and their means wuz triumphant and satisfied.

They were in great spirits, and their resources were triumphant and satisfied.

They had jest got the last news from the Conference in New York village, and had come down in a body to disseminate it to us.

They had just received the latest updates from the Conference in New York, and they came down together to share the news with us.

They said the Methodist Conference had decided that the seven wimmen that had been stood up there in New York for the last week, couldn't set, that they wuz too weak and fraguile to set on the Conference.

They said the Methodist Conference had decided that the seven women who had been standing up there in New York for the last week couldn't sit, that they were too weak and fragile to sit on the Conference.

And then the hull crowd of men, with smiles and haughty linements, beset Josiah to read it out to us.

And then the group of men, with their smiles and proud expressions, surrounded Josiah to read it out to us.

So Josiah Allen, with his face nearly wreathed with a smile, a blissful smile, but as high headed a one as I ever see, read it all out to us. But he should have to hurry, he said, for he had got to carry the great and triumphant news all round, up as fur as Zoar, if he had time.

So Josiah Allen, with a big smile on his face, a joyful smile, but as proud as I've ever seen, read it all out loud to us. But he said he had to hurry because he needed to share the big and exciting news all around, as far as Zoar, if he had time.

And so he read it out to us, and as we see that that breadth wuz spilte, we stopped our work for a minute and heard it.

And so he read it out loud to us, and as we noticed that the width was spilled, we paused our work for a minute and listened.

And after he had finished it, they all said it wuz a masterly dockument, the decision wuz a noble one, and it wuz jest what they had always said. They said they had always known that wimmen wuz too weak, her frame wuz too tender, she was onfitted by Nater, in mind and in body to contend with such hardship. And they all agreed that it would be puttin' the men in a bad place, and takin' a good deal offen their dignity, if the fair sex had been allowed by them to take such hardships onto 'em. And they sez, some on 'em, “Why! what are men in the Methodist meetin' house for, if it hain't to guard the more weaker sect, and keep cares offen 'em?”

And after he finished it, they all said it was a brilliant document, the decision was a noble one, and it was exactly what they had always believed. They said they had always known that women were too weak, her body was too fragile, she was naturally unfit, both mentally and physically, to handle such hardship. And they all agreed that it would put the men in a bad position and take away a lot of their dignity if the fairer sex was allowed to take on such burdens. Some of them said, “Well! What are men in the Methodist meeting house for, if not to protect the weaker sex and keep worries off them?”

And one or two on 'em mentioned the words, “cooin' doves” and “sweet tender flowerets,” as is the way of men at such times. But they wuz in too big a hurry to spread themselves (as you may say) in this direction. They had to hurry off to tell the great news to other places in Jonesville and up as fer as Loontown and Zoar.

And one or two of them mentioned the phrases, “cooing doves” and “sweet tender flowers,” as is typical for men at such moments. But they were in too much of a rush to elaborate (as you might say) in this regard. They had to hurry off to share the big news with other places in Jonesville and as far as Loontown and Zoar.

But Sister Arvilly Lanfear, who happened to be a-standin' in the door as they went off, she said she heard 'em out as fer as the gate a-congratilatin' themselves and the Methodist Meetin' House and the nation on the decesion, for, sez they,

But Sister Arvilly Lanfear, who just happened to be standing in the doorway as they left, said she heard them all the way to the gate congratulating themselves, the Methodist Meeting House, and the nation on the decision, because, they said,

“Them angels hain't strong enough to set, and I've known it all the time.”

“Them angels aren't strong enough to settle down, and I've known it all along.”

And Sister Sylvester Gowdy sez to me, a-rubbin' herachin' armpits—

And Sister Sylvester Gowdy says to me, rubbing her itchy armpits—

“If they are as beet out as we be they'd be glad to set down on anything—a Conference or anything else.”

“If they’re as worn out as we are, they’d be happy to sit down on anything— a conference or anything else.”

And I sez, a-wipin' the presperatin of hard labor from my forwerd,

And I said, wiping the sweat from my forehead,

“For the land's sake! Yes! I should think so.”

"For the sake of the land! Yes! I would think so."

And then with giddy heads and strainin' armpits we tackled the meetin' house agin.

And then, with dizzy heads and sore armpits, we took on the meeting house again.

PUBLISHERS' APPENDIX.

In view of the frequent reference, in this work, to the discussion in and preceding the General Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church of 1888, in regard to the admission of women delegates, the publishers have deemed it desirable to append the six following addresses delivered on the floor of the Conference during the progress of that discussion.

In light of the numerous mentions in this work about the discussions before and during the General Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church in 1888 regarding the admission of women delegates, the publishers have decided to include the six addresses that were delivered at the Conference during that discussion.

The General Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church is the highest legislative body of that denomination. It is composed of delegates, both ministerial and lay, the former being elected by the Annual Conferences, and the latter by Lay Electoral Conferences. The sessions of the General Conference are held quadrennially.

The General Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church is the top legislative body of that denomination. It's made up of delegates, both ministers and laypeople, with ministers elected by the Annual Conferences and laypeople chosen by Lay Electoral Conferences. The General Conference meets every four years.

Prior to the session held in May, 1888, in New York City, women delegates were elected, one each, by the four following Lay Electoral Conferences—namely, The Kansas Conference, The Minnesota Conference, The Pittsburgh Conference, and The Rock River Conference. Protest was made against the admission of these delegates on the ground that the admission of women delegates was not in accord with the constitutional provisions of the Church, embodied in what are termed the Restrictive Rules. A special Committee on the Eligibility of Women to Membership in the General Conference was appointed, consisting of seventeen members, to whom the protest was referred. On May 3d the Committee reported adversely to the admission of the four women delegates, the report alleging “that under the Constitution and laws of the Church as they now are, women are not eligible as lay delegates in the General Conference.” From the discussion following this report, and lasting several days, the following six addresses, three in favor of and three against the admission of the women delegates, are selected and presented, with a few verbal corrections, as published in the official journal of the Conference.

Before the session held in May 1888 in New York City, women delegates were elected, one each, by the four following Lay Electoral Conferences: The Kansas Conference, The Minnesota Conference, The Pittsburgh Conference, and The Rock River Conference. There was a protest against these delegates being admitted on the grounds that allowing women delegates was not in line with the constitutional provisions of the Church, which are referred to as the Restrictive Rules. A special Committee on the Eligibility of Women to Membership in the General Conference was formed, made up of seventeen members, to whom the protest was sent. On May 3rd, the Committee reported against the admission of the four women delegates, claiming “that under the Constitution and laws of the Church as they currently are, women are not eligible as lay delegates in the General Conference.” From the discussion that followed this report, which lasted several days, six addresses were selected and presented—three in favor of and three against admitting the women delegates—with a few minor corrections, as published in the official journal of the Conference.

ADDRESS OF REV. DR. THEODORE L. FLOOD.

I am in accord, in the main, with Dr. Potts and Dr. Brush in what they have said on this question, unless it may be where my friend who last spoke said that these ladies, these elected delegates to this body, ought to be admitted. My judgment and my conscience before the Discipline of the Methodist Episcopal Church and the Restrictive Rules is that these women elected by these Electoral Conferences are in this General Conference.

I mostly agree with Dr. Potts and Dr. Brush on this issue, except where my friend who just spoke mentioned that these ladies, the elected delegates to this group, should be allowed in. My belief and my conscience, in line with the Discipline of the Methodist Episcopal Church and the Restrictive Rules, is that these women elected by the Electoral Conferences are part of this General Conference.

Their names may not have been called when the roll was called, and yet it was distinctly stated by the Bishop presiding that morning that they would be called, and the challenges presented with their names; and afterward demanded it, the names of these delegates who were not enrolled with the others were called, and the protests were read. Their names have been called as members of this body, and they are simply here as “challenged” members. From that standpoint this question must be discussed, and any disposition of this case under the circumstances must be in this direction. These women delegates must be put out of this General Conference if they are not granted the rights and privileges of members here. It is not a question of “admitting” them. Before this report, before the bar of history, we stand, and will be called upon to vote and act, and millions of people will hold us responsible, and I dare say that our votes will be recorded as to whether they shall be “put out” or “stay in.”

Their names might not have been called when the roll was taken, but the Bishop in charge that morning clearly stated that they would be called, along with the challenges associated with their names. Later, the names of these delegates, who weren't listed with the others, were called, and their protests were read. Their names have been recognized as part of this body, and they are simply here as “challenged” members. We need to discuss this issue from that perspective, and any decisions regarding this case under the current circumstances must be made in that light. These women delegates must be removed from this General Conference if they are not granted the rights and privileges of members here. It isn't about “allowing” them to join. We stand before this report, before the court of history, and we will be asked to vote and act. Millions will hold us accountable, and I can say with confidence that our votes will be recorded on whether they will be “removed” or “allowed to stay.”

Why, sir, the government of the Methodist Episcopal Church exists for the ministry and membership of the Church. The ministry and the membership of the Church do not exist for the government. The world was made for man, and not man for the world. That is the fundamental idea in the government of God, as He treats us as human beings. That is the fundamental idea in the government of the Methodist Episcopal Church, as we are enlisted in the support of that government as ministers and members of the Church. Now under this system of ecclesiastical government a time came in our history when we submitted a grave question to the membership of the Church. It was not a question simply of petition, asking the membership to send petitions up to the General Conference. On the contrary, it was submitting a constitutional question not simply to the male members of the Church, for that grand and noble man of the Methodist Church, Dr. David Sherman of the New England Conference, moved himself to strike out the word “male” from the report of the Committee on Lay Delegation. It came to a vote, and it was stricken out, two to one in the vote. When that was done, then the General Conference of our Church submitted to the membership of the Church the question of lay delegation. But back of the question of lay delegation was as grave a question, and that was granting the right of suffrage to the women of the Church. The General Conference assumed the responsibility of giving to the women the right to vote. It may be questioned this way; it may be explained that way; but the facts abide that the General Conference granted to the women of the Church the right to vote on a great and important question in ecclesiastical law. Now if you run a parallel along the line of our government—and it has often been said that there are parallels in the government of the United States corresponding to lines of legislation and legislative action in the government of the Church—you will find that the right of suffrage in the country at the ballot-box has been a gradual growth. One of the most sacred rights that a man, an American citizen, enjoys is the right to cast a ballot for the man or men he would have legislate for him; and for no trivial reason can that right, when once granted to the American citizen, be taken away from him. Go to the State of Massachusetts, and trace the history of citizen suffrage, and you find it commenced in this way: First, a man could vote under the government there who was a member of the Church. Next, he could vote if he were a freeholder. A little later on he could vote if he paid a poll-tax. In the government, and under the legislation of our Church, first the women were granted the right to vote on the principle of lay delegation, not on the “plan” of lay delegation, but on the “principle” of lay delegation. That was decided by Bishop Simpson in the New Hampshire Conference, and by Bishop Janes afterward in one of the New York Conferences. On the principle of lay delegation, the women of the Church were granted the right of suffrage; presently they appeared in the Quarterly Conference, to vote as class-leaders, stewards, and Sunday-school superintendents; and it created a little excitement, a feverish state of feeling in the Church, and the General Conference simply passed a resolution or a rule interpreting that action on the part of women claiming this privilege in the Quarterly Conference as being a “right,” and it was continued. Presently, as the right of suffrage of women passed on and grew, they voted in the Electoral Conferences, and there was no outcry made against it. I have yet to hear of any Bishop in the Church, or any presiding elder, or any minister challenging the right of women to vote in Electoral Conferences or Quarterly Conferences; and yet for sixteen years they have been voting in these bodies; voting to send laymen here to legislate; to send laymen to the General Conference to elect Bishops and Editors and Book Agents and Secretaries. They come to where votes count in making up this body; they have been voting sixteen years, and only now, when the logical result of the right of suffrage that the General Conference gave to women appears and confronts us by women coming here to vote as delegates, do we rise up and protest. I believe that it is at the wrong time that the protest comes. It should have come when the right to vote was granted to women in the Church. It is sixteen years too late, and as was very wisely said by Dr. Potts, the objection comes not so much from the Constitution of the Church as from the “constitution of the men,” who challenge these women.

Why, sir, the government of the Methodist Episcopal Church exists for the ministry and membership of the Church. The ministry and the membership of the Church do not exist for the government. The world was made for people, not people for the world. That’s the basic idea in God’s governance, as He treats us as human beings. That’s the basic idea in the governance of the Methodist Episcopal Church, where we support that government as ministers and members of the Church. Now, under this system of church governance, there came a time in our history when we presented a serious question to the Church membership. It was not merely a matter of asking the membership to submit petitions to the General Conference. Instead, it was presenting a constitutional question not just to the male members of the Church, as the remarkable Dr. David Sherman of the New England Conference took the initiative to remove the word “male” from the report of the Committee on Lay Delegation. It was voted on, and it was removed by a two-to-one margin. After that, the General Conference of our Church presented the question of lay delegation to the Church membership. However, behind the question of lay delegation was an even more significant issue: granting voting rights to the women of the Church. The General Conference took on the responsibility of giving women the right to vote. People might discuss it in this way or explain it in that way, but the facts stand that the General Conference granted women of the Church the right to vote on a major issue in church law. If you draw a parallel with our governance—and it’s often said that there are parallels between the governance of the United States and the legislative actions of the Church—you will find that the right to vote in the country has been a gradual development. One of the most important rights that an American citizen has is the right to cast a ballot for the person or people they want to legislate for them; and for no minor reason can that right, once granted to an American citizen, be taken away. Go to the State of Massachusetts, and trace the history of citizen suffrage, and you’ll see it started like this: First, a man could vote under the local government if he was a member of the Church. Next, he could vote if he was a property owner. Later, he could vote if he paid a poll tax. In our Church's governance and legislation, women were first granted the right to vote based on the principle of lay delegation, not on the “plan” of lay delegation, but on the “principle” of lay delegation. That was determined by Bishop Simpson in the New Hampshire Conference and by Bishop Janes later in one of the New York Conferences. Based on the principle of lay delegation, women of the Church were given the right to vote; soon they were present in the Quarterly Conference, voting as class leaders, stewards, and Sunday school superintendents; and it sparked some excitement, creating a heated atmosphere in the Church. The General Conference simply passed a resolution interpreting that action by women claiming this privilege in the Quarterly Conference as being a “right,” and it continued. Eventually, as the voting rights of women developed, they participated in the Electoral Conferences without any outcry against it. I haven’t heard of any Bishop in the Church, any presiding elder, or any minister questioning the right of women to vote in Electoral Conferences or Quarterly Conferences; yet they have been voting in these bodies for sixteen years; voting to send lay people here to legislate, to send lay people to the General Conference to elect Bishops, Editors, Book Agents, and Secretaries. They have been part of the voting process that affects this body for sixteen years, and only now, when the logical outcome of the voting rights that the General Conference granted to women becomes evident as women come here to vote as delegates, do we raise a protest. I believe that the protest comes at the wrong time. It should have been raised when women were granted the right to vote in the Church. It is sixteen years too late, and as Dr. Potts wisely pointed out, the objection comes not so much from the Constitution of the Church but from the “constitution of the men” who challenge these women.

Now, sir, another parallel. You take the United States Government just after the war, when the colored people of the South, the freedmen of our land, unable to take care of themselves, their friends, that had fought the battles of the war, in Congress determined that they should be protected, if no longer by bayonets and cannon, that they should be protected by placing the ballot in their hands, and the ballot was placed in the hands of the freedman of the South by the action of the National Congress, Congress submitting a constitutional amendment to the legislatures of the States; and when enough of them had voted in favor of it, and the President had signed the bill, it became an amendment to the Constitution of the United States, granting to the people of the South, who had been disfranchised, the right of suffrage.

Now, sir, let's draw another comparison. Consider the United States Government right after the war, when the Black people in the South, the freedmen of our nation, were struggling to take care of themselves. Their allies, who had fought in the war, decided in Congress that they needed protection. Instead of relying on soldiers and weapons, they aimed to protect them by giving them the right to vote. The National Congress made sure the ballot was given to the freedmen in the South by proposing a constitutional amendment to the state legislatures. Once enough states approved it and the President signed the bill, it became an amendment to the Constitution of the United States, granting the disenfranchised people of the South the right to vote.

Now, what does the right of suffrage do? It carries with it the right to hold office. Where women have the privileges of voting on the school question, they are granted the privilege of being school directors, holding the office of superintendents, and the restriction on them stops at that point under statute law. If you go a little further you will find that when the freedmen were enfranchised, and they sent men of their own color to the House of Representatives, did that body say “stop!” “we protest, you cannot come in because of illegality”? No. They were admitted on the face of their credentials because they had first been granted the right of suffrage. When men of their color went to the United States Senate and submitted their credentials, they were not protested against, but they were admitted as members of the United States Senate on the face of their credentials. And why? Because the right of suffrage granted to the freedmen of the South under a constitutional amendment of the nation, carried with it the right of the men whom we fought to free, and did free, in an awful war, to hold office in the nation. Now, sir, you must interpret the law somewhat by the spirit of the times in which you live. That is a mistaken notion to say that you must always go to the men that made the law to get the interpretation of it. If that were true, would it not always be wise for legislators to give their affidavits and place on file their interpretation of the law they had confirmed, and placed on the statute books? There are legal gentlemen in this body who will tell you that it goes for very little when you come to interpret law. And yet you will find this to be true, that a law must be interpreted somewhat by the spirit of the time in which you live. Why, twenty years ago, when the General Conference handed the question of lay delegation down to the Annual Conferences, and the members of our Church, there was not a woman practising law in the Supreme Court of the United States. Go back through the history of jurisprudence of this country and in England, and you will find that it had never been known that a woman practised law in the Supreme Court of this country or England. But to-day women have been admitted to practise law in the Supreme Court of the United States. No amendment to the Constitution of the United States had to be adopted in order to secure this privilege for them. But this is true, that the judges of the Supreme Court, by a more liberal interpretation of the Constitution of the United States, said, “Women may be officers of the Supreme Court, and may practise law there.” The same kind of a spirit, in interpreting the Discipline and the Restrictive Rules of the Discipline of the Church, will place these women delegates in this body where they have been sent. The same thing is true of the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania and in the Courts of Philadelphia. There is no way out, as my judgment sees, and as my conscience tells me, since before the government of God man and woman are equally responsible. There is no way out of this dilemma for this General Conference, but to say that these women delegates shall sit in this body, where they have been sent, and where their names have been called.

Now, what does the right to vote do? It comes with the right to hold office. Where women can vote on school issues, they are also allowed to be school directors and superintendents, and any legal restrictions on them stop there. If you look a bit deeper, you'll see that when the formerly enslaved were given the vote and sent their own representatives to the House of Representatives, did that body say “stop!” or “we protest, you can’t come in due to illegality”? No. They were accepted based on their credentials because they had been granted the right to vote. When men of their race went to the United States Senate and presented their credentials, they were not protested against; instead, they were admitted as members of the Senate based on their credentials. And why? Because the right to vote granted to the freedmen of the South under a constitutional amendment included the right for the men we fought to free, and did free, during a terrible war, to hold office in this nation. Now, you must interpret the law somewhat based on the spirit of the times in which you live. It's a mistaken belief that you must always go back to the law's creators for its interpretation. If that were true, wouldn’t it be wise for lawmakers to provide affidavits and file their interpretations of the laws they confirmed and enacted? There are legal experts here who will tell you that past interpretations carry little weight when it comes to understanding the law. Yet, it is true that a law must be interpreted somewhat by the spirit of its time. Twenty years ago, when the General Conference delegated the issue of lay representation to the Annual Conferences and members of our Church, there wasn't a woman practicing law in the Supreme Court of the United States. If you review the history of law in this country and in England, you'll find that no woman had ever practiced law in the Supreme Court in either place. But today, women are allowed to practice law in the Supreme Court of the United States. No amendment to the U.S. Constitution was needed to secure this privilege for them. However, it's true that the Supreme Court judges, through a more progressive interpretation of the Constitution, declared, “Women can be officers of the Supreme Court and may practice law there.” The same spirit in interpreting the Discipline and the Restrictive Rules of the Church will allow these women delegates to take their place in this body as they have been sent. The same holds true for the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania and the Courts of Philadelphia. I see no way out, and my conscience tells me that since the dawn of God’s government, men and women share equal responsibility. This General Conference has no option but to say that these women delegates shall sit in this body, where they have been sent, and where their names have been called.

Why, take the missionary operations. The Woman's Missionary Society is to-day raising more money and doing more missionary work than the Parent Missionary Society did fifty years ago. And yet men legislate concerning the missionary operations of women, and give them no voice directly in this body.

Why, look at the missionary efforts. The Woman's Missionary Society is raising more money and doing more missionary work today than the Parent Missionary Society did fifty years ago. And yet, men are the ones making decisions about women's missionary work without giving them any direct input in this group.

We bring up the temperance question here against license and in favor of Prohibition, and we pass our resolutions after we have given our discussions, and yet the Methodist Church has the honor of having in the ranks of her membership—(Time called.)

We raise the issue of temperance here, opposing licensing and supporting Prohibition, and we adopt our resolutions after our discussions, yet the Methodist Church proudly counts among its members—(Time called.)

ADDRESS OF REV. DR. JAMES M. BUCKLEY.

Mr. President, while the last speaker was on the floor, a modification of a passage of Scripture occurred to me, “The enemy cometh in like a flood, but I will lift up a standard against him.” It is somewhat peculiar that he should begin by making a statement about one of the most honored names in American Methodism, a statement that has been published in the papers, and that nine tenths of this body knew as well as he did. It must have been intended as a part of his argument, and I regard it as of as much force as anything he said after it. But in point of fact the question does not turn upon the person, but upon the principle. I have received an anonymous letter containing the following among other things, “Beware how you attack the holy cause of woman. Do you not know that obstacles to progress are rem-o-o-v-e-d out of the way?” The signature of that letter is ingenious. I cannot tell whether it was a man or a woman, for it reads as follows, “A Lover of your Soul and of Woman.” Now, Mr. President, the only candlestick that ought to be removed out of its place is the candlestick that contains a candle that does not burn the pure oil of truth. And I believe, sir, that with the best of intentions the three speakers who have appeared have given us three chapters in different styles of a work of fiction, and it is my duty to undertake to show where they have slipped. The Apocrypha says, “An eloquent man is known far and near; but a man of understanding discerneth where he slippeth.” I have no claim to eloquence; never pretended to have any; but I have a claim to some knowledge of Methodist history, to some ability to state my sentiments, and to be without any fear of the results, either present or prospective.

Mr. President, while the last speaker was talking, I thought of a line from Scripture: “The enemy comes in like a flood, but I will raise a standard against him.” It's a bit odd that he started by making a statement about one of the most respected names in American Methodism, a statement that's been published in the news, and that most of this group knows just as well as he does. It must have been intended as part of his argument, and I find it as compelling as anything he said afterward. But really, the issue isn't about the individual; it's about the principle. I received an anonymous letter that said, among other things, “Beware how you attack the sacred cause of women. Don’t you realize that obstacles to progress are removed from the path?” The signature of that letter is clever. I can't tell if it was written by a man or a woman, as it reads: “A Lover of your Soul and of Woman.” Now, Mr. President, the only candlestick that should be removed is the one holding a candle that doesn't burn the pure oil of truth. I believe, sir, that with the best intentions, the three speakers we've heard have presented us with three chapters in different styles of a fictional story, and it's my responsibility to point out where they went wrong. The Apocrypha says, “An eloquent man is recognized far and wide; but a man of understanding knows where he stumbles.” I don’t claim to be eloquent; I’ve never claimed that; but I do have some knowledge of Methodist history, the ability to express my thoughts, and the confidence to face any consequences, whether immediate or in the future.

Now, Mr. President, you notice from my friends that if they cannot command the judgment of the Conference they propose to say the women are in, and defy us to put them out. I am sorry that my friend did not take in the full significance of that. And they say that everybody who has a certificate in form is in until he is put out. Why, they do not discriminate between ordinary contested cases and a case where the constitutional point is involved. If these women have a right here, they have had it from the beginning by the Constitution. It is not a contested case as to whether John Smith was voted for by the people who ought to vote for him, or in the right place. Now, they talk of bringing up documents here. I wrote to the Hon. George F. Edmunds, the most distinguished member of the United States Senate, and simply put this question, If a certificate of election in the Senate shows anything that would prove the person unworthy of a seat, would he be seated pending an investigation or not? He did not know what it referred to, and I read it verbatim. I never mentioned the name of Methodist, and I read verbatim from his letter:

Now, Mr. President, you can see from my colleagues that if they can't convince the Conference, they intend to claim the women are included and challenge us to remove them. I'm sorry my friend didn’t grasp the full significance of that. They argue that anyone with a certified form is included until they are removed. They don’t distinguish between regular contested cases and a situation involving a constitutional issue. If these women have a right to be here, they've had it from the very start according to the Constitution. This isn’t a question of whether John Smith was voted for by the right people or in the correct way. Now, they want to bring up documents. I wrote to the Hon. George F. Edmunds, the most distinguished member of the United States Senate, and simply asked this: If a Senate election certificate indicates something that would disqualify the person from holding a seat, would that person still be seated while an investigation is pending? He didn’t know what I was talking about, and I read it verbatim. I never mentioned the name Methodist, and I read verbatim from his letter:

“No officer of the Senate has any right to decide any such question, and, therefore, every person admitted to a seat is admitted by, in fact, a vote of the Senate. The ordinary course in the Senate is, when the credentials appear to be perfectly regular, and there is no notorious and undisputed fact or circumstance against the qualifications and election of a senator, to admit him at once and settle the question of his right afterward. But there have been cases in which the Senate declined to admit a claimant holding a regular certificate upon the ground that enough was known to the Senate to justify its declining to receive him until an inquiry should be had. Very truly yours,

“No officer of the Senate has the authority to decide such matters, so everyone who is granted a seat is actually admitted by a vote from the Senate. The usual process in the Senate is that when the credentials are completely in order and there are no well-known and indisputable facts or circumstances against the qualifications and election of a senator, they are admitted right away, with the issue of their right being resolved later. However, there have been instances where the Senate chose not to admit a claimant who had a valid certificate, based on the fact that there was enough information available to the Senate to justify postponing their admission until an investigation took place. Very truly yours,

“GEORGE F. EDMUNDS.”

"George F. Edmunds."

Now, Mr. President, all this twaddle about the women being in is based upon the pretence that one woman is there now. The certificate shows that they were women, though as yet no action has been taken in regard to them at all. If they were in, they were in with a constitutional challenge. I champion the holy cause of women. I stand here to champion their cause against their being introduced into this body without their own sex having had the opportunity of expressing their opinion upon the subject. I stand here to protect them against being connected with movements without law or contrary to law, and those who wish to bring them in and those who say it is the constitution of the man and prejudice (my friend, Dr. Potts, said prejudice), they are persons, indeed, to stand up here as, par excellence the champions of women! Is it the constitution of the men? Have you read the letter of Mrs. Caroline Wright in the Christian Advocate, one of our most distinguished American Methodist women? She does not wish to see them here. It is the constitution of the woman in that case, and I am opposed to their being admitted until the general sentiment of the women and the men of our Church have an opportunity of being heard upon it.

Now, Mr. President, all this nonsense about the women being included is based on the false idea that one woman is currently present. The certificate shows that they were women, but so far, no action has been taken regarding them at all. If they were included, they were included with a constitutional challenge. I support the important cause of women. I'm here to advocate for their representation in this body without their own gender having the chance to express their views on the matter. I'm here to protect them from being associated with movements that lack legal grounding or go against the law, and those who want to bring them in while claiming it's the men’s constitution and prejudice (my friend, Dr. Potts, mentioned prejudice), are truly the ones who should stand up here as the real champions of women! Is it the men’s constitution? Have you read Mrs. Caroline Wright's letter in the *Christian Advocate*, one of our most respected American Methodist women? She does not want them here. In that case, it is the women's constitution, and I oppose their admission until the overall sentiment of both the women and the men of our Church has the chance to be heard on this issue.

Now, Mr. President, note these facts.... This is not a fact, but my opinion. I solemnly believe that there was never an hour in the Methodist Episcopal Church when it was in so great danger as it is to-day, not on account of the admission of these women, two of whom I believe to be as competent to sit in judgment on this question as any man on this floor. That is not the question, as I propose to show. I assert freely, here and now, if the women are in under the Restrictive Rules, no power ought to put them out. If they are not in under the Restrictive Rules, nothing has been done since, in my judgment, bearing upon it. I am astounded that these brethren fancy that this question has no bearing at all on the meaning of that rule. That is a wonderful thing. But we affirm that when the Church voted to introduce lay delegation, it not only did not intend to introduce women, but it did intend to fill up the whole body with men. That is what we affirm. If we can prove it, it is a tower of help to us. If we cannot prove it, we cannot make out our case. But our contention is, that the Church did not undertake to put women in, and it did undertake to fill up the capacities and relations of the body with men. Now, look at it. No man goes to the dictionary to find the meaning of the word “layman.” There is not a man that can find out the meaning of our Restrictive Rules from the dictionary. No living man can make out the meaning of a word in the Restrictive Rules from Webster's dictionary. You must get it from the history of the Church. Who is the “General Superintendent” by Webster or Worcester? The Methodist Episcopacy is the thing that is protected by the Restrictive Rules. The dictionary does not tell how the Chartered Fund shall be taken care of. Now they talk about laymen. They do not seem, I think, to understand the history of the thing. Some of them do not appear to understand the history of the English language. Why was the word “layman” ever introduced? Because there was a separate class of clergy men in the world, but there was not a class of clergywomen in the world. If there had been, there would have been a term for laywomen and for clergywomen. And the word was invented to distinguish the laymen from the clergymen. Had there been clergywomen, there would have been laywomen. The “laity” means all the people, men, women, and children. A woman is one of the laity, and so is every child in the country or in the Church one of the laity. But when you speak of man acting as a unit he is a layman, but you never say a laywoman. You say: a woman. Abraham Lincoln said, “All these things are done and suffered, that government of the people, for the people, and by the people should not perish from the earth.” Now, people, the dictionary says, are men, women, and children. Did Abraham Lincoln mean that any women or children can take any part in the government of the nation? No, no, no! He meant this. When he stood up and delivered his inaugural speech, he said this, “The intent of the lawmaker is the law.”

Now, Mr. President, consider these facts.... This is not a fact but my opinion. I genuinely believe that there has never been a time in the Methodist Episcopal Church when it was in such great danger as it is today, not because of the admission of these women, two of whom I believe are just as capable of judging this issue as any man here. That isn’t the point I want to make. I state clearly, here and now, if the women are included under the Restrictive Rules, no authority should remove them. If they are not included under the Restrictive Rules, nothing has been done since, in my opinion, that has any relevance to that. I am stunned that my colleagues think this question has no connection to the meaning of that rule. That’s astonishing. But we argue that when the Church voted to allow lay delegation, it intended not only to exclude women but also to fill the entire body with men. That is our claim. If we can prove it, it will be a significant support for us. If we cannot prove it, we cannot make our case. But our argument is that the Church did not intend to include women and did intend to fill the roles and responsibilities of the body with men. Now, consider this. No man checks the dictionary to find out the meaning of the word “layman.” Not a single man can deduce the meaning of our Restrictive Rules from the dictionary. No one can figure out the meaning of a term in the Restrictive Rules from Webster's dictionary. You must derive it from the Church's history. Who is the “General Superintendent” according to Webster or Worcester? The Methodist Episcopacy is what the Restrictive Rules protect. The dictionary doesn't explain how the Chartered Fund should be managed. Now they speak about laymen. They don’t seem to grasp the historical context of this issue. Some of them seem unaware of the history of the English language. Why was the term “layman” introduced? Because there was a separate class of clergymen in the world, but there wasn't a class of clergywomen. If there had been, there would be terms for laywomen and clergywomen. The word was created to distinguish laymen from the clergy. If there had been clergywomen, there would have been laywomen. The “laity” includes all people—men, women, and children. A woman is part of the laity, as is every child in the country or in the Church. When you refer to a man acting as one, he is a layman, but you never say a laywoman. You just say: a woman. Abraham Lincoln stated, “All these things are done and suffered so that government of the people, for the people, and by the people should not perish from the earth.” Now, when we say people, according to the dictionary, we mean men, women, and children. Did Abraham Lincoln mean that any women or children can participate in the nation's government? No, no, no! What he meant was this: When he stood up and delivered his inaugural speech, he said, “The intent of the lawmaker is the law.”

I give them something from one of the greatest lawyers that ever lived to think of awhile—John Selden: “The only honest meaning of any word is the intent of the man that wrote it.” At the time that the plan of lay delegation was adopted, there was not a single Conference of the Church on this wide globe, not one that distinguished between the ministry and the laity that allowed women to take any part in its law-making body. Some one will talk about the Quakers. But they deny the existence of the Church, the sacraments of the Church, and make no distinction between the ministry and the laity. Let them get up and show that there was ever one Church in the world worthy of the name that allowed women to make its laws. There is not one to-day. Let them name a Church, let them name one that has allowed women in its law-making body; and yet such is the blinding power of gush that men will say that our fathers all understood it and proposed to put women in. The fact is, that they only proposed to allow them to put us in. As soon as the General Conference adjourned the women made an appeal in a public statement. They were asked to vote for lay delegation, and were told that then they could set the Church right. The opponents appealed to them to vote against it on the ground that it would not make any difference to them. James Porter, Daniel Curry, Dr. Hodgson (Professor Little thinks he was the greatest of them all) wrote a series of articles in the Advocate, and it never occurred to them that the women could come into the General Conference. Lay delegation was only admitted by 33 votes. Had there been a change of 33 votes they would not have come in. Every member of the New York East Conference knows that Dr. Curry's influence was so powerful that he could almost get a majority against it. And they know if any one had set up an opposition to it on this ground, the whole Conference would have voted against the movement, and that if it had not been for Bishop Ames and Bishop Janes, who went to the Wyoming Conference where the majority was opposed to lay delegation, and by their influence there converted my friend Olin and others, he knows that if this matter of the women had been in or understood, the whole Conference would have been against it. It would not have been possible. Dr. Potts says that it is prejudice. Nothing of the kind. Do you know there are 12,000 Methodist ministers that are ciphers all the time except when they vote for delegates? Are you going to presume that when the Church has a multitude of members, that it is going to sit here and change, by an interpretation, a Restrictive Rule, or put in what was never in, and never understood to be in? The Restrictive Rule fills up the ministerial delegates. Every time you put a woman in, you put a man out. This subject has never come up here before. The question is this, Do those Restrictive Rules mean anything? If they do, you cannot put in anything that the fathers did not put in. And if you put in women as lawmakers; if you can read those Rules and put them in there, you can change any one of the Restrictive Rules by a majority of one. And I want to say to you, that if you do it, you will prove to the Methodist Episcopal Church that the sole protection we have against the caprice of a majority of the General Conference is not worth the paper it is written on. All you have to do is to get a majority of the Conference against the Episcopacy, and then put any interpretation, and then you get a few women admitted, and this you call the progress of the age. Mr. Chairman, I believe in progress, and when the Church progresses far enough, it can change this law in a constitutional way. But it has not yet gone far enough. These men believe that the Church has never done it, or that it is best. Dr. Flood said that they must be brought in in the light of progress. I affirm that Dr. Flood's arguments all point in that direction—they must be interpreted in the light of progress. When you do that you have got a despotism. I want to go back to my constituents and say this: I exercise all the power that our Charter gives me. But at the moment that anything is proposed, and we put in what the fathers did not have before their eyes, at that moment I stop and say, Thus far, but no farther. A despotism is a despotism, whether it is a despotism without restraint, the Czar with his wife, the Czar without his wife. You will turn this house into a despotism, and you will find it difficult to defend Methodism by its peculiar Constitution before the American people.

I give them something to think about from one of the greatest lawyers ever—John Selden: “The true meaning of any word is the intent of the person who wrote it.” At the time when the lay delegation plan was adopted, there wasn't a single Church Conference on this entire planet that separated the ministry from the laity and allowed women to take part in its law-making body. Someone might mention the Quakers, but they reject the existence of the Church, the Church’s sacraments, and make no distinction between the ministry and the laity. Let them demonstrate that there was ever a Church in the world deserving of the name that allowed women to create its laws. There isn’t one today. Let them name a Church, just one that has allowed women in its law-making body; yet, the overwhelming power of enthusiasm leads some to claim that our forefathers understood this and intended to include women. The reality is that they only intended to allow women to include us. As soon as the General Conference adjourned, the women issued a public statement appealing for support. They were urged to vote for lay delegation, with the promise that they could help correct the Church. The opposing side urged them to vote against it, arguing it wouldn’t affect them. James Porter, Daniel Curry, and Dr. Hodgson (Professor Little believes he was the best of them all) wrote a series of articles in the Advocate, and it never crossed their minds that women could enter the General Conference. Lay delegation was only approved by a margin of 33 votes. If there had been a shift of just 33 votes, they would not have been included. Every member of the New York East Conference knows that Dr. Curry's influence was so strong that he could nearly sway a majority against it. They also know that if anyone had opposed it on this basis, the entire Conference would’ve voted against the movement. If it weren’t for Bishop Ames and Bishop Janes, who went to the Wyoming Conference where the majority opposed lay delegation and managed to convert my friend Olin and others to support it, he knows that if the issue of women had been recognized or understood, the entire Conference would’ve been against it. It wouldn’t have been possible. Dr. Potts claims it's prejudice. Not at all. Did you know there are 12,000 Methodist ministers who are essentially irrelevant except when voting for delegates? Are we really to assume that when the Church has a large membership, it will sit back and reinterpret a Restrictive Rule or insert something that was never intended to be there? The Restrictive Rule fills the ministerial delegates. Every time you add a woman, you exclude a man. This issue has never been raised here before. The question is: Do those Restrictive Rules have any significance? If they do, you cannot include anything that the founders didn’t include. If you can add women as lawmakers, if you can interpret those Rules to include them, you can change any of the Restrictive Rules with a simple majority. And I want to tell you that if you do this, you will show the Methodist Episcopal Church that our only safeguard against the whims of a majority in the General Conference is worthless. All it takes is for a majority of the Conference to turn against the Episcopacy, apply any interpretation, admit a few women, and this is what you call progress. Mr. Chairman, I do believe in progress, and when the Church progresses enough, it can change this law constitutionally. But it hasn’t progressed far enough yet. These men believe the Church has never done this or that it’s for the best. Dr. Flood said they must be included in light of progress. I argue that Dr. Flood's rationale supports this idea—they must be understood through the lens of progress. When you do that, you end up with despotism. I want to return to my constituents and say this: I exercise all the power our Charter grants me. But the moment something is proposed that introduces what the founders didn’t foresee, at that moment I must stop and say, Thus far, but no further. A despotism is a despotism, whether it’s a completely unrestrained despotism, like the Czar and his wife, or the Czar without his wife. You will turn this house into a despotism, and it will be difficult to justify Methodism based on its unique Constitution to the American public.

If you want women in, there is another way to bring them in. Send the question around as you did for lay delegation. There was only a doubt in the General Conference of 1868, and yet they had a sense of candor. John M'Clintock fought in favor of taking them in. But he said, “I think it best to send the question around.” True progress is not gained in any other way. Some prefer a shorter cut. Let me say to you, “He that cometh in by the door,” the same hath a right to come in; but he that cometh in another way, is not as respectable as in the other case.

If you want to include women, there’s another way to do it. Circulate the question like you did with lay delegation. There was just a doubt during the General Conference of 1868, but they were honest about it. John M'Clintock advocated for their inclusion. However, he said, “I think it’s best to circulate the question.” True progress can only be achieved this way. Some people prefer a shortcut. Let me tell you, “Anyone who comes in through the door has the right to enter; but someone who comes in another way isn’t as respectable as in the first case.”

ADDRESS OF REV. DR. A.B. LEONARD.

Mr. Chairman, unfortunately for me, I have received no anonymous letters. And so I have nothing either sensational or startling with which to introduce my speech. I shall not speak this morning under any fear of being removed as an obstruction, or of having my future prospects blasted. It is my privilege, therefore, to speak to you this morning upon this subject calmly and dispassionately, having no motive to either suppress or exaggerate the truth. The party who wrote Dr. Buckley, threatening to remove him as an obstruction, must be highly gratified to know that that obstruction has already been removed. Brother Hughey removed the obstruction, extinguished the candle, and destroyed the candlestick.

Mr. Chairman, unfortunately for me, I haven’t received any anonymous letters. So, I don’t have anything sensational or shocking to kick off my speech. This morning, I’m not worried about being seen as an obstruction or having my future prospects ruined. It’s my privilege, then, to address you on this topic calmly and without bias, having no reason to either hide or exaggerate the truth. The person who wrote to Dr. Buckley, threatening to remove him as an obstruction, must be very pleased to know that the obstruction has already been taken care of. Brother Hughey removed the obstruction, snuffed out the candle, and destroyed the candlestick.

We are to approach this question this morning, to discuss it purely upon its merits. The ground of constitutional law was traversed thoroughly yesterday morning in the opening speech by Dr. Potts, a speech that, though he did not hear it himself, was heard by this body, and will be heard through the length and breadth of the Church everywhere. It remains for us who follow him simply to turn on a few side-lights here and there, or to give an opportunity of viewing this question from a new point of view. And, first, there is a line of argument that may be helpful to some that has already been presented in part touching the administration of our law and the interpretation of terms that is worthy, I think, of still further consideration.

We are here to tackle this question this morning and discuss it based solely on its merits. The foundation of constitutional law was thoroughly explored yesterday morning in Dr. Potts's opening speech, which, although he did not hear it himself, was heard by this group and will resonate throughout the Church everywhere. Now, those of us who follow him will simply highlight a few aspects here and there or provide a chance to view this issue from a different perspective. First, there's a line of reasoning that may be valuable to some, which has already been partially presented regarding the administration of our law and the interpretation of terms that I believe deserves further exploration.

Dr. Buckley said in the New York Christian Advocate of March 15th, 1888:

Dr. Buckley said in the New York Christian Advocate of March 15, 1888:

“The question of eligibility turns, first, upon whether the persons claiming seats are laymen; secondly, whether they have been members of the Church for five years consecutively, and are at least twenty-five years of age; and, thirdly, upon whether they have been duly elected. If women are found to be eligible under the law, they would stand upon the same plane with men, in this particular, that they must be twenty-five years, etc.”

“The question of eligibility first depends on whether the individuals claiming seats are laypeople; second, whether they have been members of the Church for five consecutive years and are at least twenty-five years old; and third, whether they have been properly elected. If women are deemed eligible under the law, they would be on the same level as men in this regard, meaning they also must be at least twenty-five years old, etc.”

Now, then, is a woman legally qualified to sit in the General Conference as a lay delegate? Is she a layman in the sense of that word in the Discipline? If she be not in, she cannot be introduced contrary to law by a mere majority vote of the General Conference. The Doctor sometimes writes more clearly than he speaks, and it was so in the occasion of writing this article. Over against this we have one of (as Dr. Hamilton would say) the “subtle insinuations” of the Episcopal Address, which declares that no definition of “layman” settles the question of eligibility as to any class of persons. For many are classed as laymen for the purposes of lay representation, and have to do with it officially as laymen, yet themselves are ineligible as delegates. Well, in this case, we have the Episcopal Board over against the editor. Both are right and both are wrong. The editor is right when he said of a woman, if she be a lay member her right is clear as that of any duly elected man. But he is wrong when he denies to her a right to a seat in this body as a layman. The Episcopal Address is wrong when it says that “no definition of the word 'layman' settles the question of eligibility.” But it is right when it says, “Many are classed as laymen for purposes of lay representation, and have to do with it officially as lay members who are not themselves eligible as delegates.”

Now, is a woman legally allowed to sit in the General Conference as a lay delegate? Is she considered a layman in the context of that term in the Discipline? If she isn't, she can't be introduced contrary to the law by just a majority vote of the General Conference. The Doctor sometimes writes more clearly than he speaks, and that was the case when he wrote this article. On the other hand, we have one of those "subtle insinuations," as Dr. Hamilton would put it, from the Episcopal Address, which states that no definition of "layman" determines the eligibility for any group of people. Many are classified as laymen for the purposes of lay representation and officially function as laymen, yet they themselves are not eligible as delegates. In this situation, we have the Episcopal Board versus the editor. Both are right and both are wrong. The editor is right when he says that a woman, if she is a lay member, has the same rights as any duly elected man. But he is wrong to deny her a right to a seat in this assembly as a layman. The Episcopal Address is incorrect when it claims that "no definition of the word 'layman' settles the question of eligibility." However, it is correct when it states, "Many are classified as laymen for purposes of lay representation, and officially engage as lay members who themselves are not eligible as delegates."

In the practical work of the Church, and in the administration of its laws, women have been regarded as laymen from the beginning until now. They pay quarterage. If they did not pay quarterage some of our salaries would be very short. They contribute to our benevolent collections, and if it were not for their contributions, we would not to-day be shouting over the “Million dollars for Missions.” They pray and testify in our class-meetings and prayer-meetings, and but for their presence among us, many of those meetings would be as silent as the grave. They are amenable to law, and must be tried by the very same process by which men are tried. They are subject to the same penalty. They may be suspended; they may be expelled. In all these respects they have been regarded as laymen from the beginning. Indeed, we have never recognized more than two orders in our Church. We have laymen and ministers. Up to 1872 but one of these orders was represented in this General Conference. This General Conference was strictly a clerical organization. But in 1872 we marked a new epoch in Methodist history, and a new element came into this body, and has been in all our sessions since that date. The first step, as has been mentioned here before, was taken in 1868, when the question of lay delegation was sent down to the members of the Church over twenty-one years of age, and to the Annual Conferences. Dr. Queal, if I understood him, made what is, in my judgment, a fatal concession on this question. He distinctly stated, if I understood him correctly, and I have not had time to refer to the report of his speech (if I misinterpret him he will correct me), that when the motion to strike out the word “male” was made, it was done for the purpose of putting a “rider” on the motion and cause its defeat, and when that fact was made known to those in favor of lay delegation, they said they would accept it then with that interpretation, and the interpretation was that the amendment would let women into the General Conference.

In the practical work of the Church and in the administration of its laws, women have been treated as laypeople from the beginning until now. They pay membership fees. If they didn’t pay these fees, some of our salaries would be really low. They contribute to our charitable collections, and if it weren't for their contributions, we wouldn't be celebrating the “Million dollars for Missions” today. They pray and share testimonies in our class meetings and prayer meetings, and without their presence, many of those meetings would be as silent as the grave. They are subject to the law and must be tried by the same process as men. They face the same penalties. They can be suspended; they can be expelled. In all these respects, they have been considered laypeople from the beginning. In fact, we have never recognized more than two categories in our Church: laypeople and ministers. Until 1872, only one of these categories was represented in this General Conference. This General Conference was strictly a clerical organization. But in 1872, we marked a new era in Methodist history, and a new element was added to this body, which has been part of all our sessions since then. The first step, as mentioned before, was taken in 1868 when the issue of lay delegation was sent out to members of the Church over twenty-one years old and to the Annual Conferences. Dr. Queal, if I understood him correctly, made what I believe is a critical concession on this issue. He clearly stated, if I understood him right, and I haven't had time to check the report of his speech (if I misinterpret him, he will correct me), that when the motion to remove the word “male” was made, it was intended to attach a “rider” to the motion and cause its defeat. When those in favor of lay delegation learned of this, they agreed to accept it with that interpretation, which was that the amendment would allow women into the General Conference.

Now, that being true, all this talk about the idea of the “women coming in” being never entertained until very recently falls to the ground. It was present on that occasion. It was understood by those that opposed lay delegation, and that favored it, that if they passed this amendment and the laymen were allowed to come in, it would open the door to allow women to come in also.

Now, with that in mind, all this discussion about the idea of "women coming in" never being considered until very recently falls apart. It was a topic back then. Those who opposed lay delegation and those who supported it understood that if they passed this amendment and allowed laymen to join, it would also pave the way for women to be included.

L. C. Queal said:

L.C. Queal said:

I think I am entitled now to correct this putting of the case.

I believe I have the right to clarify how this situation has been presented.

Bishop Foss:

Are you misrepresented?

Are you being misrepresented?

L. C. Queal:

I am misrepresented in this, that while I stated that Dr. Sherman put that on as a “rider,” with a view to defeating the bill, that immediately after thinking so I thought it might be the occasion of securing the approval of the principle in the laity of the Church. That is all I stated. All the rest of Dr. Leonard's statement is his own inference—a misconstruction of the fact. A.B. Leonard:

I am misrepresented in this because, while I said that Dr. Sherman added that as a “rider” to undermine the bill, I soon realized it could actually help gain support for the principle among the Church's laypeople. That’s all I said. Everything else in Dr. Leonard's statement is his own assumption—a misunderstanding of the fact. A.B. Leonard:

I understood Dr. Queal as I stated. I have not had time to refer to the speech he made. I leave his statement with you, and you have the privilege of consulting his speech as it is printed this morning, in reference to this matter. It came to my thought very distinctly that the idea of the possibility of women coming in was then lodged in the minds that were both in favor of and opposed to lay delegation.

I understood Dr. Queal as I mentioned. I haven’t had time to look at the speech he gave. I’m leaving his statement with you, and you can check out his speech as it’s printed this morning regarding this issue. It struck me clearly that the idea of women potentially being included was already on the minds of those both for and against lay delegation.

Now, then, this vote that was taken, in accordance with the order of 1868, laid the foundation stone for the introduction of women into this body. That sent the question of lay delegation down to be voted on by the laity of the Church. If the women were not to be recognized as laity here, why allow them to vote on the question of the laity at all? And, having allowed them to vote on the question of the laity, settling the very foundation principle itself, with what consistency can we disallow them a place in this General Conference, when by their votes they opened the way for the laymen coming into this General Conference? Do you not remember that we had a vote previously, and the men only voted, and that the lay delegation scheme was defeated, and the Methodist, that was published in this city, being the organ of the lay delegationists, said that “votes ought to be weighed, not counted”? And then the question was sent back to be voted upon by both the men and the women? And let the laymen of this General Conference remember that they are in this body to-day by reason of the votes of the women of the Methodist Episcopal Church. In 1880 we went still further. We went into the work of construing pronouns. There had been women in the Quarterly Conferences previously to that date; but there was a mist in the air with regard to their legality there. The General Conference by its action did not propose to admit women to the Quarterly Conferences. It simply proposed to clear away the mist and recognize their legal right to sit in the Quarterly Conference. Being in the Quarterly Conference, and in the District Conference, they have the right to vote on every question that comes before such bodies. They vote to license ministers, to recommend ministers to Annual Conferences, to recommend local preachers for deacons' and elders' orders. They vote on sending delegates to our Lay Electoral Conferences, and they vote in elections for delegates to Lay Electoral Conferences, and they vote in elections for delegates from Lay Electoral Conferences to this General Conference. And there are men on this floor to-day that would not be in this at all if they had not received the support of women in Lay Electoral Conferences. Now, brethren, let it be remembered that the votes of the women to send delegates to the Lay Electoral Conferences were never challenged until they came here asking for seats. They were good enough to elect laymen to this body, but not good enough to take seats with laymen in this body. With what consistency can laymen accept seats by the votes of the women and then deprive women of their seats? I am surprised at some of the “subtle insinuations” of the Episcopacy concerning constitutional law. Allow me to say at this point that, having introduced into the Quarterly Conference these women, and having given them a right to vote there, and in the District Conferences, and in the Lay Electoral Conferences, in all honesty we must do one of two things, if we would be consistent, we must go back and take up that old foundation of lay delegation that we laid in 1868, or we must go forward and allow these women to have their seats. In a word, we must either lay again the “foundation of repentance from dead work, or go forward to perfection.” And I am not in favor of going back.

Now, this vote that was taken, following the order of 1868, laid the groundwork for women's inclusion in this body. This led to the vote on lay delegation by the laypeople of the Church. If women weren’t recognized as laypeople here, why let them vote on the issue of laypeople at all? And since we allowed them to vote on the very principle of lay delegation, how can we consistently deny them a place in this General Conference, when their votes opened the door for laymen to enter this General Conference? Don’t you recall that we had a previous vote where only men participated, and the lay delegation proposal was defeated? The Methodist, published in this city and representing the lay delegation supporters, stated that “votes ought to be weighed, not counted.” Then the question was sent back to be voted on by both men and women. The laymen in this General Conference should remember that they are here today because of the votes of the women of the Methodist Episcopal Church. In 1880, we took an even further step. We began to clarify the use of pronouns. While women had participated in the Quarterly Conferences before this date, there was uncertainty regarding their legality. The General Conference did not intend to admit women to the Quarterly Conferences; it merely aimed to clear up the confusion and acknowledge their legal right to participate in the Quarterly Conference. Once in the Quarterly and District Conferences, they have the right to vote on every issue that comes before such bodies. They vote to license ministers, to recommend ministers to Annual Conferences, and to recommend local preachers for deacons' and elders' orders. They vote to send delegates to our Lay Electoral Conferences, and they participate in elections for delegates to Lay Electoral Conferences and then to this General Conference. Some men here today would not be present at all if they hadn’t received the backing of women in Lay Electoral Conferences. Now, let’s remember that the votes of women to send delegates to the Lay Electoral Conferences were never questioned until they came here requesting their seats. They were deemed fit to elect laymen to this body, but not allowed to sit alongside laymen in this body. How can laymen accept seats through the votes of women and then deny women their seats? I am taken aback by some of the “subtle insinuations” from the Episcopacy regarding constitutional law. Let me point out that, having included these women in the Quarterly Conference and granted them the right to vote there, in District Conferences, and in Lay Electoral Conferences, we must now do one of two things to remain consistent: we must either revert to the old foundation of lay delegation established in 1868, or we must move forward and grant these women their seats. In short, we must either reestablish the “foundation of repentance from dead works or advance toward perfection.” And I do not support going back.

If it is true that the body of the Constitution is outside of the Restrictive Rules, and cannot be changed except in the way prescribed for altering the Restrictive Rules, then I say that this General Conference has again and again been both lawless and revolutionary. Every paragraph of the chapter, known as the Constitution, beginning with §63, and closing with §69, was put into that Constitution without any voice from an Annual Conference of this foot-stool. Not one single one of them was ever submitted to an Annual Conference; §20, ¶183, stood for many years in the Constitution of the Church, but was transferred bodily from that Constitution by the General Conference to the position it now occupies. You come and tell us to-day that we cannot change the Constitution outside of the Restrictive Rules without going down to the Annual Conferences; it is too late in the day to say that. We have made too much history on that point. The present plan of lay delegation was not submitted to the Annual Conferences. Bishop Simpson definitely stated when he reported to the General Conference the result of the vote ordered in 1868 that the question simply of the introduction of the laity into the General Conference was presented to be voted upon by the laity and by the Annual Conferences, but the “plan” was not submitted to either to be voted upon, and the “plan” for lay delegation by which these lay brethren occupy their seats here this morning was made in every jot and tittle by the General Conference without any reference to the Annual Conferences at all.

If it’s true that the main body of the Constitution is outside the Restrictive Rules and can only be changed in the way specified for altering those rules, then I argue that this General Conference has repeatedly acted outside the law and been revolutionary. Every section of the chapter called the Constitution, from §63 to §69, was added without any input from an Annual Conference. None of them were ever presented to an Annual Conference; §20, ¶183, was part of the Church’s Constitution for many years but was moved entirely by the General Conference to where it is now. You tell us today that we can’t change the Constitution outside of the Restrictive Rules without going through the Annual Conferences; it’s too late to say that. We’ve created too much history on this issue. The current plan for lay representation was never presented to the Annual Conferences. Bishop Simpson clearly stated when he reported to the General Conference the outcome of the vote ordered in 1868 that the question of including laity in the General Conference was put forward for voting by both the laity and the Annual Conferences, but the “plan” itself wasn't submitted to either for a vote, and the “plan” for lay representation, which is how these lay members have their seats here this morning, was completely created by the General Conference without any reference to the Annual Conferences.

I want to know, then, by what propriety we come here in this General Conference to say that there can be no change of Part I. of the Constitution outside of the Restrictive Rules. The General Conference cannot alter our articles of faith, it cannot abolish our Episcopacy; it cannot deprive our members of a right to trial and appeal. These come under the Restrictive Rules, and cannot be touched by this body without the consent of the Annual Conferences; but all else has been from beginning, and is now in the hands of the General Conference. Let it be remembered that this General Conference is a unique body. It is at once a legislative and a judicial body; in the former capacity it makes law; in the latter capacity it has the power to construe law.

I want to know, then, what gives us the right to say here at this General Conference that there can be no changes to Part I of the Constitution outside the Restrictive Rules. The General Conference can't change our articles of faith, abolish our Episcopacy, or deny our members their right to trial and appeal. These are governed by the Restrictive Rules and can't be changed by this body without the Annual Conferences' approval; however, everything else has always been, and is currently, under the control of the General Conference. Let's remember that this General Conference is a unique entity. It serves both as a legislative body that creates laws and a judicial body that interprets those laws.

It is at once a Congress, if you please, to enact law, and a supreme court to interpret law. Now, then, in admitting women to our General Conference, we are simply construing the Constitution, and not changing the Constitution. The Supreme Court of the United States gives decisions on the construing of the Constitution, and who ever heard of a decision of the Supreme Court being sent down to be ratified by the State Legislatures? The Supreme Court of the United States construes the Constitution, without any reference to the State Legislatures, and so we construe law without any reference to the Annual Conferences. If we touch the law inside of the Restrictive Rules, we must go down to the Annual Conferences. Outside we are free to legislate as we may.

It serves as both a Congress, if you will, to make laws, and a supreme court to interpret laws. So, when we allow women into our General Conference, we are simply interpreting the Constitution, not changing it. The Supreme Court of the United States makes rulings based on interpreting the Constitution, and who has ever heard of a Supreme Court decision being sent down for approval by the State Legislatures? The Supreme Court of the United States interprets the Constitution without needing input from the State Legislatures, and likewise, we interpret the law without needing input from the Annual Conferences. If we want to change the law related to the Restrictive Rules, we need to consult the Annual Conferences. Otherwise, we are free to legislate as we see fit.

What is the Constitution for? The Constitution is designed simply to limit the powers of the Legislature. In my own State of Ohio, for illustration, we have an article in our Constitution that forbids our Legislature to license the liquor traffic, but our legislators give a license under the guise of taxing, but they cannot give us a license law in form. The Constitution prevents it. There are States that have Constitutions that have no word to say about the liquor traffic at all, while they may either tax, license, or prohibit.

What is the Constitution for? The Constitution is basically meant to limit the powers of the Legislature. In my home state of Ohio, for example, we have a provision in our Constitution that prevents our Legislature from licensing the liquor trade. However, our lawmakers issue licenses under the pretense of taxing, but they can't create a proper licensing law because the Constitution blocks them. There are States that have Constitutions that don’t mention the liquor trade at all, yet they can choose to tax, license, or ban it.

This is a fact that is well settled, that the Constitution is a limitation of legislative power, and where there is no such limitation there is no restriction.

This is a well-established fact: the Constitution limits legislative power, and where there are no limitations, there are no restrictions.

ADDRESS OF REV. DR. ALFRED WHEELER.

Mr. President, it will be well for us, so far as we have progressed in this discussion, to see how near and how far we agree. It is admitted by the friends of the report, or by the committee, that this is a question of law, and to be decided exclusively upon principles of law. So far as those who are opposed to the report have spoken, they conceive, as I understand it, that the position taken by the committee is taken by those who are advocating its adoption. Then we are agreed that it is not a matter of sentiment, it is not a matter of chivalry. There is no place for knighthood, or any of its laws, or any other of the principles that dominated the contests of the knights of old. If it were a matter of knighthood there is not a man on this floor that would deem it necessary to bring a lance into this body. All would be peace and quiet.

Mr. President, as we've progressed in this discussion, it's important for us to see where we agree and where we differ. The supporters of the report, or the committee, acknowledge that this is a legal issue and must be decided solely based on legal principles. From what I've gathered, those opposed to the report believe that the committee's position aligns with those advocating for its approval. Therefore, we agree that this isn’t about sentiment or chivalry. There’s no room for knighthood, its laws, or any of the principles that guided the knights of the past. If this were about knighthood, no one in this room would feel the need to bring a lance here. Everything would be peaceful and calm.

There are none that would hail with more joy and gladness the women of the Church to a seat in this body than those of us who now, under the circumstances, oppose their coming in.

There’s no one who would celebrate the women of the Church joining this group more than those of us who, given the current situation, are against their inclusion.

It is not either a matter of progressive legislation regarding the franchise of colored men, or of anybody else in the country. It is a question of law, Methodist law, and Methodist law alone.

It’s not just about making laws for the voting rights of Black men or anyone else in the country. It’s a matter of law, specifically Methodist law, and nothing else.

Now, so far as the intention is concerned of those who made the law, I do not see how those who have kept themselves conversant with the history of lay delegation can for a moment claim that it was even the most remote intention of those who introduced lay delegation into the General Conference to bring in the women, and for us to transfer the field now toward women, in view of their magnificent work in the last ten or fifteen years, back to twenty years, is to commit an anachronism that would be fatal to all just interpretation of law.

Now, regarding the intentions of those who created the law, I don't understand how anyone familiar with the history of lay delegation can even temporarily assert that it was ever the remotest intention of those who introduced lay delegation into the General Conference to include women. For us to shift our focus now toward women, considering their outstanding contributions over the past ten to fifteen years, and revert to the past twenty years, is to make a mistake that would seriously undermine any fair understanding of the law.

I myself was in the very first meeting that was ever called to initiate the movement that at last brought in lay delegation. I voted for it; I wrote for it; I spoke for it in the General Conference and in the Annual Conferences. I was a member of the first lay committee, or Committee on Lay Delegation, that was appointed here by the General Conference in 1868. And during all these various processes of discussion, so far as I know, the thought was never suggested that under it women would come in to represent the laity, nor was it ever suggested that it was desirable that they should; so that the intention of the law-maker could never have embraced this design—the design of bringing women into the General Conference. I leave that.

I was in the very first meeting that was ever held to start the movement that finally introduced lay delegation. I voted for it; I wrote about it; I advocated for it in the General Conference and in the Annual Conferences. I was part of the first lay committee, or Committee on Lay Delegation, appointed here by the General Conference in 1868. Throughout all these discussions, as far as I know, it was never suggested that women would come in to represent the laity, nor was it ever proposed that it was a good idea for them to do so; therefore, the intentions of the lawmakers could not have included the aim of bringing women into the General Conference. I leave that.

Now, I claim that the General Conference has no legal authority to admit them here. We are not an omnipotent body. I know that the Supreme Court of the United States, in that contest between the Northern Church, or the Methodist Episcopal Church, and the Church South, decided that the General Conference was the Methodist Episcopal Church. I used that argument myself upon the Conference floor in 1868, that the General Conference could, without any other process, by mere legislation, introduce the laity into this body. I claimed there and then that, according to that decision, the Methodist Episcopal Church was in the General Conference. The General Conference refused to accept that endorsement of that Court, or that proposition concerning the prerogatives of this body. And through all the processes that have been ordered concerning the introduction of lay delegation that interpretation of the constitution of the Church has been repudiated. The Church herself rejected the interpretation that the Supreme Court placed upon her constitution, and as a loyal son of the Church I accepted her interpretation of her own constitution, so that now I claim that the General Conference has no authority whatever to change the personnel of the General Conference without the vote of the Annual Conferences. Before it can be done constitutionally, you must obtain the consent of the brethren of the Annual Conferences, and I am in favor of that, and of receiving an affirmative vote on their part. But until this is done I do not see how they can come in only as we trample the organic law of our Church under our feet. And to do this, there is nothing but peril ahead of us.

Now, I assert that the General Conference has no legal authority to allow them here. We are not an all-powerful body. I know that the Supreme Court of the United States determined, in the conflict between the Northern Church, or the Methodist Episcopal Church, and the Church South, that the General Conference was the Methodist Episcopal Church. I used that argument myself on the Conference floor in 1868, claiming that the General Conference could, simply through legislation, bring the laity into this body without any other process. I asserted then that, based on that ruling, the Methodist Episcopal Church was present in the General Conference. The General Conference refused to accept that endorsement of the Court or that idea regarding this body’s authority. Throughout all the processes regarding the introduction of lay delegation, that interpretation of the Church's constitution has been rejected. The Church itself turned down the interpretation that the Supreme Court placed on its constitution, and as a loyal member of the Church, I accepted its interpretation of its own constitution. Therefore, I maintain that the General Conference has no authority to change the personnel of the General Conference without the vote of the Annual Conferences. Before any changes can be made constitutionally, consent must be obtained from the members of the Annual Conferences, and I support that, as well as having an affirmative vote from them. But until this happens, I don’t see how they can join unless we disregard the organic law of our Church. And doing so will only lead us to danger.

A simple body may disregard law with comparative impunity, but an organic body that is complicated, complex in its nature, will find its own security in adhering earnestly, strictly, and everlastingly, to the law that that body passes for the government of its own conduct.

A simple individual might ignore the law with relative ease, but a complex individual, with a complicated nature, will find their security in faithfully, strictly, and consistently following the laws they set for guiding their own behavior.

Let us see, now, with regard to this Restrictive Rule. As I have said, it has been admitted all along that the action of the Annual Conferences must be secured. Here comes in the decision of the General Conference of 1872. I do not need to recite it. But let us bear in mind two facts. One is, that this General Conference is a legislative body, and that it is also a judicial body. As a judicial body, it interprets law; as a legislative body, it makes law. The General Conference of 1872 interpreted law, and the General Conference may reverse itself with just as much propriety as a court can reverse itself. And if it be the judgment of this General Conference that that interpretation was incorrect, it is perfectly competent for this Conference to say so, and have its action correspond with its own decision.

Let’s take a look at this Restrictive Rule. As I mentioned before, it has always been accepted that the actions of the Annual Conferences need to be secured. This brings us to the decision made by the General Conference in 1872. I won't go over it again. But let’s remember two important points. One is that this General Conference acts as both a legislative body and a judicial body. As a judicial body, it interprets the law; as a legislative body, it creates law. The General Conference of 1872 interpreted the law, and it’s perfectly reasonable for the General Conference to change its mind just like a court can. If this General Conference believes that the previous interpretation was wrong, it has every right to say so and align its actions with its new decision.

There is another point. The case that was before the General Conference of 1876 was a specific case. It was the case of the relation that local preachers sustain to the Church, a particular case. This is the principle of all decisions in law, that when a particular case is decided in general terms, the scope and comprehension of the decision must be limited to the particular case itself. And if a court in its decision embraces more than was involved in the particular case, it has no force whatever. And as this was a particular case submitted to the General Conference, and the decision was in general terms, it comprehends simply the case that was before it, and cannot be advanced to comprehend more. And the reason of this is very obvious; for if it was not the case, then cases might be brought before the court for its decision that had never occurred.

There's another point to consider. The case that came before the General Conference in 1876 was specific. It involved the relationship of local preachers to the Church, a particular situation. This follows the principle in law that when a specific case is decided in general terms, the application and meaning of that decision must be limited to that specific situation. If a court’s decision goes beyond what was actually involved in the specific case, it holds no weight. Since this was a specific case brought to the General Conference and the decision was made in general terms, it only applies to the case at hand and can't be stretched to cover more than that. The reason for this is clear; if it weren't the case, then entirely new situations could be presented to the court for rulings that had never happened before.

There is another point I wish to notice. The General Conference of 1880 did not see the effect that legislation would have by admitting women to certain offices. Certain affirmative legislation is also negative legislation. When saloons are permitted to sell in quantities of one gallon, it forbids to sell in quantities of less than one gallon; when it says you can sell in quantities of one barrel, it forbids them to sell in quantities of two. When the General Conference of 1880 decided that women should be eligible in the Quarterly Conferences as superintendents of Sunday-schools, class-leaders, and as stewards, by that very affirmative conclusion, the subject was passed upon about their taking any other position. That, I think, must be regarded as sound, and a just interpretation of the law.

There’s another point I want to bring up. The General Conference of 1880 didn’t realize the impact that allowing women in certain roles would have. Some positive legislation also serves as negative legislation. When bars are allowed to sell in one-gallon quantities, it prohibits them from selling less than that; when it says they can sell by the barrel, it prevents them from selling by the two-barrel measure. When the General Conference of 1880 decided that women could serve as superintendents of Sunday schools, class leaders, and stewards in the Quarterly Conferences, that decision also meant they could not hold any other positions. I believe that should be seen as a reasonable and fair interpretation of the law.

But suppose it is not; the General Conference of 1880 certainly did not understand the matter as the General Conference of 1872 did. For if it had, there would have been no necessity for legislation at all, there would have been no need for putting in the law as it now stands, that the pronoun “he,” wherever employed, shall not be considered as prohibiting women from holding the offices of Sunday-school Superintendent, Class Leader, and Steward.

But let's say that's not the case; the General Conference of 1880 clearly didn't see things the same way as the General Conference of 1872. If they had, there wouldn't have been any need for legislation at all, and there wouldn't have been a need to include in the law as it stands now that the pronoun "he," whenever used, should not be interpreted as preventing women from holding the positions of Sunday-school Superintendent, Class Leader, and Steward.

Now, for this reason, and for the further reason that it is a matter of immense importance that we guard against despotism, I oppose changing the personnel of the General Conference without my Annual Conference has a right to vote upon it, and it is voted upon. Despotism is a suitable term. A General Conference may become a despot, and just as soon as it goes outside of its legitimate province, then it usurps, and so far as it usurps, it becomes despotic, and is a despot; and you and I, so far as our Annual Conferences are concerned, do well to regard with a deep jealousy an infringement upon our organic rights. The only safety of the Church is the equipoise that is constituted by the relation the Annual Conferences sustain to the General Conference, and far safer is it for us to bring these women of the Church, elect, honorable women, into the General Conference of the Church by the same way that their husbands and brothers are here.

Now, for this reason, and because it’s really important to protect against tyranny, I oppose changing the personnel of the General Conference unless my Annual Conference has the right to vote on it, and it is voted on. Tyranny is a fitting term. A General Conference can become tyrannical, and as soon as it oversteps its legitimate boundaries, it usurps power, and to the extent that it usurps, it becomes tyrannical and is a tyrant; and we, in terms of our Annual Conferences, should be very protective of our organic rights when they are infringed upon. The only safety for the Church comes from the balance created by the relationship between the Annual Conferences and the General Conference, and it is much safer for us to bring these women of the Church—elected, honorable women—into the General Conference in the same way their husbands and brothers are represented here.

There is another thought that I wish to suggest. What are the possibilities with regard to lay delegation, supposing the design of those who wish to bring women in without further action is successful? You make lay delegation a farce in this body. The presiding elders and pastors of the Church may act in co-operation, and they can elect their own wives as delegates to this General Conference, and thus lay delegation comes to be a farce. Some of you may laugh at this suggestion, but it is an in posse, and it may easily be made an in esse. It is important to us that the laity should hold the place they have by the regulations we have, and they should be changed only to make them more perfect.

There’s another idea I want to propose. What are the possibilities regarding lay delegation if the people who want to include women without any further action are successful? You turn lay delegation into a joke in this assembly. The presiding elders and pastors of the Church can work together and choose their own wives as delegates to this General Conference, making lay delegation a joke. Some of you might find this suggestion funny, but it’s a real possibility, and it could easily become a reality. It's important that the laity maintains their position according to our current regulations, which should only be modified to make them better.

No body is safe without adherence to law. We may set lightly by law; we may regard it as a thing to be laid aside at the command of excitement or passion, but the nation that does that is a doomed nation, and the Church that does that has its history already written. The only safe course for us to pursue is to pursue the wise, careful, judicious, and conservative—I mean every word—and conservative course we have heretofore pursued through all our history. When we boast of what Methodism has done, or what she is going to do, let us remember it is because of her firm adherence to law.

No one is safe without following the law. We might brush off the law; we might see it as something to ignore when caught up in excitement or passion, but a nation that does that is heading for disaster, and a Church that does the same has already sealed its fate. The only safe path for us is to take the wise, careful, judicious, and conservative—every word counts—course we have consistently followed throughout our history. When we celebrate what Methodism has accomplished, or what it is going to achieve, let’s remember that it’s because of its strong commitment to the law.

It is with her as it is with the German nation and the Anglo-Saxon race—everywhere our glory is in our adherence to wise laws, and if we pass unwise laws, in repealing them in the same wise.

It’s the same with her as it is with the German nation and the Anglo-Saxon race—our greatness lies in following sound laws, and if we create flawed laws, we must wisely repeal them too.

ADDRESS OF GENERAL CLINTON B. FISK.

Mr. President and Brethren, to an onlooker of this remarkable scene, this great debate now in the third day of its progress must be suggestive of some of the marvellous plays, woven into song, which have made the hearts of the thronging multitudes who have crowded this place of meeting in the past throb alternately with emotions of hope and fear as to the outcome of the parties involved in plot and counterplot. The visitors to this General Conference, seated in their boxes and in the family circle, Will say surely these honored men of God who have been called as Superintendents of the affairs of our great conquering Church, these chosen ministers of reconciliation and peace, these male laymen called by their brethren to their high places in this General Conference, whose names at home are the synonym of chivalrous goodness—surely all these of rank and talent and authority, whose able and eloquent words have been ringing through the arches and dome of this temple of music on the wrong side of the question, are but simply acting the parts assigned them. In the final scene they will join hands around the eligible women elect, who, in obedience to the call of the laity in their several Conferences, are in their seats with us, and say, “Whom God hath joined, let not male put asunder.” My brothers, let us briefly restate the case. Five noble women of the laymen of the Methodist Episcopal Church have been chosen as delegates to this General Conference under the Constitution and by the forms prescribed by the laws of the Church. As they enter, or attempt to enter, the portals of this great assemblage they hear a voice from the platform, in words not to be misunderstood, “Thou shalt not,” and voices from all parts of the house take up the prohibitory words, and supplement the voices of the Bishops, “Thou shalt not.” And one would think, from the vehement oratory of the resisting delegates of this General Conference, that the foundations of the Church were in imminent peril by the presence of these “elect ladies” among us.

Mr. President and everyone here, for anyone watching this remarkable scene, this intense debate on its third day must remind us of the incredible stories woven into songs that have stirred the hearts of the many crowds who have gathered in this meeting space in the past, alternating between hope and fear about the outcome for those involved in the drama of disagreement and discussion. Those visiting this General Conference, sitting in their seats or among family, must think that these honored men of God, appointed as Superintendents of our great and triumphant Church, these chosen ministers of unity and peace, and the laymen who have been elected by their peers to these important roles in this General Conference—whose names are synonymous with noble goodness back home—certainly, all these individuals of rank, skill, and authority, whose persuasive and powerful words have echoed throughout this place of music while arguing the opposing side, are simply playing the roles assigned to them. In the end, they will join together around the chosen women elected, who, following the call of the laity in their respective Conferences, are seated with us, proclaiming, “What God has joined, let not man separate.” Brothers, let's quickly recap the situation. Five esteemed women among the lay members of the Methodist Episcopal Church have been selected as delegates to this General Conference according to the Constitution and the processes outlined by the Church’s laws. As they arrive, or try to arrive, at this large gathering, they hear a voice from the platform unmistakably saying, “You shall not,” and voices from all around the room echoing this forbidding message, reinforcing what the Bishops have said, “You shall not.” One might think, from the passionate speeches of the opposing delegates at this General Conference, that the very foundations of the Church are threatened by the presence of these “chosen ladies” among us.

Let us turn back a moment, and review the history of the rise, progress, and triumph of the cause of lay representation. I claim to know a little something about it, as I was on the skirmish line in the conflict, and in all its battles fought until the day of victory.

Let’s take a moment to reflect on the history of the rise, progress, and success of lay representation. I believe I have some insight into it, as I was on the front lines during the struggle, participating in all its battles until we achieved victory.

In 1861, to the male members of the Church, was submitted the question of lay representation. It failed of securing a majority vote. Had it carried, there would have been plausibility in the argument this day made against the eligibility of women to seats in this General Conference. The evolution of the succeeding eight years lifted woman to a higher appreciation of her position in the Methodist Church, and her rights and privileges became the theme of discussion throughout the bounds of the Church. Among the champions for woman was that magnificent man, that grand old man, Dr. Daniel D. Whedon, who, in discussing this question, said:

In 1861, the male members of the Church were presented with the question of lay representation. It didn’t secure enough votes to pass. If it had, there would have been some credibility to the argument currently being made against women being eligible for seats in this General Conference. Over the next eight years, attitudes shifted, leading to a greater appreciation for women's roles in the Methodist Church, and their rights and privileges became a topic of discussion throughout the Church. Among the advocates for women was the remarkable Dr. Daniel D. Whedon, who, while discussing this issue, said:

“If it is rights they talk of, every competent member of the Church of Christ, of either sex and of every shade of complexion, has equal original rights. Those rights, they may be assured, when that question comes fairly up, will be firmly asserted and maintained.”

“If they’re talking about rights, every qualified member of the Church of Christ, regardless of gender and skin color, has equal fundamental rights. They can be confident that when that issue is properly addressed, those rights will be strongly asserted and upheld.”

And in answer to the expected fling, “But you are a woman's rights man,” he replied:

And in response to the anticipated remark, “But you’re a supporter of women’s rights,” he replied:

“We are a human rights man. And our mother was a human being. And our wives, sisters, and daughters are all human beings. And that these human beings are liable as any other human beings to be oppressed by the stronger sex, and as truly need in self-defence a check upon oppression, the history of all past governments and legislation does most terribly demonstrate. What is best in the State is not indeed with us the question; but never, with our consent, shall the Church of the living God disfranchise her who gave to the world its divine Redeemer. When that disfranchisement comes to the debate, may the God of eternal righteousness give us strength equal to our will to cleave it to the ground!”

“We are supporters of human rights. Our mother was a human being. Our wives, sisters, and daughters are all human beings too. These individuals are just as vulnerable to oppression by the stronger sex, and they truly need protection from that oppression for their self-defense, as the history of all past governments and laws shows very clearly. The question isn't really what is best for the State; however, we will never allow the Church of the living God to take away the rights of the one who brought the world its divine Redeemer. When that issue comes up for discussion, may the God of eternal righteousness give us the strength equal to our will to oppose it!”

The General Conference of 1868, after full discussion, submitted the question of Lay Representation to a vote of all the members of the Church, male and female, thus recognizing the women as laymen, as belonging to the great body of the laity, and as vitally interested in the government of the Church, and having rights under that government. During the debate on the report of the Committee on the plan for submitting the question as in 1861, to the male members, Dr. Sherman moved to strike out the word “male.” While that motion was under consideration, Dr. Slicer, of Baltimore, said, “If it were the last moment I should spend, and the last articulate sound I should utter, I should speak for the wives, mothers, and daughters of the Methodist Episcopal Church.... I am for women's rights, sir, wherever church privileges are concerned.”

The General Conference of 1868, after thorough discussion, put the issue of Lay Representation to a vote among all Church members, both men and women, thereby acknowledging women as laypeople, part of the larger laity, and deeply interested in the governance of the Church, having rights within that governance. During the debate on the Committee's report regarding the plan to submit the question as it was done in 1861 to the male members, Dr. Sherman proposed removing the word "male." While this proposal was being discussed, Dr. Slicer from Baltimore remarked, “If it were the last moment I should spend, and the last articulate sound I should utter, I would speak for the wives, mothers, and daughters of the Methodist Episcopal Church.... I support women's rights, sir, whenever church privileges are at stake.”

Dr. Sherman's motion was carried by a vote of 142 to 70, and the question of lay representation was submitted to all the members of the Church over twenty-one years of age. The General Conference did not ask women to vote on a proposition that only male members of the Church should be represented in the General Conference, and it did not then enter the thought of any clear-headed man that women were to be deprived of their rights to a seat in the General Conference. There were a few noisy, disorderly brethren who cried out from their seats, “No, no,” but they were silenced by the presiding Bishop and the indignation of the right thinking, orderly delegates.

Dr. Sherman's motion passed with a vote of 142 to 70, and the issue of lay representation was presented to all Church members over twenty-one. The General Conference did not invite women to vote on a proposal that only male members of the Church should be represented in the General Conference, and it didn’t occur to any reasonable person at the time that women would be denied their right to a seat in the General Conference. A few loud, disruptive individuals shouted “No, no” from their seats, but they were silenced by the presiding Bishop and the anger of the rational, orderly delegates.

What does the Rev. Dr. David Sherman, the mover of the motion to strike out the word “male,” now say of the prevailing sentiment on that day of great debate? I have his freshly written words in response to an inquiry made a few weeks ago. On March 21st he made this statement:

What does Rev. Dr. David Sherman, who proposed the motion to remove the word “male,” now say about the dominant opinion on that day of significant debate? I have his newly written words in response to a question asked a few weeks ago. On March 21st, he made this statement:

“Some of us believed that women were laymen, that the term 'men' in the Discipline, as elsewhere, often designated not sex, but genus; and that those who constituted a main part of many of our churches should have a voice in determining under what government they would live. We believed in the rightful equality of the sexes before the law, and hence that women should have the same right as men to vote and hold office. The Conference of 1868 was a reform body, and it seemed possible to take these views on a stage; hence the amendment was offered, and carried with a rush and heartiness even beyond my expectations....The latter interpretation of the Conference making all not members of Conferences laymen, fully carried out these views, as they were understood at the moment by the majority party. Some, to be sure, cried out against it, but their voices were not heard amid the roar of victory. Who can go back of the interpretation of the supreme court of the Church?”

“Some of us believed that women were laypeople, that the term 'men' in the Discipline, as in other contexts, often referred to a broader category rather than just gender; and that those who made up a significant part of many of our churches should have a say in deciding the governance under which they lived. We believed in the rightful equality of the sexes before the law and therefore that women should have the same right as men to vote and hold office. The Conference of 1868 was a reform body, and it seemed possible to bring these views to the forefront; thus, the amendment was proposed and passed with a speed and enthusiasm that exceeded my expectations.... The latter interpretation by the Conference, which declared all who were not members of Conferences to be laypeople, fully supported these views as they were understood at that moment by the majority. Some, of course, protested against it, but their voices were drowned out by the roar of victory. Who can challenge the interpretation of the supreme court of the Church?”

It is amazing that brethren will stand here to-day and utterly ignore the decision of our Supreme Court in defining who are laymen. Could the utterances of any Court be more definite and clear than those of the General Conference when it said, “The General Conference holds that in all matters connected with the election of lay delegates the word 'laymen' must be understood to include all the members of the Church who are not members of the Annual Conferences”? This decision must include women among the laity of the Church. I know it is said that this means the classification of local preachers. We respond that that only appears from the debate. The General Conference was settling a great principle in which the personal rights and privileges of two thirds of the membership of our Church were involved. Surely, our Supreme Court would have made a strange decision had they, in defining laymen, excepted women. Let us see how it would look in cold type had they said, “The General Conference holds that in all matters connected with the election of lay delegates the word laymen must be understood to include all the members of the Annual Conferences, and who are not women.” We would have become the laughing-stock of Christendom had we made such an utterance. The Church universal in all ages has always divided its membership into two great classes, and two only, the clergy and the laymen, using the terms laity and laymen synonymously and interchangeably. See Bingham's “Antiquities,” Blackstone's “Commentaries,” Schaffs “History,” and kindred authorities. It is sheer trifling for sensible males to talk about a distinction between laymen and laywomen.

It’s incredible that people will stand here today and completely ignore our Supreme Court's decision on who counts as laypeople. Could any court’s statement be clearer than the General Conference’s when it said, “The General Conference holds that in all matters connected with the election of lay delegates, the term 'laymen' must be understood to include all members of the Church who are not part of the Annual Conferences”? This decision includes women as part of the Church’s laity. I know some say this refers to the classification of local preachers. We argue that’s just a conclusion drawn from the debate. The General Conference was establishing a significant principle that involves the personal rights and privileges of two-thirds of our Church's members. Surely, our Supreme Court would have made an unusual decision if, while defining laypeople, they excluded women. Imagine how it would sound in writing if they said, “The General Conference holds that in all matters connected with the election of lay delegates, the term laymen must be understood to include all members of the Annual Conferences, and who are not women.” We would have become the laughingstock of Christendom if we had made such a statement. Throughout history, the universal Church has always divided its members into just two main categories: clergy and laypeople, using the terms laity and laymen interchangeably. See Bingham's “Antiquities,” Blackstone's “Commentaries,” Schaff’s “History,” and similar sources. It’s ridiculous for reasonable men to talk about a distinction between laymen and laywomen.

Women were made class-leaders, stewards, and Sunday-school superintendents, and employed in these several capacities long before the specific interpretations of the pronouns were made. They were so appointed and employed in Saint Paul's Church in this city during the pastorate of that sainted man, John M'Clintock, in 1860, and could the voice of that great leader and lover of the Church reach us to day from the skies it would be in protest against the views presented in this debate by the supporters of the committee's report and its amendment.

Women were appointed as class leaders, stewards, and Sunday school superintendents, and they held these roles long before specific interpretations of the pronouns were established. They were given these positions at Saint Paul's Church in this city during the pastorate of the revered John M'Clintock in 1860. If the voice of that great leader and lover of the Church could reach us today from above, it would be in protest against the views presented in this debate by the supporters of the committee's report and its amendment.

It is a well-established and incontrovertible principle of law that any elector is eligible to the office for which said elector votes, unless there be a specific enactment discriminating against the elector. Our law says that a lay delegate shall be twenty-five years of age, and five years a member of the Methodist Episcopal Church. It does not say that a delegate must not be a woman, or must be a man.

It is a well-established and undeniable principle of law that any voter is eligible for the office they vote for, unless there is a specific law that discriminates against the voter. Our law states that a lay delegate must be twenty-five years old and a member of the Methodist Episcopal Church for five years. It does not say that a delegate cannot be a woman or must be a man.

Women are eligible to membership in this General Conference. Women have been chosen delegates as provided by law. They are here in their seats ready for any duty on committees, or otherwise, as they may be invited. We cannot turn them out and slam the door on their exit. It would be revolutionary so to do by a simple vote of this body. It would be a violation of the guarantees of personal liberty, a holding of the just rights of the laity of the Church. We cannot exclude them from membership in the General Conference, except by directing the Annual Conferences to vote on the question of their exclusion. Are we ready to send that question in that form down to the Annual Conferences for their action? I trust that a large majority of this General Conference will say with emphasis we are not ready for any such action. The women of our Methodism have a place in the heart of the Church from which they cannot be dislodged. They are our chief working members. They are at the very front of every great movement of the Church at home or abroad. In the spirit of rejoicing consecration our matrons and maids uphold the banner of our Lord in every conflict with the enemy of virtue and righteousness. Looking down upon us from these galleries, tier upon tier, are the magnificent leaders of the Woman's Foreign and the Woman's Home Missionary Societies. Our women are at the front of the battle now waging against the liquor traffic in our fair land, and they will not cease their warfare until this nation shall be redeemed from the curse of the saloon. God bless all these women of our great conquering Church of the Redeemer.

Women are eligible for membership in this General Conference. They have been selected as delegates as per the law. They are here, ready to take on any duties on committees or otherwise, as invited. We can't just boot them out and slam the door behind them. Doing so with a simple vote from this body would be revolutionary. It would violate the guarantees of personal freedom and undermine the rightful claims of the laity in the Church. We can't exclude them from membership in the General Conference unless we direct the Annual Conferences to vote on their exclusion. Are we prepared to send that question to the Annual Conferences for their decision? I hope that a large majority of this General Conference will firmly state that we're not ready for such action. The women of our Methodism hold an irreplaceable place in the Church's heart. They are our key active members, leading every major effort of the Church, both at home and abroad. With a spirit of joyful commitment, our women support our Lord's banner in every battle against the forces of vice and injustice. Looking down on us from the galleries are the incredible leaders of the Woman's Foreign and the Woman's Home Missionary Societies. Our women are at the forefront of the struggle against the liquor trade in our country, and they won’t stop fighting until this nation is freed from the curse of the saloon. God bless all these women of our great, victorious Church of the Redeemer.

Twenty years ago Bishop Hurst accompanied me on a leisurely tour of continental Europe. In the old city of Nuremberg we wandered among the old churches and market-places, where may be seen the marvellous productions of that evangel of art, Albert Durer. In an old schloss in that city may be found the diary of Albert Durer, almost four centuries old. In it you may read as follows: “Master Gebhart, of Antwerp, has a daughter seventeen years old, and she has illuminated the head of a Saviour for which I gave a florin. It is a marvel that a woman could do so much.” Three and a half centuries later Rosa Bonheur hangs her master-piece in the chief places of the galleries of the world, and Harriet Hosmer's studio contributes many of the best marbles that adorn the parlors of Europe and America, and no one wonders that a woman can do so much. From that day when Martin Luther, the protesting monk, and Catherine Von Bora, the ex-nun, stood together at the altar and the twain became one, woman has by her own heroism, by her faith in her sex and in God, who made her, fought a good fight against the organized selfishness of those who would withhold from her any right or privilege to which she is entitled, and has lifted herself from slavery and barbarism to a place by the side of man, where God placed her in paradise, his equal in tact and talent, moving upon the world with her unseen influences, and making our Christian civilization what it is to-day. Let not our Methodism in this her chiefest council say or do ought that shall lead the world to conclude that we are retreating from our advanced position of justice to the laity of the Church. Let us rather strengthen our guarantee of loving protection of every right and privilege of every member of our Church, without distinction of race, color, or sex. Amen and Amen.

Twenty years ago, Bishop Hurst joined me on a relaxed tour of continental Europe. In the historic city of Nuremberg, we explored the old churches and marketplaces, where you can see the amazing works of the artist Albert Durer. In an ancient castle in that city, you can find Albert Durer's diary, nearly four centuries old. In it, you can read: “Master Gebhart from Antwerp has a seventeen-year-old daughter who illuminated the head of a Savior for which I paid a florin. It’s remarkable that a woman could achieve so much.” Fast forward three and a half centuries later, and Rosa Bonheur displays her masterpieces in major galleries around the world, while Harriet Hosmer's studio produces many of the finest sculptures that enhance the homes of Europe and America, and no one questions a woman's ability to do so much. Since that day when Martin Luther, the protesting monk, and Catherine Von Bora, the ex-nun, stood together at the altar and became one, women have shown remarkable courage and faith in themselves and in God, who created them. They've fought against the organized selfishness of those who sought to deny them any right or privilege they deserve, rising from oppression and barbarism to stand alongside men, just as God intended in paradise, equal in skill and talent, influencing the world with their unseen impact and shaping our Christian civilization into what it is today. Let’s not allow our Methodist leaders to say or do anything that gives the impression we are stepping back from our clear stance on justice for the laity of the Church. Instead, let us reinforce our commitment to protect every right and privilege of every member of our Church, regardless of race, color, or gender. Amen and Amen.

ADDRESS OF JUDGE Z. P. TAYLOR.

Mr. President and Gentlemen, when elected a delegate I had no opinion on the constitutional question here involved. But I had then, and I have now, a sympathy for the women, and a profound admiration of their work. No man on this floor stands more ready and more willing to assist them by all lawful and constitutional means to every right and and to every privilege enjoyed by men.

Mr. President and gentlemen, when I was elected as a delegate, I had no personal opinion on the constitutional issue at hand. However, I did then, and I still do, have a strong empathy for women and a deep respect for their efforts. No one in this room is more prepared or more eager to support them through all lawful and constitutional means to achieve every right and privilege that men enjoy.

But, sir, notwithstanding this admiration and sympathy, I cannot lose sight of the vital question before the General Conference now and here.

But, sir, even with this admiration and sympathy, I can't overlook the crucial issue facing the General Conference right now.

That question is this: Under the Constitution and Restrictive Rules of the Methodist Episcopal Church are women eligible as lay delegates in this General Conference? If they are, then this substitute offered by Dr. Moore does them an injustice, because it puts a cloud upon their right and title to seats upon this floor. If they are not, then this body would be in part an unconstitutional body if they are admitted.

That question is this: According to the Constitution and Restrictive Rules of the Methodist Episcopal Church, are women eligible to serve as lay delegates in this General Conference? If they are, then the substitute proposed by Dr. Moore is unfair to them because it questions their right to have seats here. If they are not eligible, then this group would partly be unconstitutional if they are allowed to join.

It follows that whoever supports this substitute either wrongs the elect ladies or violates the Constitution. If they are constitutionally a part of this body, seat them; if they are not, vote down this substitute, and adopt the report of the committee, with the amendment of Dr. Neely, and then let them in four years hence in the constitutional way. After the most careful study of the vital question in the light of history, ecclesiastical, common, and constitutional law, it is my solemn and deliberate judgment that women are not eligible as lay delegates in this body.

It follows that anyone who supports this alternative is either doing a disservice to the elected women or breaking the Constitution. If they are constitutionally part of this group, let them have a seat; if they aren’t, reject this alternative and adopt the committee's report with Dr. Neely’s amendment, and then allow them in four years through the proper constitutional process. After thoroughly studying this important issue in light of history, church law, common law, and constitutional law, I firmly believe that women are not eligible to be lay delegates in this group.

Facts, records, and testimonials conclusively prove that in 1868, when the General Conference submitted the matter of lay delegation to the entire membership of the Church, the idea of women being eligible was not the intent. The intent was to bring into the General Conference a large number of men of business experience, who could render service by their knowledge and experience touching the temporal affairs of the Church. When the principle of admitting lay delegates was voted upon by the laity, this idea, and no other, was intended. When the Annual Conferences voted for the principle and the plan, this and this only was their intent.

Facts, records, and testimonies clearly show that in 1868, when the General Conference presented the issue of lay delegation to all Church members, the intention was not to include women. The goal was to involve a significant number of men with business experience who could contribute through their knowledge and expertise regarding the Church's financial matters. When the lay members voted on the principle of allowing lay delegates, this was the sole intention. When the Annual Conferences voted for this principle and plan, this was the only intent they had.

When the General Conference, by the constitutional majority, acted in favor of admitting the lay delegates provisionally elected, this idea, and none other, actuated them. It was not the intent then to admit women, but to admit men only, and the intent must govern in construing a Constitution.

When the General Conference, with the required majority, decided to allow the lay delegates provisionally elected, this idea, and no other, motivated them. The goal at that time was not to include women but to admit only men, and the intent should guide the interpretation of a Constitution.

Dr. Fisk said Judge Cooley is a high authority on constitutional law. I admit it, and am happy to say that I was a student of his over a quarter of a century ago, and ever since then have studied and practised constitutional law, and I am not here to stultify my judgment by allowing sentiment and impulse to influence my decision.

Dr. Fisk said Judge Cooley is a leading authority on constitutional law. I admit it, and I'm glad to say that I was his student over twenty-five years ago, and since then I have studied and practiced constitutional law. I am not here to undermine my judgment by letting sentiment and impulse sway my decision.

Those opposing the report of the committee, with few exceptions, admit that it was not the intent and purpose, when the Constitution and Restrictive Rules were amended, to admit women as lay delegates. They claim, however, that times have changed, and now propose to force a construction upon the language not intended by the laity, the Annual Conferences, or the General Conference at the time of the amendment. Can this be done without an utter violation of law? I answer, No.

Those who disagree with the committee's report, with a few exceptions, acknowledge that it wasn't the goal or intention when the Constitution and Restrictive Rules were revised to allow women as lay delegates. They argue that times have changed and now want to impose an interpretation of the language that wasn’t intended by the laity, the Annual Conferences, or the General Conference when the amendment was made. Can this be done without completely breaking the law? I say no.

In the able address read by Bishop Merrill, containing the views of the Board of Bishops, he says:

In the capable speech delivered by Bishop Merrill, which shares the perspectives of the Board of Bishops, he states:

“For the first time in our history several 'elect ladies' appear, regularly certified from Electoral Conferences, as lay delegates to this body. In taking the action which necessitates the consideration of the question of their eligibility, the Electoral Conferences did not consult the Bishops as to the law in the case, nor do we understand it to be our duty to define the law for these Conferences; neither does it appear that any one is authorized to decide questions of law in them. The Electoral Conferences simply assumed the lawfulness of this action, being guided, as we are informed, by a declarative resolution of the General Conference of 1872, defining the scope of the word 'laymen,” in answer to a question touching the classification and rights of ordained local and located ministers. Of course, the language of that resolution is carried beyond its original design when applied to a subject not before the body when it was adopted, and not necessarily involved in the language itself. This also should be understood, that no definition of the word 'laymen' settles the question of eligibility as to any class of persons, for many are classed as laymen for the purposes of lay representation, and have to do with it officially as laymen, who are themselves not eligible as delegates. Even laymen who are confessedly ineligible, who are not old enough to be delegates, or have not been members long enough, may be stewards, class-leaders, trustees, local preachers and exhorters, and, as such, be members of the Quarterly Conference, and vote for delegates to the Electoral Conference without themselves being eligible.

“For the first time in our history, several 'elect ladies' are appearing, regularly recognized from Electoral Conferences, as lay delegates to this group. In making the decision that brings up the question of their eligibility, the Electoral Conferences did not consult the Bishops about the law regarding this matter, nor do we see it as our responsibility to define the law for these Conferences; it also seems that no one is authorized to make legal decisions within them. The Electoral Conferences simply assumed the legality of this action, being guided, as we understand, by a declarative resolution from the General Conference of 1872, which defined the meaning of the word 'laymen' in response to a question concerning the classification and rights of ordained local and located ministers. Of course, the wording of that resolution extends beyond its original intent when applied to a topic that was not present at the time it was adopted and is not necessarily involved in the language itself. It should also be recognized that no definition of the word 'laymen' determines the question of eligibility for any group of individuals since many are categorized as laymen for purposes of lay representation and officially engage with it as laymen, even though they are not eligible as delegates. Even laymen who are clearly ineligible, whether because they are not old enough to be delegates or have not been members long enough, may serve as stewards, class leaders, trustees, local preachers, and exhorters, and as such, they can be members of the Quarterly Conference and vote for delegates to the Electoral Conference without being eligible themselves.”

“The constitutional qualifications for eligibility cannot be modified by a resolution of the General Conference, however sweeping, nor can the original meaning of the language be enlarged. If women were included in the original constitutional provision for lay delegates, they are here by constitutional right. If they were not so included, it is beyond the power of this body to give them membership lawfully, except by the formal amendment of the Constitution, which cannot be effected without the consent of the Annual Conferences. In extending to women the highest spiritual privileges, in recognizing their gifts, and in providing for them spheres of Christian activity, as well as in advancing them to positions of official responsibility, ours has been a leader of the Churches, and gratefully do we acknowledge the good results shown in their enlarged usefulness, and in the wonderful developments of their power to work for God, which we take as evidences of the divine approval of the high ground taken. In all reformatory and benevolent enterprises, especially in the Temperance, Missionary, and Sunday-school departments of Church-work, their success is marvellous, and challenges our highest admiration. Happily no question of competency or worthiness is involved in the question of their eligibility as delegates. Hitherto the assumption underlying the legislation of the Church has been that they were ineligible to official positions, except by special provision of law. In harmony with this assumption, they have been made eligible, by special enactment, of the offices of steward, class-leader, and Sunday-school superintendent, and naturally the question arises as to whether the necessity for special legislation, in order to their eligibility to those specified offices, does not indicate similar necessity for special provision in order to their eligibility as delegates, and if so it is further to be considered that the offices of steward, class-leader, and Sunday-school superintendent may be created and filled by simple enactments of the General Conference itself; but to enter the General Conference, and form part of the law-making body of the Church, requires special provision in the Constitution, and, therefore, such provision as the General Conference alone cannot make.”

“The constitutional requirements for eligibility cannot be changed by a resolution of the General Conference, no matter how broad, nor can the original meaning of the language be expanded. If women were included in the original constitutional provision for lay delegates, they have that right by the Constitution. If they were not included, this body does not have the authority to grant them membership lawfully, except through a formal amendment to the Constitution, which cannot take place without the consent of the Annual Conferences. By granting women the highest spiritual privileges, recognizing their abilities, and giving them opportunities for Christian service, as well as promoting them to positions of official responsibility, we have led the Churches, and we gratefully acknowledge the positive outcomes shown in their increased usefulness and the remarkable growth of their ability to serve God, which we see as evidence of divine approval for the strong stance we have taken. In all reform and charitable efforts, especially in the areas of Temperance, Missionary work, and Sunday-school activities, their success is remarkable and commands our utmost admiration. Fortunately, there’s no question of competence or worthiness when it comes to their eligibility as delegates. Until now, the underlying assumption of Church legislation has been that they are ineligible for official positions unless specified by law. Aligned with this assumption, they have been made eligible, through specific actions, for the roles of steward, class leader, and Sunday-school superintendent. Naturally, this raises the question of whether the need for special legislation to make them eligible for those specified positions indicates a similar need for special provisions for them to be eligible as delegates. If so, it's also worth noting that the roles of steward, class leader, and Sunday-school superintendent can be created and filled by simple acts of the General Conference itself; however, to enter the General Conference and become part of the law-making body of the Church requires special provisions in the Constitution, which cannot be made solely by the General Conference.”

Now, sir, this language moves forward with a grasp of logic akin to that used by Chief Justice Marshall, or that eminent jurist, Cooley, from whom I beg leave to quote. Cooley, in his great work on “Constitutional Limitations,” says:

Now, sir, this language progresses with a grip on logic similar to that used by Chief Justice Marshall, or that distinguished jurist, Cooley, from whom I would like to quote. Cooley, in his significant work on “Constitutional Limitations,” says:

“A Constitution is not made to mean one thing at one time, and another at some subsequent time, when the circumstances may have changed as perhaps to make a different rule in the case seem desirable. A principal share of the benefit expected from written Constitutions would be lost, if the rules they establish were so flexible as to bend to circumstances, or be modified by public opinion.

“A Constitution isn’t meant to have one meaning at one time and another meaning later when circumstances change and make a different rule seem preferable. A significant part of the benefits we expect from written Constitutions would be lost if the rules they set were so flexible that they could shift with circumstances or be altered by public opinion."

“The meaning of the Constitution is fixed when it is adopted, and is not different at any subsequent time.”

“The meaning of the Constitution is set when it's adopted and doesn't change over time.”

This same great author says:

This awesome author says:

“Intent governs. The object of construction applied to a written constitution is to give effect to the intent of the people in adopting it. In the case of written laws it is the intent of the lawgiver that is to be enforced.

“Intent governs. The purpose of interpreting a written constitution is to fulfill the intent of the people who adopted it. In the case of written laws, it is the intent of the lawmaker that is to be enforced.”

“But it must not be forgotten in construing our constitutions that in many particulars they are but the legitimate successors of the great charters of English liberty whose provisions declaratory of the rights of the subject have acquired a well understood meaning which the people must be supposed to have had in view in adopting them. We cannot understand these unless we understand their history.

“But we shouldn’t forget when interpreting our constitutions that in many ways they are just the rightful successors of the important charters of English liberty, whose statements about the rights of individuals have a clear meaning that the people likely considered when adopting them. We can’t fully grasp these unless we understand their history.”

“It is also a very reasonable rule that a State Constitution shall be understood and construed in the light, and by the assistance of the common law, and with the fact in view that its rules are still in force.

“It is also a very reasonable rule that a State Constitution should be understood and interpreted with the help of common law, keeping in mind that its rules are still in effect.”

“It is a maxim with the Courts that statutes in derogation of the common law shall be construed strictly.”

“It's a principle with the courts that laws that go against common law should be interpreted strictly.”

Here, sir, we have the language of Judge Cooley himself. It is as clear as the noonday's sun, and he utterly repudiates the pernicious doctrine that the Constitution can grow and develop so as to mean one thing when it is adopted, and something else at another time. You can never inject anything into a Constitution by construction which was not in it when adopted. And you are bound, according to all rules of construction, to give it the construction which was intended when adopted. No man of common honesty and common sense dares to assert on this floor that it was the intent when the Constitution was amended to admit women as lay delegates. It follows inevitably that they are not constitutionally eligible, and to admit them is to violate the Constitution of the Church, which, as a Court, we are in honor bound not to do.

Here, sir, we have the words of Judge Cooley himself. It's as clear as day, and he completely rejects the harmful idea that the Constitution can evolve to mean one thing when it's adopted and something entirely different later on. You can't add anything to a Constitution through interpretation that wasn't included when it was adopted. Moreover, you are required, by all rules of interpretation, to understand it as it was intended when adopted. No honest person with common sense would claim on this floor that the intent when the Constitution was amended was to allow women as lay delegates. It logically follows that they are not constitutionally eligible, and to allow them in would violate the Constitution of the Church, which, as a Court, we are honor-bound not to do.

It has been asserted with gravity that the right to vote for a person for office carries with it the right to be voted for unless prohibited by positive enactment. This proposition is not true, and never has been. We have seen, when the Constitution and Restrictive Rules were amended, the intent was to admit men only as lay delegates. No General Conference can, by resolution or decision, change the Constitution and Restrictive Rules. Grant, if you please, that the General Conference, by its action in 1880, had power to make women eligible in the Quarterly Conference as stewards and class-leaders, this could not qualify her to become a lay delegate in the law-making body of the Church. The qualifications of lay delegates to this body must inhere in the Constitution and Restrictive Rules, according to their intent and meaning when adopted. It is fundamental law that where general disabilities exist, not simply by statute, but by common law, the removal of lesser disabilities does not carry with it the removal of the greater ones.

It has been seriously claimed that the right to vote for someone in office includes the right to be voted for, unless specifically prohibited by law. This statement is not accurate and never has been. We have seen that when the Constitution and Restrictive Rules were changed, the intention was to allow only men as lay delegates. No General Conference can change the Constitution and Restrictive Rules through resolution or decision. Even if we accept that the General Conference, by acting in 1880, had the authority to make women eligible in the Quarterly Conference as stewards and class leaders, this would not qualify them to be lay delegates in the church's decision-making body. The qualifications for lay delegates to this body must be based on the Constitution and Restrictive Rules, according to their original intent and meaning when they were adopted. It is a fundamental principle that where general disabilities exist, not just through statute but also by common law, removing lesser disabilities does not imply the removal of greater ones.

Legislation qualifying women to vote in Wyoming and elsewhere had to be coupled also with positive enactments qualifying her to be voted for, otherwise she would have been ineligible to office. This is so, and I defy any lawyer to show the contrary.

Legislation that allowed women to vote in Wyoming and other places also had to include measures that qualified them to be voted for, or else they wouldn't have been eligible for office. This is the case, and I challenge any lawyer to prove otherwise.

§3, Article I, Constitution of the United States, reads:

“The Senate of the United States shall be composed of two Senators from each State, chosen by the Legislature thereof for six years. No person shall be a Senator who shall not have attained to the age of thirty years, and been nine years a citizen of the United States, and who shall not, when elected, be an inhabitant of the State for which he shall be chosen.”

“The Senate of the United States will consist of two Senators from each State, chosen by the Legislature for a term of six years. No one shall be a Senator unless they are at least thirty years old, have been a citizen of the United States for nine years, and are a resident of the State they are elected to represent.”

These and no other qualifications are worded or found in the Constitution of the United States touching the qualification of Senators. Is there a layman on this floor who will dare assert that under the Constitution of the United States women are eligible as Representatives or Senators? Words of common gender are exclusively used as applied to the qualification of Senators. The words persons and citizens include women the same as they include men. Nevertheless, in the light of the past, I am bold to assert, that any man who would dare stand in the Senate of the United States, and contend that women are eligible to the office of United States Senators, would be regarded by the civilized world as a person of gush and void of judgment.

These are the only qualifications mentioned in the Constitution of the United States regarding the qualifications of Senators. Is there anyone here who would confidently claim that, under the Constitution, women can be Representatives or Senators? The language used in relation to Senators is gender-neutral. The terms "persons" and "citizens" include women just as they include men. However, looking at history, I boldly assert that any man who would stand in the U.S. Senate and argue that women can be U.S. Senators would be seen by the civilized world as overly emotional and lacking in judgment.

Article 14, United States Constitution, §1:

“All persons born or naturalized in the United States and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States, wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property without due process of law, nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”

“All individuals born or naturalized in the United States and subject to its jurisdiction are citizens of the United States, where they live. No state can make or enforce any law that limits the privileges or immunities of U.S. citizens; nor can any state take away a person’s life, liberty, or property without due process of law, nor deny any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.”

(Tax case and what was decided.) (Mrs. Minor vs. Judges of Election. 53 Mo. 68.)

The first case indicates that the word citizen when affecting property rights includes corporations.

The first case shows that the term citizen, when it comes to property rights, also includes corporations.

The second, that the word person, when it relates to the woman claiming the right to vote, does not confer upon her that right.

The second point is that the term "person," when it refers to the woman asserting her right to vote, does not grant her that right.

The language is: No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of any citizen of the United States. Nevertheless, a Republican Circuit Judge held this language did not entitle Mrs. Minor to vote. A democratic Supreme Court of Missouri held the same, and the Supreme Court of the United States, in an able opinion written by men known as the friends of women, conclusively demonstrated that these constitutional guarantees did not confer upon woman the right to vote. Why? Because, from time immemorial, this right had not obtained in favor of woman, and these words of common gender should not be so construed as to confer this right, since it was not intended when made to affect their status in this regard.

The language is: No state can make or enforce any law that limits the privileges or rights of any citizen of the United States. However, a Republican Circuit Judge ruled that this language did not give Mrs. Minor the right to vote. A Democratic Supreme Court of Missouri agreed, and the Supreme Court of the United States, in a well-reasoned opinion written by individuals known as supporters of women's rights, clearly showed that these constitutional protections did not grant women the right to vote. Why? Because, historically, this right had never been recognized for women, and these gender-neutral terms should not be interpreted as granting this right, as it was never intended to change their status in this way.

THE END

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SAMANTHA AMONG THE BRETHREN.

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