trust, whose apron string could I cling to, without expectin’ it would
break off short with me? For pretty nigh 2 minutes and a half I had
the horrors almost as bad as Simon Slimpsey, (he has ’em now every day
stiddy, Betsey is so hard on him), but oh how sweetly in that solemn time
there came to me the thought of Josiah. Yes, on that worrysome time I
can truly say that Josiah Allen was my theme, and I thought to myself,
there may be handsomer men than he is, and men that weigh more by the
steelyards, but there hain’t one to be found that has heftier morals,
or more well seasoned principles than he has. Yes, Josiah Allen was my
theme, I felt that I could trust my Josiah. I guess I had got mewsin’
agin on jails and wickedness, and so 4th, for all of a sudden the thought
knocked aginst my heart,
“What if Josiah Allen should go to cuttin’ up, and behavin’?”
I wouldn’t let the thought in, I ordered it out. But it kep’ a hangin’
round,--
“What if your Josiah should go to cuttin’ up?”
I argued with it; says I to myself, I guess I know Josiah Allen, a
likelier man never trod shoe leather. I know him like a book.
But then thinks’es I--what strange critters men and wimmin be. Now you
may live with one for years, and think you know every crook and turn in
that critter’s mind, jest like a book; when lo! and behold! all of a
sudden a leaf will be turned over, that had been glued together by some
circumstance or other, and there will be readin’ that you never set eyes
on before. Sometimes it is in an unknown tongue--sometimes it is good
readin’, and then again, it is bad. Oh how gloomy and depressted I was.
But Josiah Allen’s wife haint one to give up to the horrers without a
tussle, and though inwardly so tosted about, I rose up and with a brow of
calm, I sot my basket of carpet rags behind the door, and quietly put on
the tea-kettle, for it was about time for Josiah to come.
Then I looked round to see if there was anything I could do to make
it look more pleasant than it did for Josiah Allen when he came home
cold and tired from the Jonesville mill. It never was my way to stand
stun still in the middle of the floor and smile at him from half to
three-quarters of an hour. Yet it was always my idee that if a woman
can’t make home the pleasantest spot in the world for her husband, she
needn’t complain if he won’t stay there any more than he can help. I
believe there wouldn’t be so many men a meanderin’ off nights into
grog shops, and all sorts of wickedness, if they had a bright home and
a cheerful companion to draw ’em back, (not but what men have to be
corrected occasionally, I have to correct Josiah every little while.) But
good land! It is all I can do to get Josiah Allen and Thomas Jefferson
out of the house long enough to mop.
I looked round the room, as I said, but not a thing did I see that I
could alter for the better; it was slick as a pin. The painted floor
was a shinin’ like yaller glass, (I had mopped jest before dinner.) The
braided mats, mostly red and green, was a layin’ smooth and clean in
front of the looking-glass, and before the stove, and table. Two or three
pictures, that Thomas Jefferson had framed, hung up aginst the wall,
which was papered with a light colored buff ground work with a red rose
on it. The lounge and two or three rockin’ chairs was cushioned with
handsome copper plate. And Tirzah Ann had got a hangin’ basket of ivy
on the west winder that made that winder look like summer. I’ll bet her
canary hangin’ there in the thickest of the green leaves, thought it was
summer, he sang like it. The stove hearth shone like a silver dollar, and
there was a bright fire, and in a minute the tea-kettle began to sing
most as loud as Whitey, that is her canary’s name. (I mistrust she named
it in that kinder underhanded way, after Whitfield Minkley--though I
never let her know I mistrusted it, but I never could think of any other
earthly reason why she should call it Whitey, for it is as yaller as any
goslin’ I ever laid eyes on.)
I felt that I couldn’t alter a thing round the house for the better. But
as I happened to glance up into the lookin’-glass, I see that although
I looked well, my hair was slick and I had on a clean gingham dress, my
brown and black plaid, still I felt that if I should pin on one of Tirzah
Ann’s bows that lay on the little shelf under the lookin’-glass I might
look more cheerful and pleasant in the eyes of my companion Josiah. I
haint made a practice of wearin’ bows sense I jined the meetin’-house.
And then agin I felt that I was too old to wear ’em. Not that I felt
bad about growin’ old. If it was best for us to have summer all the
year round, I know we should have it. As I have said to Josiah Allen
more’n once when he got kinder doun hearted, says I, Josiah Allen look
up where the stars are shinin’ and tell me if you think that with all
them countless worlds, with all that wealth in His hands, and His lovin’
heart, the Lord begruches anything that is for His children’s good. No! I
am willin’ to take God’s year as it comes, summer and winter.
And then do you s’pose I would if I could by turning my hand over, go
back into my youth agin, and leave Josiah part way down hill alone? No!
the sunshine and the mornin’ are on the other side of the hill, and we
are goin’ down into the shadders, my pardner Josiah and me. But we will
go like Mr. and Mrs. Joseph John, that Tirzah Ann sings about--
“Hand in hand we’ll go
And we’ll sleep together at the foot.”
knowing that beyond them shadders is the sunshine of God’s Great Mornin’.
As I said, I don’t make a practice of wearin’ bows, and this bein’ fire
red, I should have felt a awful backslidin’ feelin’ about wearin’ it, if
I hadn’t felt that principle was upholdin’ me.
Then I drawed out the table, and put on a clean white table-cloth, and
begun to set it. I had some good bread and butter, I had baked that day,
and my bread was white as snow, and light as day, some canned peaches,
and some thin slices of ham as pink as a rose, and a strawberry pie,--one
of my cans had bust that day, and I made ’em up into pies. And then I
brought up some of my very best cake, such as I keep for company--fruit
cake, and delicate cake. And then after I had put on a great piece of
white honey in a glass dish, and some cheese that was like cream for
richness, the table looked well.
I had got the table all set, and had jest opened the door to see if he
was a comin’, when lo! and behold! there he stood on the doorstep--he had
come and put his horses out before I see him. He looked awful depressted,
and before he got the snow half off’en his boots, says he:
“That new whip I bought the other day is gone Samantha. Some feller stole
it while I was gettin’ my grist ground.”
Says I, “Josiah I have been a mewsin’ on the onstiddiness, and wickedness
of the world all day, and now that whip is gone. What is the world a
comin’ to, Josiah Allen?”
Josiah is a man that don’t say much, but things wear on him. His face
looked several inches longer than it usially did, and he answered in a
awful depressted tone:
“I don’t know, Samantha, but I do know, that I am as hungry as a bear.”
“Wall,” says I, soothingly, “I thought you would be, supper’s all on the
table.”
He stepped in, and the very minute that man ketched sight of that
cheerful room, and that supper table, that man smiled. And it wasn’t
a sickly, deathly smile either, it was a smile of deep inward joy and
contentment. And says he in a sweet tone, “it seems to me you have got a
awful good supper to-night, Samantha.”
As I see that smile, and looked into that honest beamin’ face, I jest
turned out them gloomy forebodin’s about him, out of my heart, the whole
caboodle of ’em, and shet the door in their faces. But I controlled my
voice, till it sounded like a perfect stranger to me, and says I:
“Don’t I always get good suppers, Josiah Allen?”
“Yes,” says he, “and good dinners and breakfess’es, too. I will say this
for you, Samantha, there haint a better cook in Jonesville, than you be,
nor a woman that makes a pleasanter home.” And he went on placidly, as he
stood there with his back to the fire a warmin’ him, a lookin’ serenely
round that bright warm room, and ont’ that supper table.
“There haint no place quite so good as home, is there, Samantha? haint
supper about ready?”
[Illustration: THE PLEASANT SUPPER]
Says I, firmly, “The Cause of Right, and the Good of the Human Race will
ever be dear to the soul of her who was formally Samantha Smith. But at
the same time that don’t hender me from thinkin’ a sight of my home, and
from gettin’ good suppers. It will be ready, Josiah, jest as quick as the
tea is steeped, I didn’t want to make it till you come, for bilein’ jest
spiles that last tea you got,” and I went on in tones as firm as Plymouth
Rock, yet as tender as a spring chicken.
“As I have said more’n a hundred times, if it is spelt right there haint
another such a word as home in the English language. The French can’t
spell it at all, and in my opinion that is jest what makes ’em so light
minded and onstiddy. If it is spelt wrong, as in the case of Bobbet and
Slimpsey, it means the horrors, and the very worst kinds of discomfort
and misery. In fact love is the only school-master, that can put out that
word worth a cent. And if it is put out by him, and spelt, for instance,
by a couple who have loved each other for goin’ on fifteen years, with a
firm and almost cast iron affection, why it stands for peace and rest and
comfort, and is the plainest picture God has give us below, kinder as we
put painted pictures in children’s story books, of that great Home above,
where the colors won’t never rub off of the picture, and the peace and
the rest are everlasting.”
I had been real eloquent, I knew it, and Josiah knew it, for that man
looked awful kinder earnest and serene like. He was silent for mebby half
or three quarters of a minute, and then he said in calm, gentle tones:
“I guess I’ll carry the grist up stairs before supper, Samantha, and have
it done with.”
There haint a lazy hair in that man’s head, and for that matter there
haint many of any kind, either smart or shiftless, he grows bald every
day, not that I blame him for it.
He came down stairs, and we sot down to the table, happy as a king and
queen, for all the old world was a caperin’ and cuttin’ up as if it would
go crazy. The little blackslidin’ feelin’ about wearin’ that fire red bow
died away too, as ever and anon, and I don’t know but oftener, I would
look up and ketch the eye of my companion Josiah bent on me in a pleasant
and sort of a admirin’ way. That bow was becomin’ to me I knew. For as
Josiah passed me his cup for his second cup of tea, (no dishwatery stuff,
I can tell you) he says:[1]
“I don’t see what makes you look so young and handsome, to-night,
Samantha, I believe I shall have to go to courtin’ you over agin.”
And I answered him in the same aggreable accents, “I don’t know as the
law could touch you for it Josiah if you did.”
[1] See Frontispiece.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's My Opinions and Betsey Bobbet's, by Marietta Holley