I didn't really know what she meant, but as she immegiately retired
into the buttery to make and roll out her pie crust, I didn't want to
interrupt her, for every man knows that a woman needs the hull of what
little mind she's got at such a time. Such apple pies as Samantha makes
with tender flaky crust and delicious interior are a work of art, and
requires ondivided attention.
So I wuz throwed back onto my own resources and judgment, and didn't
try to argy no more. Duty and pity for her and her sect conquerored in
the end, and the next day I gin my consent and Betsy sent down by one
of her various stepchildren a bran sack full of her poetry, which I
emptied for convenience into a huge dish pan which wuz exempt from work
by age.
How tickled and full of triump Betsy wuz, and it wuz enough to tickle
any female to have her poetry appear in the pages of my gigantic
effort. The follerin' verses of hern writ before her marriage I culled
at random from the dish pan and subjoin: