talkin’ to her so respectful, and she is after them that is plain to be
seen, or else she wouldn’t be a listenin’ to ’em just as quiet and
composed as if they was wimmen. A right kind of a woman has a sort of a
mistrustin’ look to ’em, when they are a talkin’ to men; they have a
sort of a watchful turn to their eye, as if they was a lookin’ out for
’em, lookin’ out for sunthin’ wrong. I always have that look onto me,
and you can see that she haint a mite of it. See her set there and talk.
If ever a woman was after a man she is after them three men.”
I couldn’t have sot and heerd another word of their envious, spiteful,
low-lived gossip, without bustin’ right out on the spot, and speakin’ my
mind before ’em all, so I baconed the childern out into Serepta’s room,
and washed and dressed ’em, and then I took holt and put on her
dish-water and bilt a fire under it, for it had gone out while she was a
tusslin’ with them agents. When I went back into the sittin’-room again,
I see the colporters had gone, and the wimmen had tackled her. They
wanted her to join a new society they had jest got up, “The Cumberin’
Marthas.”
Serepta’s face looked awful troubled, her mind a soarin’ off I knew out
into the kitchen, amongst her dishes that wasn’t washed, and her infant
babes, and I could see she was a listenin’ to see if she could hear
anything of her husband, and whether he needed headin’ off. But she
wanted to do jest right, and told ’em so.
“She would join it, if the church thought it was her duty to, though as
she belonged to fourteen different societies now, she didn’t know really
when she could git time—”
“Time!” says Miss Horn. “I guess there is time enough in the world to do
duties. ‘Go to the ant thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise.’”
And as she repeated this line of poetry, she groaned some, and rolled up
the whites of her eyes.
Serepta’s face looked red as blood, but she didn’t answer a word back.
Serepta Simmons is a Christian. I believe it as much as I believe I am
J. Allen’s wife. And I spoke right up and says I:
“Bein’ a searcher after information, and speakin’ as a private
investigater, and a woman that has got a vow on her, I ask what are the
Marthas expected to do?”
Says Miss Horn, “They are expected to be cumbered all the time with
cares; to be ready any time, day or night, to do anything the public
demands of ’em; to give all their time, their treasure if they have got
any, and all the energies of their mind and body to the public good, to
be cumbered by it in any and every way.”
Says I, “Again, I ask you as a private woman with a vow, aint it hard on
the Marthas?”
She said it was; but she was proud to be one of ’em, proud to be
cumbered. And she said—givin’ Serepta a awful searchin’ look—“That when
a certain person that ort to be a pattern, and a burnin’ and a shinin’
light, wouldn’t put their name down, there was weaker vessels that it
would be apt to break into—it would make divisions and sisms.”
That skairt Serepta and she was jest about puttin’ her name down, but
she couldn’t help murmurin’ sunthin’ about time, “afraid I won’t have
time to do jest right by everybody.”
“Time!” says Miss Horn, scornfully and angrily,—“Time! ‘Go to the ant
thou sluggard, consider her ways and be wise.’”
But jest as Miss Horn was a finishin’ repeatin’ her poetry, and before
Serepta had time to put her name down, all of a sudden the door opened,
and another great tall woman marched in. I noticed there didn’t none of
’em knock, but jest opened the door and stalked in, jest as if the
minister’s house, as well as he and his wife belonged to ’em and they
had a perfect right to stream in every minute. I declare, it madded me,
for I say if home means anything it means a place where anybody can find
rest, and repose and freedom from unwelcome intrusion. And I say, and I
contend for it, that I had jest as lives have anybody steal anything
else from me, as to steal my time and my comfort. There probable haint a
woman standin’ on feet at the present age of the world, (with or without
vows on ’em) that is more horsepitable, and gladder to see her friends
than Samantha Allen, late Smith. There are those, whose presence is more
restful, and refreshin’ and inspirin’, than the best cup of tea or
coffee that ever was drunk. The heart, soul, and mind send out stronger
tendrils that cling closer and firmer even than some of the twigs of the
family tree. Kindred aims, hopes, and sympathies are a closer tie than
4th cousin.
There is help, inspiration and delight in the presence of those who are
more nearly and truly related to us than if they was born on our
father’s or mother’s side unbeknown to them. And friends of our soul, it
would be a hard world indeed, if we could never meet each other. And I
would advise Serepta as a filler of the bottle she was brought up on,
and a well-wisher, to visit back and forth occasionally, at proper times
and seasons, and neighbor considerable with all who might wish to
neighbor, be they aliens or friends, Horns or softer material. Standin’
firm and steadfast, ready to borry and lend salaratus, clothes-pins,
allspice, bluein’ bags, and etcetery, and in times of trouble, standin’
by ’em like a rock, and so 4th.
The Bible says, “Iron sharpeneth iron, so does a man the countenance of
his friend.” But in the words of the Sammist (slightly changed), there
is a time for visitin’ and a time for stayin’ to home. A time to
neighbor, and a time to refrain from neighborin’,—a time to talk, and a
time to write sermons, wash dishes, and mop out the kitchen. And what I
would beware Miss Horn and the rest of ’em is, of sharpenin’ that “iron”
so uncommon sharp that it will cut friendship right into in the middle;
or keep on sharpenin’ it, till they git such a awful fine pint on it,
that before they know it, it will break right off so blunt that they
can’t never git an age put on it again.
They ort to respect and reverence each other’s individuality.—(That is a
long hefty word, but I have got it all right, for I looked it out in
Thomas Jefferson’s big dictionary, see what it meant, and spelt it all
out as I went along; nobody need to be afraid of sayin’ it jest as I
have got it down.) Because Miss Horn, and the rest of ’em git lonesome,
they hadn’t ort to inflict themselves and their gossip onto a busy man
or woman who don’t git lonesome. Good land! if anybody lays holt of life
as they ort to, they haint no time to be lonesome. Now Serepta Simmons
meant well, and liked her neighbors, and their childern, and wanted to
treat ’em friendly and handsome. But she hankered dretfully after havin’
a home of her own, and not livin’ with ’em all premiscous (as it were.)
But they wouldn’t let her; she didn’t have a minute she could call her
own. The Shackvillians seemed to think she belonged to ’em, jest as much
as the clock on the meetin’ house did, and they perused her every minute
jest as they did that. It made her feel curious, sunthin’ as if she was
livin’ out doors, or in an open cage in the menagery way.
They flocked in on her all the hull time without knockin’, at all times
of the day and night, before breakfast, and after bedtime, and right
along through the day, stiddy; watchin’ her with as keen a vision as if
she was a one-eyed turkey carried round for a side-show; findin’ fault
with everything she did or didn’t do, inflictin’ their gossip on her,
and collectin’ all they could to retail to other folks’es housen;
watchin’ every motion she made, and commentin’ on it in public; catchin’
every little word she dropped in answer to their gossipin’ remarks, and
addin’ and swellin’ out that little word till it wouldn’t know itself it
was so different, and then repeatin’ it on the house tops (as it were).
I declare, it madded me to see a likely woman so imposed upon, and I
thought to myself, if it was _me_, I should ruther have ’em steal pork
right out of my pork barrell, than to have ’em steal my peace and
comfort.
But as I was sayin’, this woman come in right through the back door
without knockin’, as independent as you please, and as she sot down she
looked all round the house so’s to remember how everything looked, so’s
to tell it again, though Serepta wasn’t no more to blame than a babe two
or three hours old, for her work not bein’ done up. I see that this
woman glared at Miss Horn, and Miss Horn glared back at her, and I knew
in a minute she was gittin’ up another society. And so it turned out.
She wanted Serepta to head the list of the “Weepin’ Marys” a opposition
party to the “Cumberin’ Marthas.”
Serepta looked as if she would sink. But I spoke right up, for I was
determined to take her part. And says I, “Mom, I am of a investigatin’
turn, and am collectin’ information on a tower, and may I ask as a
well-wisher to the sect, what job has the ‘Weepin’ Marys’ got ahead of
’em. What are they expected to tackle?” says I in a polite way.
Says she, “They are expected to spend the hull of their time, day and
night, a learnin’, pryin’ into docterines, and studyin’ on some way to
ameliorate the condition of the heathen, and the African gorillas.”
Says I, “In them cases if Serepta jines ’em, what chance would the Elder
run of gittin’ anything to eat, or Serepta, or the childern?”
“Eatin’,” says she, “what is eatin’ compared to a knowledge of the
docterines and the condition of the perishin’ heathen?”
“But,” says I in reasonable axents, “folks have got to eat or else
die—and if they haint able to hire a girl, they have got to cook the
vittles themselves or else they’ll perish, and die jest as dead as a
dead heathen.”
Speakin’ about Serepta’s time, always seemed to set Miss Horn off onto
her poetry, and she repeated again,—“Go to the ant—”
But I interrupted of her, and says I, “You have advised Serepta several
times to go to her _aunt_ and be _wise_. _I_ am her aunt, and I motion
she falls in with the advice you have give her, in a handsome way. I
advise her to do up her work. And I advise you to clear out, all of you,
and give her a chance to wash her dishes, and nurse her babies, and get
her dinner.” For truly dinner time was approachin’.
They acted mad, but they started off. Serepta’s face was as white as a
white cotton sheet, as she seen ’em go, she was that skairt; but I kep’
pretty cool and considerable firm, for I see she needed a friend. I laid
to and helped her do up her work, and git her dinner. And she owned up
to me that her work wouldn’t seem to be nothin’ to her if she could have
her house and her time to herself some. I see plain, that she was a
carryin’ the hull meetin’ house on her back, though she didn’t say so. I
could see that she dassant say her soul was her own, she was so afraid
of offendin’ the flock.
She happened to say to me as we was a washin’ up the dishes, how much
she wanted a new dress. Her uncle had give her the money to git one, and
she wanted it the worst way.
“Why don’t you git it then?” says I.
“Oh,” says she, “the church don’t like to have me git anything to wear,
and they make so many speeches about my bein’ extravagant, and breakin’
down my husband’s influence, and settin’ a wicked example of
extravagance, and ruinin’ the nation, that I can’t bear to git a rag of
clothes to wear.”
“Well,” says I calmly wipin’ the butter plate, “if you feel like that, I
don’t see anything to hinder you from goin’ naked. I don’t s’pose they
would like that.”
“Oh no,” says she, ready to burst out a cryin’. “They don’t like it if I
haint dressed up slick. They say I am a stumblin’ block, if I haint as
dressy as the other minister’s wife.”
Says I, “Serepta you are in a bad spot. You seem to be in the same place
the old drunkard’s wife was. He said he’d ‘whip Sally if supper was
ready,’ and he’d ‘whip Sally if it wasn’t.’”
“Yes,” says she, “that is just where I stand. They say I am a pattern
for the church to foller, and so I must be all the time away from home a
workin’ for the heathen and missionary societies, for a minister’s wife
must ‘be given to good works.’ And I must at the same time be to home
all the time a workin’ and a takin’ care of my family, ‘For Sarah kept
the tent.’ I have got to be to home a encouragin’ my husband all the
time, ‘a holdin’ up his arms,’ like Aaron and Hur, and I have got to be
away all the time, a ‘holdin’ up the ark.’ I have got to be to home a
lettin’ out my little boy’s pantaloons, and at the same time away
‘enlargin’ the borders of Zion.’ I have got to give all my time to
convertin’ the heathen or ‘woe be to me,’ and have got to be to home all
the time a takin’ care of my own household, or I am ‘worse than an
infidel.’ And amongst it all,” says she, “there is so much expected of
me, that I git sometimes so worn out and discouraged I don’t know what
to do.”
And Serepta’s tears gently drizzled down into the dish-water, for she
was a washin’, and I was a wipin’.
I rubbed away on a pie plate, a musin’ in deep thought, and then I
segested this to her, in pretty even tones, but earnest and deep:
“Did you ever try a mindin’ your own business, and makin’ other folks
mind theirn?”
“No,” says she meekly. And she sithed as deep as I ever heerd any one
sithe. “I mind my business pretty well,” says she, “but I never tried to
make other folks mind theirn. I wasn’t strong enough.”
“Well,” says I, “before I leave this place, I lay out to make a change.”
Says I, “many is the time I have filled the bottle you was brought up
on, and I haint a goin’ to stand by and see you killed. And before I
leave Shackville, the meetin’ house has got to git offen your back, or
I’ll know the reason why.”
She looked considerable skairt, but I could see it made her feel better
to have somebody to sort o’ lean on. And as we finished our dishes, (the
buttery was full on ’em, she hadn’t had time to half wash ’em the night
before,) she went on and told more of her troubles to me.
She said her husband bein’ a handsome man, the other wimmen in the
church naturally took to him. She said there wasn’t a jealous hair in
the hull of her back hair, or foretop, and her husband’s morals was
known to her to be sound as sound could be, and she said he didn’t like
it no better than she did, this bein’ follered up so uncommon close by
’em. She said it was kinder wearin’ on her to see it go on. But she
meant to be reasonable, knowin’ that ministers was always took to by
wimmen.
“Took to!” says I. “I should think as much!” Says I, “Wimmen are as flat
as pancakes in some things, and this is one of ’em. I have seen a pack
of wimmen before now, a actin’ round a minister, till their actin’ was
jest as good as thoroughwort to my stomach, jest as sickenin’.” Says I,
“I don’t wonder that the ’postle spoke about how beautiful minister’s
feet was. I don’t wonder that he mentioned their feet in particular, for
if ever there was a set of men that needed good feet in a world full of
foolish wimmen, it is them.”
But Serepta sithed, and I see that she was a carryin’ the meetin’ house,
(as it were.) I see that Miss Horn was on her mind, and I pitted her.
She said Miss Horn was the hardest cross she had to bear. She said she
would watch her chimbly for hours, to see what time they got up. And
havin’ the newraligy a good deal, and settin’ up with it, watchin’ with
that and her babies, she sometimes slept till late in the mornin’. And
her husband would git his brain so completely rousted up a writin’ his
sermons that he couldn’t quell it down, and git it quieted off so’s to
rest any till most mornin’. And she said Miss Horn and her hired girl
would rise at daybreak and watch her chimbly, one hour on, and one hour
off, till they see the smoke come out of it, and then one of ’em would
sally out to tell the exact minute to the neighborhood, while the other
got the breakfast. They didn’t try to do anything else only jest cook,
and tend to Serepta and the other neighbors. And their gittin’ up so
early, give ’em a chance to git their housework done, and then have as
many as seven hours apiece left to gossip round the neighborhood. They
made it profitable, dretful, as Miss Horn told Serepta she despised
lazyness.
But Serepta said it made her feel curious, when they would come in and
tell her the exact minute the smoke of her cook stove rose upward, for
she—bein’ in the habit of goin’ to work when she did git up—didn’t have
much time to devote to the pursuit of smoke. She said it was sort o’
wearin’ on her, not so much on the account of their callin’ her lazy,
which she expected and looked out for, but it made her feel as if it was
war time, and she was one of the enemy. She said to think their eyes was
on her chimbly jest as soon as the sun was up, a watchin’ it so close,
it give her a as curious a feelin’ as she ever felt; she felt somehow as
if she was under the military. She said she felt as if she was a tory
more’n half the time, on this very account; it wore on her considerable.
“Why don’t you spunk up Serepta Simmons,” says I, “and tell Miss Horn
and the rest of ’em, that when you git so that you haint nothin’ else to
do but watch other folks’es chimblys, you will hire out for a scarecrow,
and so earn a respectable livin’, and be somebody?”
“Oh,” says she, “Miss Horn wouldn’t like it if I did.”
“Like it!” says I. “I don’t s’pose asalt and batterers love to be took
up and handled for their asaltin’,” and says I, “I had jest as lives
have my body salted and battered, as to have my feelin’s. Oh!” says I
almost wildly, “if I had the blowin’ up of that Horn, I’d give it such a
blast, that there would be no need of soundin’ on it again for years.” I
spoke almost incoherently, for I was agitated to an extreme degree.
But Serepta went on to say that she had “gained thirteen ounces of flesh
last winter, in one month. Miss Horn had been a visitin’ to Loontown to
a brother’s who had died and left her quite a property.” And says she,
“I did hear that she was goin’ to be married to a widower up there, but
I don’t s’pose there is any such good news for me as that. I haint dared
to lot on it much, knowin’ well what a world of sorrow and affliction
this is, and knowin’ that freedom and happiness haint much likely to
ever be my lot. I s’pose the chimbly and I have got to be watched jest
as long as we both live.”
But she didn’t have no time to multiply any more words, for as we looked
out of the buttery winder, we see her husband a walkin’ slowly along
backwards and forwards with his hands under his coat tails, a composin’
a sermon, as I s’posed. But as we looked, he forgot himself, and come up
bunt ag’inst the barn, and hit himself a awful blow on his forward;
Serepta started off on the run to tend to him and head him off.
But that very afternoon I had a chance to speak my mind, and break her
chains. Serepta and I was a settin’ there as contented and happy as you
please, for Serepta was a master hand to love her home, and would have
give the best ear she had, for the priviledge of bein’ let alone to make
a happy home for them she loved, and take care of ’em. She was a mendin’
her 2 boys’ clothes, for they was as ragged as injuns, though truly as
the poet observes,—“she was not to blame.” And I also was a tryin’ in my
feeble way to help her and put a seat into the biggest little boy’s
pantaloons; we had got ’em to bed for that purpose. And as we sot and
worked, we could hear ’em in the room overhead, a throwin’ the pillers,
and talkin’ language that for minister’s childern was scandelous—for she
had had to let ’em run loose, though to quote again the words of the
poet,—“_she_ was not to blame,” havin’ got it into her head that it was
her duty to carry the meetin’ house.
Well, as I was a sayin’, we was a settin’ there, when all of a sudden,
without no warnin’ of no kind, the door opened without no rappin’ on it,
or anything, and in walked what I supposed at the time, was the hull
meetin’ house; I was so wild at first as I beheld ’em, that I almost
expected to see ’em bring in the steeple. I was skairt. But I found by
strict measurement, when my senses come back, that there wasn’t only
sixteen wimmen, and two childern and one old deacon. I heerd afterwards,
that he was the only man they could git to come with ’em to labor with
Serepta. (He was old as the hills, and dretful childish, so they got
round him.)
Men has their faults. None can be more deeply sensible of that great
truth than I am, as I often tell Josiah. But truly, so far as gossip and
meddlin’ and interferin’ with your neighbor’s business is concerned,
wimmen is fur ahead of the more opposite sect. It is mysterious that it
should be so, but so it is, factorum.
[Illustration: A VISIT FROM THE CHURCH.]
Serepta looked white as a white ghost, and ready to sink right down
through the floor into the suller, for from past experience she knew
they had come to labor with her. But I held firm as any rock you can
bring up, Plymouth, or Bunker Hill, or any of ’em. And when they glared
at me, thank fortin I was enabled to do what duty and inclination both
called on me to do, and glare back at ’em, and do a good job in the line
o’ glarin’ too.
They seemed to be as mad at me as they was at Serepta, and madder. But I
wasn’t afraid of any on ’em, and when they all commenced talkin’ to
once, a complainin’ of Serepta and her doin’s and her not doin’s, my
principles enabled me to look at ’em through my specks with a scornful
mean that would have spoke louder than words if they had understood
anything of the language of means.
Finally they all got to talkin’ together, a complainin’. “Why didn’t she
jine the ‘Cumberin’ Marthas?’ Why couldn’t she head the ‘Weepin’ Marys?’
Why don’t she take more interest in the female fellah’s of Cairo? Why
don’t she show more enthusiasm about the heathens and gorillas?”
Just then I heerd the biggest little boy swear like a pirate, and kick
the other one out of bed, and I spoke coldly, very coldly:
“She’ll have a span of gorillas of her own pretty soon if she haint
allowed no time to take care on ’em, she wont have to go to Africa for
’em, either;” says I, “Serepta will show you some male fellahs that will
need more help than any of your female ones, bime-by; she will give you
a good job in the line of heathens to convert in a few years, if things
go on as they are a goin’ on now.”
With that, Serepta burst right out, and wept and cried, and cried and
wept. It affected me awfully, and I spoke right up, and says I:
“Heathens are first rate themes to foller, but there is different ways
of follerin’ ’em;” says I, “some will set their eyes on a heathen in
Africa, and foller him so blindly that there can be ten heathens a
caperin’ right round ’em to home, and they won’t see none on ’em.” And
then I felt so, that I allegoried some, right there on the spot. Says I:
“After a big snow-storm, it may seem noble and grand to go round
sweepin’ off meetin’ housen and etcetery; but in my opinion, duty would
call on a man first, to make a path to the well for his own family, and
the barn, then shovel round freely, where duty called. What good does it
do to go off in foreign pastures a cuttin’ down thistle tops, when you
are a raisin’ a big crop of ’em to home for somebody else to be
scratched by? What advantage to the world at large is it, if a woman
converts one heathen way off in India, and at the same time by neglect,
and inattention and carelessness, raises a crop of seven of ’em in her
own house. My advise to such would be—and so would Josiah’s—work in the
garden God set you over. Try by earnest care and prayer, untirin’
diligent culture and, if need be, an occasional rakin’ down, to keep
your own heathen crop down to the lowest possible state, and then after
you have done this, do all you can for other heathens promiscous.”
But they glared at Serepta more glarin’ than they had before, and says
Miss Horn:—“She wont do nothin’; she is shiftless.” And then I spoke out
in tremblin’ tones, I was so agitated:
“Serepta is my own niece on my father’s side, and I helped to bring her
up on a bottle, and she didn’t nurse a cast-iron strength and a leather
constitution out of it as some of you seem to think she did;” says I,
“such is not the nature of cow’s milk, neither is it the nature of
bottles.” Says I, “If she has got a tender, timid, lovin’ disposition,
and one that is easily influenced, so much the more pity for her in this
state, that Shackville has called her to be in. But as it is, she is
willin’ to be killed, and you with probable religious intentions are
willin’ to kill her.”
Oh how they glared at me; but I kep’ on as firm as Gibbralter: