[Illustration: FOR FIVE DAYS HE WUZ SHET UP IN HIS ROOM AND KEP’ ON
BREAD AND WATER.
_Frontispiece._]
SAMANTHA
ON
CHILDREN’S RIGHTS
BY
JOSIAH ALLEN’S WIFE
(MARIETTA HOLLEY)
AUTHOR OF “SAMANTHA AT THE ST. LOUIS EXPOSITION,” “AROUND THE
WORLD WITH JOSIAH ALLEN’S WIFE,” “SAMANTHA AT SARATOGA,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
CHARLES GRUNWALD
[Illustration: (Publisher colophon.)]
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Copyright, 1909, by
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
Samantha on Children’s Rights
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I 7
II 20
III 40
IV 60
V 77
VI 91
VII 106
VIII 123
IX 137
X 149
XI 161
XII 171
XIII 182
XIV 195
XV 212
XVI 224
XVII 233
XVIII 238
XIX 256
XX 270
XXI 283
XXII 287
XXIII 295
XXIV 308
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
For five days he wuz shet up in his room and kep’
on bread and water _Frontispiece_
And then all three on ’em yelled out: “Rubber
neck! Rubber neck!” 49
The mair sot off back to Jonesville, my pardner
runnin’ after her as he still had holt of the
lines 110
She wuz whippin’ little Kate, her face all swelled
up with what she called religious principle 157
I went up into the room and helped him ondress, and
hearn him tell his prayers 220
I drawed him away at a good jog and walked him into
what I thought wuz a place of safety 254
SAMANTHA ON CHILDREN’S RIGHTS
Jack has got a middlin’ round face, with eyes of dark blue. A sort
of mornin’ glory blue, and at times they are big, that is when
he is wonderin’ over sunthin’, or has found out sunthin’. And at
times they will be sort o’ half shet up, like mornin’ glories when
the sun is too hot. Then is the time when he has been wilted by
Hamen and his wife. The fresh, vigorous desire for knowledge born
in him, onbeknown to himself, jest as the freshness of the mornin’
glories wuz born in them, withered and too hardly sot down on by
the searchin’ rays of misapprehension, ridicule, etc., etc.
When he wuz a little bit of a fellow he would always shet his eyes
when he wuz scolded, for half an hour at a time, and walk round
with ’em shet. It seemed as if he wuz some disgusted with the
world, and wanted to lose sight on’t for a spell. Now he about half
shets ’em when he is mortified.
His hair is curly at the ends, it is brown, some like the deep
shinin’ brown you have seen in trout brooks, and where the curls
kinder crinkle up a streak of gold runs through ’em. His forward
is broad and pretty middlin’ white, and high enough, plenty high
enough, and the hair hangs down in little short curls over it the
most of the time.
Tamer Ann, that’s his Ma, don’t like it, she wants it brushed back
tight to show his intellect, and nags at Jack because he don’t keep
it back. Sez she in a very cross tone:
“Folks will think you hain’t got any intellect at all if they see
your hair all over your forward.”
And I sez, “I wouldn’t worry, Tamer Ann, if the intellect is there
it will work out, hair or no hair, and if it hain’t there no amount
of plasterin’ the hair back will show it off--I’ve seen it tried.”
Sez I in a milder tone, seein’ she looked kinder mad:
“I’ve seen hair brushed back straight from the forward so’s to give
a free pass to the intellect, and left long on the neck to entice
it out, but it wouldn’t appear, for the reason it wuzn’t there.
Don’t you worry about Jack, Tamer Ann, you’ll find his intellect
will push its way through them curls--I hain’t a mite afraid on’t.
“And at the same time, Jack,” sez I, for Duty is my companion and
I foller her blindly, “you must try to mind your Ma and keep the
curls back.”
Jack laughed and run his hand through ’em and put ’em back. Jack
always minds me, or, that is, most always.
Now I don’t always mind the Higher Teacher, I don’t always set the
stitches right in the great sampler that is hung up before me from
day to day. It is a true remark that wuz once made at a conference
meetin’ that “We often leave ondone the things that ort to be done,
and do the things that we hadn’t ort.” Then why should I be hard on
Jack when occasionally, very occasionally, mind you, he don’t do
exactly as he ort, or duz as he ortn’t.
You see our Heavenly Father tells us what to do, He has told us
once for all in the divine book, and then He wrops himself in the
Everlastin’ Silence and leaves us to our own convictions, our own
sense of duty to Him. He makes us afraid to disobey Him. His love
constrains us, our sense of duty holds us (a good deal of the time)
and we try (some of the time) to do right for the Right’s sake, and
because of the completeness and constancy of the love and tender
pity broodin’ over us.
Now, I have often wondered what we would do if our Heavenly Father
nagged at us as some parents do at their children, if every time
we make a miss-step, or a mistake, owin’ to the blindness of our
ignorance, or our waywardness, if He kep’ naggin’ at us, and
bringin’ us up short, and threatenin’ us with punishment, and
twitched us about and pulled our ears, and sot us down in corners,
and shet us up in dark closets, and sent us to bed without our
supperses, and told us to, “Shet up instantly!” and etcetery. I
wondered how long we would keep our love and reverence for Him.
Now, a father and mother are to their children the controlling
power, the visible Deity of their lives. They stand in the High
Place in their souls. Let ’em tremble and quail if they don’t hold
that high place reverently, thoughtfully, prayerfully. The making
or the marring of a life, a endless, immortal life, is in their
hands, let ’em tremble at the thought.
Jack’s mouth is a good natered one more’n half the time, most all
the time, when he is down on the farm with Josiah and me (he loves
to be there). It is quite a big mouth, but none too big, not at
all, with red lips, the upper one kinder short, and the ends curl
up in a dretful sort of a laughin’, roguish way. But them curls can
droop right down and the lips quiver like a baby’s--I’ve seen ’em.
That is when he is nagged at. Tamer Ann nags at Jack more’n half
the time.
Jack loves his mother, and that is why the naggin’s reach right
through the little blue jacket and touches his heart. And the
tremblin’ onhappiness of the heart makes the blue eyes shet about
half up in a forlorn way, and the red lips quiver. I’ve seen ’em.
Why, good land! Jack hain’t much more than a baby anyway, only
about six and a half years old. He’s a stout little feller, and
most always wears a dark blue cloth suit with a little sailor hat
sot kinder back on his curls if he puts it on himself. And I don’t
want to see a better lookin’ boy than Jack is. His father is my
cousin on my own side.
Hamen Archibald Smith, old Elder Archibald Smith’s boy. Hamen is
well off, he owns a big farm and a shingle mill up in Zoar, about
seven miles from Jonesville on the old State Road. Hamen’s wife is
a female he got acquainted with while he wuz away to school (Hamen
is high learnt). His father sent him away for upwards of seven
months to a high school, and then he got acquainted with Tamer Ann
Bodley and married her. She wuz from a high family, she herself is
over six feet high and spindlin’ in figger. She wuz to school to
the same place. She had been there over nine weeks when Hamen got
acquainted with her.
Their love wuz sudden and voyalent, and they married at the
expiration of the term and left school and sot up housekeepin’,
both of ’em bein’ high learnt, and havin’ traveled. Why, they went
over forty milds on their weddin’ tower. And the high school where
they got acquainted wuz upwards of thirty milds from Zoar.
Havin’ had all these advantages and bein’ forehanded, they
naterally put on some airs, and wuz looked up to. They did make
a handsome, high headed couple, I’ll say that for ’em. Hamen wuz
about a inch or a inch and a half taller than she wuz.
Well, how time duz run along to be sure. It don’t seem like a year
hardly sence we got the invitation to the weddin’ party Uncle
Archibald gin to the bride and groom at the old Smith house out
to Piller Pint. And now Hamen’s oldest child, Anna, is goin’ on
nineteen years old. How time duz pass away! Why, I declare for’t,
if it wuzn’t for these great tall livin’ mildstuns springin’ up all
along life’s journey we could hardly believe our old family Bibles,
and would deny our ages.
But these livin’ mildstuns can’t be gone by, they stand up straight
and tall, and we have to stop and read ’em, and then we see for
ourselves how fur we have come on the journey and how fast we are
approachin’ the great Stoppin’ Place for the Night. Anna Smith is
a good lookin’ mildstun. She is plump and fresh and sweet lookin’.
I like Anna and Anna likes me. Her brother, next younger than
herself, is named Cicero. Her Ma named him after some big man, old
Captain Cicero, it seems to me it wuz, anyway he wuz a big talker
and died some time ago.
Cicero Smith is now about fifteen years old, he is dull complected,
kinder frosty and onwholesome lookin’, with great big round eyes,
kinder pale and wild lookin’, some like gooseberries. His hair is
thin and strings down the side of his face like little wisps of
pale yeller straw, only of course some finer. His hands always
felt kinder clammy, and he takes after his Ma in figger, tall and
scraggly and spindlin’.
I never took to him at all nor he to me, he always wuz a
indifferent actin’ chap even in his cradle. He’d turn over in his
cradle when he wuz a infant and look at the rungs in the back side
on’t when I would try to git his attention, and I hain’t never been
able to git it sence. Jest as quick as he wuz old enough to read
he jest took to dime novels. His mother encouraged it, she said it
nourished a love for readin’, and would make him literary. He and
his mother, I spoze, have read more’n twenty cords of ’em if they
wuz corded up and measured with a yard stick, and most every one on
’em yeller covered and harrowin’.
I have told Tamer Ann that they wuzn’t good for her or Cicero to
devour so much. But good land! I couldn’t move her a inch. She kep’
on readin’ ’em and givin’ ’em to him to read, and the more blood
curdliner they wuz the more they doted on ’em. Why, I should have
thought their blood would have turned to ice in their veins, and
their skin got thick as a elephant’s hide with goose pimples caused
by the horrow of ’em; why, their names wuz enough to skair anybody
to death, let alone readin’ ’em. Anna never took to ’em, she seemed
to take after the Smiths more, so I think, and Jack of course
hain’t old enough, and I don’t believe he’ll ever love ’em anyway.
Hamen’s brother lived at their house when Jack wuz born, and he’s
made it his home with ’em ever sence. His name is John Zebulen
Smith, named after old Grandpa Smith.
And as he wuz always called John, why, they called little John
Jack, when he wuz a baby, to keep him from gittin’ mixed up with
his uncle and bein’ took for him, so he has always gone by the name
of Jack. And Jack from the first on’t has been a favorite of mine,
a great favorite. And I always felt so safe with him; I knew he
wouldn’t die from bein’ too good, as so many little Sabbath school
heroes do.
And yet he wuz always a noble child, truthful as the day wuz long.
He would scorn to tell a lie, he wuz too proud to. If he had done
anything he would own up to it, most every time he would. And he
had naterally a religious mind, I believed, though sometimes Josiah
would laugh the idee to scorn when Jack would git into one of his
scrapes. He wuz kinder lazy some of the time, and opposition,
onreasonable opposition, made him mad, and he would contend to
the last minute when he got to goin’. And he had been fooled by
Hamenses folks so much that he had got into the habit of keepin’
still and studyin’ out things for himself. The fools! they would
tell him such stories, lies, a purpose to keep him wonderin’ and to
hear him talk, that he had got sort o’ embittered and tried to rely
on himself to find out strange things. It wuz pitiful as anything I
ever see, and sometimes I thought pitifuler.
Now, spozin’ he wanted to find out some particular thing so
dretfully it seemed as if he couldn’t live a minute without knowin’
about it, he would ask Hamen and Hamen would tell him the greatest
story you ever hearn, and Jack would listen to it at first, and
talk about it, curous, I’ll admit, but not curous at all if it wuz
true.
And then Hamen and his brother would laugh like two idiots to see
Jack’s wonderin’ looks, and shamed and mortified and everything.
And then he would go to Tamer Ann, but Tamer would most likely
have some new dime novel that she’d just commenced, and would be
so wropped up in the joys and sorrows of the heroine, and would be
cryin’ over her lots of times, so she couldn’t see Jack through
her tears, and she would have to wipe her eyes when Jack disturbed
her, and tell him all choked down by her emotions to run away, that
his Ma wuz too busy to answer him, or else she would have some new
distemper that day, and tell Jack to run away for his noise wuz
killin’ her.
Well, what wuz the poor little feller to do? Everything wuz new to
him, he had so many things that he wanted to find out, what could
he do? Wall, there wuz only one thing he could do, and that wuz to
try to find ’em out for himself. Tamer Ann bein’ a good woman at
the bottom of her heart (but the goodness bein’ all covered up with
nonsense, dime novels, fancy distempers, etc.), she sent Jack to
Sunday school.
And everything there wuz new to him. Tamer Ann had, I spoze, been
willin’, but had never had the time to teach Jack the Bible. Havin’
so many heroines, pirates, etc., to drive along in front of her
mind, she naterally hadn’t any room for the apostles and prophets.
The procession of lovely bein’s and hoary villains wuz big, and
the thoroughfare small (Tamer’s mind I mean). And when a woman is
huntin’ round for new fancy distempers, what time has she to tell a
child about the Babe of Bethlehem?
No, Jack didn’t know a thing about the Bible, and the female Sunday
school teacher he went to wuz a Born Baptist, she wuzn’t as you
may say a woman, a female citizen, or human bein’, she wuz jest
Baptist, plain Baptist.
And so the food poor little Jack had put before him at that Sabbath
school wuz hard, sound food. Good doctrine, but tough, fearful
tough. Well, Jack accepted it jest as he did every new thing, and
then, as his first move always wuz, he went to investigatin’ it
himself.
She told him, with no explanation, that if any one prayed in faith
their prayers would be answered. It wuz a new idee to Jack, and he
wuz agitated over it. He asked his father that night if it wuz so,
and told Hamen about the Lamb appearin’ to Abraham, and sez Jack:
“If I had faith would my prayers be answered?”
“Yes,” sez Hamen, “if you should pray to have it rain down candy,
down it would come.”
Sez Jack, “Would the lamb appear?” That seemed to be uppermost in
his mind.
“Yes,” sez Hamen, “the lamb would appear, and mebby a hull drove of
’em.”
And then Hamen looked at John and winked, and they both snickered,
the fools! Well, Jack see that they wuz makin’ fun of him, and he
kinder meached away with his mornin’ glory blue eyes most shot up.
Poor little creeter! little, lonesome, abused creeter!
And when he got over his mortification a little he resolved to
investigate for himself. So he went out in the kitchen and built up
a fire in the stove, took off all the griddles, and piled on the
wood as nigh as Abraham did as he could in a cook stove, accordin’
to a picter the Born Baptist had shown him. He got a good hot fire
goin’, and then he took a book, a costly book that Hamen had gin to
Jack, thinkin’ that though it wuz pretty old for him now, he would
grow up to it. It wuz full of costly engravin’s, and wuz the thing
that Jack loved best of all his possessions.
So he laid that book on the hot griddles, and then knelt down and
prayed for God not to burn it up. He lifted his voice loud in
prayer. Tamer Ann, who heard him, thought that he wuz preachin’, as
he often did.
So she didn’t interfere, and she wuz at that very minute
mistrustin’ she had got a new distemper. She had bumped her knee
gittin’ down to look under the bed after a dime novel, “The Wild
Princess of the Enchanted Forest,” and wuz some in hopes that she
had got the sinevetus. But pretty soon she smelt a smudge, and she
run out and there wuz the valuable book all burnt and shriveled up,
and poor little Jack kneelin’ there with the tears runnin’ down
his cheeks in copious astorents and he a moanin’ to himself, and
groanin’ out:
“Oh, the Lord might a done it if He had wanted to!” and “Oh, the
lamb didn’t come!” and “Oh, He didn’t save my book!” And so on and
so on.
Well, Tamer Ann didn’t take the poor little mourner and seeker
after truth to her heart and wipe away his tears and tell him all
about it, all she could tell, all any of us can tell, which is
little enough, Heaven knows. No, she jest whipped him severely.
And when he tried to tell her what he did it for, how the teacher
had told him that it wuz so, she told him to stop instantly and to
not say another word to her about it, but to go to bed without his
supper for his naughtiness. And poor little Jack had to meach off
to bed and lay there with his little mind workin’ on and workin’
on, his hungry stomach makin’ his brain all the more active.
Tamer Ann might whip his tongue still, but she couldn’t stop his
mind from workin’. No, the one that set that machinery to goin’ wuz
the only one who could stop it. As he had told his Ma once, “You
can make me keep my tongue still, but you can’t stop my thinker.”
No, Tamer Ann couldn’t whip that still.
Well, the poor little creeter lay and pondered over what could have
caused the failure of his plans. And he finally made up his mind
that his sacrifice wuzn’t costly enough.
He loved the book the best of anything he owned, but the B. B. had
told him that he must offer up what he loved best of anything in
the world. And he remembered, too, in the story of Abraham it wuz a
livin’ sacrifice. Why hadn’t he thought of it? Why, it must be his
mother, of course. For, by that mystery of love born in the deep
silence and perils of maternity, Jack loved his mother the best of
all, and Tamer loved him (in her way).
Well, from that time Tamer Ann wuz doomed in Jack’s eyes, set apart
as a costly oblation to be offered up on the altar of sacrifice,
and he begun to watch her so mysterious like, and kinder prowl
round her in such a strange way that they all noticed it. He went
to Sabbath school agin in the meantime, and wuz agin fed on the
sound, hard food that would almost have cracked the teeth of a
adult, but which poor little Jack wuz expected to chew on and
digest (poor little creeter!)
And agin the subject wuz Faith, and agin the story of Abraham wuz
brung up, and agin they wuz admonished and adjured to sacrifice
what they loved the best of all, if they would be rewarded, and see
the lamb of sacrifice, snow white and glorious, appear at their
right hand.
Jack’s eyes grew bigger and bigger, and his plans seemed nearer
fulfilment. He wanted to do right and he wanted the lamb. He
thought he could make a pen for it back of the woodshed. But, above
all, the fervor of a martyr had been waked up in his ardent young
soul. He felt lifted up and inspired. He would obey the Lord.
He would do his duty regardless of his own feelings. He would
sacrifice his best beloved.
That evenin’ Tamer wuz settin’ peaceful readin’ “Lost Eudora of the
Gulch; or, The Becalmed Elephant,” when she heard a movement behind
her and she looked round and there Jack wuz applyin’ a match to
a string that wuz tied round her belt and wuz trailin’ along the
carpet. He wuz jest as pale as death and wuz cryin’, but looked
resolved. He wuz settin’ fire to his mother, sacrificin’ his best
beloved, according to the commandment of the B. B.
Well, Jack looked so woe-be-gone and agitated, and the string
looped into the belt and layin’ down on the floor like a train laid
to a gunpowder plot looked so curous, that Jack wuz questioned, and
it all came out. Well, I spoze that there never wuz a child whipped
harder than that child wuz. He bore the marks for days and days.
Tamer has got a dretful temper, everybody knows that, I hain’t
tellin’ any news.
And for five days he wuz shet up in his room and kep’ on bread and
water, and not one word said to him in all that time of comfort and
sympathy or enlightenment. But they whipped the idee of sacrifice
entirely out of him, and faith. For the next time the subject of
faith come up in the Sunday school, and the B. B. wuz holdin’ forth
all the beauties of faith, and the sureness of its rewards, Jack’s
little voice piped out:
“There hain’t a word of truth in it; for my folks say so, and I
know that there hain’t, for I’ve tried it for myself.”
Oh, the poor little creeter! not knowin’ one word of the divine
faith of which the story he heard wuz the symbol. Of how when
the dearest and best is offered up on the altar of a divine
renunciation, God sends His peace and His rest into our lives like
snow white lambs, and all sacrifices seem easy for His sake who
gave us His best. Poor little Jack! not a word of this, not a word
of common sense even, nothin’ but whippin’s and tellin’s to “shet
up instantly!”
Poor little creeter!
CHAPTER II
My son, Thomas Jefferson, and his wife, Maggie, have got a little
daughter, it wuz very pleasin’ to Josiah and me, and weighed over
nine pounds. It is now most ten months old, and is, with the
exception of my other grandchildren, the most beautiful child that
wuz ever seen in Jonesville, some foolish folks would think I wuz
prejudiced in its favor, but it is the prevailin’ opinion all over
Jonesville, it has been talked to Thomas Jefferson and Maggie and
Josiah and me repeatedly, so we have got to believe it, for what we
know ourselves and the neighbors know to be a fact must be so.
Its name is Snow, after the little one that went home and left
them. You know Maggie’s name wuz Snow, she is Maggie Snow that wuz,
and I wuz in favor of the child bein’ named after her, in fact, as
it may be remembered, I named the child, it wuz left to me.
“Mother,” sez Thomas J., the first time I went there after the
first little Snow came and I see the baby layin’ on Maggie’s arm:
“Mother,” sez he, and, though there wuz a smile on his lips, there
wuz tears in his voice as he said it, “nobody else shall name my
little girl but you.”
“No,” spoke out my daughter, Maggie, smilin’ sweet from her pillow,
“you must name it, Mother.”
The children like me, nobody can dispute that, not even my worst
enemy, if I had one, but then nobody would believe him, anyway, for
he would be a perfect liar. But, as I wuz sayin’, I looked down on
’em, Maggie’s face looked white and sweet out of the muslins and
laces round her, the bed wuz white as snow, and so wuz she, and the
baby wuz white. And Maggie’s soul wuz white, I knew, white as snow,
and so wuz Thomas Jefferson’s, his morals are sound, extremely
sound and light colored, and the baby’s, God bless it! I knew wuz
like the newly driven snow fallin’ down onto the peaceful earth
that blessed day, and so, sez I kinder soft:
“We’ll call the baby Snow.”
And I bent down and kissed Maggie, and Thomas Jefferson kissed us
both, and the thing wuz done, their little girl wuz named Snow. And
I said, “Try to bring her up so’s the name will be appropriate to
her.”
And they both on ’em said they would, and they did. Oh, what a
beautiful child that wuz, but it melted away like its namesake
in a April day, drawn up to its native heaven by the warm sun of
God’s love, and when this baby come to fill its place I wanted
it called Snow, and they all did, and that’s its name, she is a
very beautiful child, and they are bringin’ her up beautiful. Her
behavior for a child ten months of age is the most exemplary I ever
see (with the exception of my other grandchildren), it is a perfect
pattern to other children to see that child behave.
I despise now, and always have despised, the idee of grandparents
bein’ so took up with their grandchildren that they can’t see their
faults, it is dretful to witness such folly. But, as I have said to
Josiah and to others, “What are you goin’ to do when there hain’t
any faults to see? How be you a-goin’ to see ’em?” Why, there
hain’t any reason in tryin’ to see things that hain’t there. If
Delight and Snow and my other grandchildren ever have any faults
I shall be the first one to see ’em, the very first one, and so I
have told Josiah and the neighbors.
This little Snow is very white complected, and her eyes are jest
the softened shade of the deep velvet blue of the pansy, and her
hair is kinder yellowish, and curls in loose rings and waves all
over her head, all round her white forward and satin smooth neck.
She has got the same sweet smile on her lips that her Ma has, and
little angel Snow had, but the look in her eyes, though they hain’t
the same color, is like my boy, Thomas Jefferson’s, they look
kinder cunning and cute some of the time jest like his, and then
deep and tender jest like hisen. Thomas Jefferson is deep, it has
been gin up that he is, it is known now all over Jonesville and out
as fur as Loontown and all the other adjacent villages, that Thomas
J. is deep.
I knew it when he wuz a child, I found it out first, but now
everybody knows it, why the bizness that boy gits is perfectly
oncommon, folks bring their lawsuits to him from as fur as way
beyend Toad Holler and the old State Road, and all round Zoar, and
Loontown, and Jonesville, why milds and milds they’ll fetch ’em
ruther than have anybody else, and the land is perfectly full of
lawyers, too, painfully full. He and Tom Willis, his confidential
clerk, have more than they can do all the time, they have to employ
one or two boys, they are makin’ money fast.
Well, I spozed that seein’ Thomas J. wuz doin’ so well, and Maggie’s
father havin’ left her a handsome property of her own (the Judge
died of quinsy, lamented some years ago), I spozed, seein’ she wuz
abundantly able and its bein’ so fashionable, that Maggie would
have a nurse for her little girl. But the day the child wuz a month
old I spent the day with ’em, and Maggie told me she wuzn’t goin’
to. She looked kinder delicate as she sot there holdin’ little
Snow, her cheeks wuz about as white as the dress she had on, and I
sez, “It is goin’ to be quite a care for you, daughter.”
“Care!” And as she looked up in my face I wuz most struck with
the look in her big eyes, it wuz a look of such tenderness, such
rapture, such anxiety, such wonder, and most everything else; I
declare for it I never see such a look in my life unless it wuz in
the face of the Madonna hangin’ right up over her head. Thomas J.
bought it and gin it to her a few months before, and it hung right
at the foot of her bed. The Virgin mother and her child.
It wuz a beautiful face, Thomas J. thought it favored Maggie, and
I don’t know but it did, it did jest that minute, anyway, she had
the same look in her eyes that Mary had. Well, if you’ll believe it
right while we wuz talkin’ about that baby, Miss Green Smythe come
in to see Thomas Jefferson, she is tryin’ to git some divorces, and
she wants Thomas J. to undertake the job, she is dretful good to
Maggie and flatters Thomas Jefferson up, but Thomas J. won’t take
the case, unless he sees he is on the right side.
Thomas Jefferson Allen has took his Ma’s advice; he has never,
never took holt of a case that he didn’t think honestly and firmly
he wuz on the right side on’t. He has got the name of bein’ a
honest lawyer, and they say folks come milds and milds jest to look
on him, they consider him such a curosity. That’s jest why he gits
so much custom, folks would ruther see him than a circus, he bein’
such a rariety, and then when they see him they like him, they
can’t help it, and so he gits their custom.
I told Thomas J. when he wuz young to do right for the right’s
sake, sez I, “Thomas J., I despise that old proverb, ‘Honesty is
the best policy.’ I don’t want you to do anything out of policy,”
sez I, “do right for the right’s sake, for the sake of God’s truth
and your own soul. You can’t like yourself, nor God can’t like you
if you do a mean, shabby, contemptible act. Do jest as near right
as you can, Thomas Jefferson Allen, and leave success or failure
with Him who sees into your soul and your future clear to the end,
if there is a end, which I don’t spoze there is. You had better be
a failure outside than inside.” Sez I, “Let the one who can see
inside of you look down into a clean soul, and even if you are
covered with rags outside your Ma will be satisfied.”
So I would say to Thomas J. from day to day and from year to year
in his school days. And when he went into the law, sez I, “Thomas
Jefferson, it may be my lot to see you torn by wild horses and
layin’ on a guillontine, but,” sez I, “though that would kill your
Ma, it would kill her quicker to see and hear that you had got up
in cold blood and wuz tryin’ to prove that a lie wuz the truth, and
that the truth wuz a lie, usin’ all the intellect and power the God
of truth give to prove a untruth, to go against Him, against your
conscience, against your soul.”
Sez I, “Cases can be plastered over with all the thick plaster you
can lay on ’em about duty to clients, expediency, etc., etc. But
if a man is guilty he ort to be punished, and if he is innocent
he hadn’t ort to be punished, and if you ever take the part of
the guilty against the innocent, if you git up under God’s pure
daylight and try to prove that the innocent is guilty, try and
prove a lie, your Ma will not live long to see it go on,” sez I,
“for mortification would set in powerful and so deep that it will
soon end her days.”
Thomas Jefferson hearn to me, he wuz a honest boy by nature, and my
teachin’s have struck in deep. He is a honest lawyer, and as I say
folks come milds and milds jest to look at him. As it has turned
out he is a success outside as well as inside.
And Miss Green Smythe wants him to take her case dretfully. Good
land! she’s been in the law for years, her children have turned
out real bad, and she’s turned out sort o’ curous herself. She is
a great society woman, and has enormous success in that direction;
why, she has been, so I have been told and believe, to nineteen
parties in one night, she gives immense receptions, and has got
diamonds as big as eggs almost (bird’s eggs, I cannot lie, I do not
mean hen’s eggs). Yes, she has had great success in that way, but
she has had dretful poor luck with her children.
She has got a husband somewhere, I spoze. I believe that I hearn
once of somebody who had seen Mr. Green Smythe one day settin’ on
the back doorstep of her city house. But she always has two or
three young men danglin’ round, and she never sez a word about her
husband. Somebody said to me one day that it seemed kinder queer
that nobody ever see Mr. Smythe, but I sez:
“Oh, she most probable knew where he wuz; she most probable knew
that he wuz settin’ out there at the back door.”
I will stand up for my sect when I can, but I don’t approve of her
acts not at all; if I had a husband I should want one, and if I
didn’t have a husband I shouldn’t want one, and I should want it
fixed so I should know jest how it wuz.
But as I say, her children have turned out dretful, and most
everybody thinks that it wuz the way they wuz brung up that made
’em turn out so. She left the hull care of ’em to hired nurses
and servants, and they wuz mean, some of ’em, and neglected ’em
sometimes, and sometimes learnt ’em by precept and example to be as
mean as they wuz.
Why, a woman told me, and a likely woman, too, though I won’t
mention any names, as I am afraid she wouldn’t like it if I did,
but I will say that I always could depend on every word that Alvira
Sampson said.
Well, she told me she called Miss Green Smythe’s attention to the
way her children wuz bein’ dealt with by her help, and she said all
the answer Miss Green Smythe made wuz to look kinder dreamily at
her and wonder whether she had better have yellow or pink candles
in her reception room at her next party; she wuz gittin’ up a
Charity Ball for motherless children. And I told Alviry that Miss
Green Smythe had better include her own children in the charity,
for they wuz jest about the same as motherless.
And this certain woman said she tried to draw her attention agin to
the needs of her own offspring, and agin Miss Green Smythe looked
dreamily up and sez, “I am so ondecided whether to wear pale rose
colored chiffon or cloth of gold on the night of the party.” And
then that certain woman said she gin up the idee of gittin’ her
mind onto her own children’s welfare, she didn’t say another word
to her about it, and I believe her, for Alvira won’t lie.
So Miss Green Smythe wuz left with a anxious contemplation of the
color of the light that wuz goin’ to softly gild the heads of her
guests as they talked of the cruel needs of the motherless, and,
bein’ took up with this, she hadn’t time to worry about the evil
glare of vile and corrupt words and ways, deceit and lies, and
worse, that wuz fallin’ on the heads of her own children.
But to resoom forwards agin. Maggie and I wuz settin’ there calm
and peaceful, and saw the colored nigger’s countenance lookin’
round dretful clever from his high seat.
Miss Green Smythe swep’ up the neat gravel walk to the door, and
in a few minutes entered the room. She is a kinder good natured
little woman, but dretful wore out and haggard lookin’ under the
embellishments she uses to cover up the ravages of time and care
and fashionable ambition and worry. She always dresses in the very
height of fashion, but she has too many feathers and flowers and
danglin’ ends of ribbon to suit me.
I never took any fancy to her, though I spoze I ort to feel
complimented on her comin’ clear from New York to git Thomas
Jefferson to try her lawsuit. Her present husband is a distant,
a very distant, relation of ourn. But I don’t spoze that makes
any difference about her employin’ Thomas J., I spoze it is his
smartness that draws her. She is spendin’ the summer at a summer
hotel not fur off, she and her family, and she is tryin’ to git
some divorces for herself and one of her children. She don’t want
a divorce from Smith, Mr. Green Smythe gives her rope enough.
I guess she feels pretty foot loose, ’tennyrate nobody ever
sees him, though they know there is a husband somewhere in the
background grubbin’ away to make money. They say he is a sad and
humble sperited man, who sets a good deal on their back doorstep
at Newport and New York, when he sets anywhere, a modest, bald
headed man, with iron gray mustache and sad eyes. They say he don’t
seem at home in the palatial front rooms and boodoors, and is
kinder trompled on by the high headed servants in livery. But he,
knowin’, I spoze, that he could turn ’em all out, neck and crop and
leathered legs, if he wanted to, bears it pretty well, and sets out
there and reads the daily papers. And sometimes I have hearn holds
an old degariotype in his hand, and will look at it a long time,
of a pretty young country girl that he loved when he wuz young
and poor, and prized ambition and wealth a good deal more than he
duz now. They say he looks at that a sight, and some letters writ
by “Alice” and some little sprigs of old fashioned runnin’ myrtle
that has opened its blue flowers for many summers over a grave on a
country hillside.
They commenced to bloom about a year after he married the rich
widder Green, whose money put with his made him rich as a Jew.
She had three husbands, Miss Green Smythe had, before she married
Smith; Smith then but Smythe now. Her first husband, Sam Warn, he
don’t count much in her thoughts, so I’ve hearn, bein’ young and
poor, and havin’ married him for love, so called, and he her. He
died in a few years, died from overwork, everybody said. He wuz
tryin’ to work over hours to pay for a melodeon for his wife and
a pair of bracelets; she wuz ambitious then in her young and poor
days, ambitious as a dog. He died leavin’ her nothin’ but the
twins, Eudora Francesca and Medora Francina.
Her next husband wuz old Green, he wuz goin’ on eighty when she
married him, and he died in less than a year, leavin’ her with over
two millions. Her next husband, Emery Tweedle, father of Algernon
and Angenora, wuz much younger than herself, and I didn’t wonder at
that so much as some did, thinkin’ that she wanted to sort o’ even
up the ages of her pardners, and he wuzn’t nigh as much younger
than her as Green wuz older, and I always believed (theoretically)
that sass for the goose and sass for the gander might as well be
about the same age.
Howsumever, they didn’t live happy, he throwin’ her downstairs the
third year of their union and throwin’ a cut glass pitcher on top
of her. The occasion bein’ that she found him tryin’ to help the
pretty parlor maid carry upstairs the pitcher of ice water she had
rung for.
She wuz a real pretty parlor maid, and Miss Tweedle by this time,
havin’ run so hard after fashion, had got kinder worn out lookin’
and winded in the race, as you may say, with lots of small wrinkles
showin’ round the eyes and nose, and real scrawny where her figger
wuzn’t veneered and upholstered for company, and the parlor maid
had a plump figger, and complexion like strawberries and cream, but
wuzn’t considered likely. But ’tennyrate that fall precipitated
affairs, and havin’ got up with little Eudora Francesca’s help,
Miss Tweedle’s first move wuz to sue for a divorce.
Her back wuz hurt considerable, and so wuz her pride, but her heart
not at all, so it wuz spozed, for she married him in the first
place, not for love, but because he could sing bass good, she had
a high terible voice, and their voices went well together. He wuz
poor, and she made the first advances, so they said, bein’ anxious
to secure his bass.
And didn’t it turn out queer as a dog that when she married for
bass she got such a sight of it, she got more than she bargained
for. She had never made any inquiries about him, and found out,
when it wuz too late, that his voice wuzn’t the only base thing
about him. He wuz real mean and tried to throw her out of the
second story winder before they had been married two weeks. That
wuz because she wouldn’t deed all her property to him. But she knew
enough to hang onto her property, and he, bein’ so poor, hung onto
her off and on for a little over two years. They got along somehow,
and when she and affairs wuz finally precipitated, they had two
children, which the law give to her, about a year and a half old.
And about two months after the seperation she had another child,
Angelia Genevieve, but she didn’t live only a year or so, havin’
crep’ up and fell into the bathtub, and wuz drowned, her Ma bein’
at a masked ball at the time.
Well, she got a Western divorce and married Mr. Ebenezer Smith, and
spozed that the Tweedle eppisode wuz over. But after lettin’ her
alone for years, Tweedle, bein’ base clear to his toes, and havin’
run through his property and had reverses, wuz botherin’ Miss Green
Smythe, and demandin’ money of her. He said there wuz some legal
error in the divorce papers, and he wuz threatenin’ her bad.
Well, she wuz in a hard place and I felt sorry for her. And then
her girls had had sights of trouble, too, the two girls, Eudora
Francesca and Medora Francina Warn, that wuz their right name, but
their Ma thought that Green Smythe sounded fur more genteel, so she
called ’em by that name, they have had dretful bad luck. Eudora’s
nurse wuz a good faithful creeter (that wuz after her Ma had
married old Green, good land! she nussed ’em herself till then).
But as I was sayin’, Eudora’s nurse wuz a valuable woman but had
one fault; she would drink once in a while, and it wuz when she had
one of her drunken fits that she dropped the little girl onto the
marble hearth and hurt her spine, she suffered dretful and went to
a private hospital the year her Ma wuz in Europe for the fifteenth
time, the nurse stayin’ with her and cryin’ over her lots of times,
they say, for she had a good heart.
Well, she stayed there for years till she got to be a young woman,
while Miss Green Smythe took Medora Francina round with her
considerable. She had a great-aunt on her Pa’s side, Karen Happuck
Warn, who wuz as rich as Creshus, her husband havin’ made his money
in a coal mine discovered on his rocky old farm up in Maine.
Well, this old lady bein’ left without chick or child of her own,
what should Miss Green Smythe do but take Medora Francina up there
visitin’! And I spoze she done it from pure ambition and wantin’
to advance her child’s interests, she told her aunt that Medora’s
name wuz Karen Happuck Warn, and she called her all the time she
wuz there Karen Happuck. Well, that tickled the old lady dretfully,
and she seemed to like Medora first rate, and her Ma left her there
most a year, while she went off, I believe it wuz to Algeria that
time, or Cairo or somewhere.
The Warns wuz dretful religious folks, and Medora wuz under better
influences that year than she ever wuz before or since, I spoze,
and she enjoyed herself first rate, and realized the beauty of
a good honest life, of duty and labor and simple pleasures and
domestic happiness. She fell in love up there with a handsome young
lumberman, Hatevil White, and would have liked to married him, he
wuz a distant, a very distant relation to old Miss Warn, though she
didn’t have much to do with him then.
Well, they fell in love with each other, and I guess it would made
a match, but Miss Green Smythe couldn’t bear to have Medora marry a
common Mr. and a lumberman at that, she hankered after a title in
her family, so she took her home to New York and there she met her
titled man. You know that in one of the big hotels there you can
always see a hull row of ’em settin’ in the hall, lookin’ out for
rich wives; they write their letters from that hotel and hang round
there, but sleep, it is spozed, in some hall bedroom downtown, and
eat where they can, but they are real lucky in findin’ pardners,
and there Medora found hern. He wuz quite good lookin’, and, owin’
to his title, a great pet amongst the four hundred. Why, they all
wanted to marry him, the hull four hundred, or all of ’em that
hadn’t got some husbands, mebby three hundred or so. But Medora
carried off the prize, her Ma wanted the title in the family, and
he wanted Medora’s money; she wuz spozed then, besides her own
money, to be the heiress of her aunt.
But he turned out, as so many titled men do that hang round that
400 in New York, to be a imposter. He wuzn’t a Baron, he wuz
formerly a valley, or that is what they call it, to a real titled
man, and from him he had got the ways of high life, good dressin’,
flowery, flattering language, drinkin’, billiard playin’, etc.,
etc. Well, he spent Medora’s money, and broke her heart, and I
believe a few of her bones; he wuz a low brute, and I don’t blame
her for wantin’ a divorce.
She left the sham Baron after her bones wuz sot and went up to
Maine agin, and some say she made overtoors to that Hatevil White,
but he wuz true to his name and wouldn’t marry the fickle creeter
who had deceived him once. And then by that time (men’s hearts are
so elastic) he had got in love with a pretty young school teacher,
and married her the next year after these overtoors, and her aunt,
having found out how she wuz deceived in regard to Medora’s name,
left her hull property when she died to this distant relation,
Hatevil White.
So poor Medora Francina felt that her Ma had ondone her for the
second time. She has got a high temper, and her tongue is the
worst scourge Miss Green Smythe has to stand, they fight perfectly
fearful, so they say. Well, to resoom backwards a spell. About the
time Medora wuz married Eudora’s disease seemed to take another
form, it kinder went to her head, but she appeared well enough, and
could walk round as well as anybody. So, as she wuz very beautiful,
the handsomest one in the family, her mother took her home and had
teachers and learnt her what she could and made of her. And it wuz
the next winter after she went home to live that she ran away with
the coachman.
Her mother had to go to Europe agin that winter, ’twas the
twenty-fourth time, I believe; but, ’tennyrate, she wuz there. But
she left Eudora in the care of a very accomplished and fashionable
French governess. Miss Green Smythe didn’t have time to learn much
about this governess, she wuz so busy gittin’ her trueso ready
for her journey, and in givin’ a big fancy ball before she sailed,
so she couldn’t take the time to find out much about this woman,
and she wuz dretful romantick and kinder mean, and Eudora wuz
completely under her influence.
The governess thought this coachman wuz a Marquiz in disguise, son
of a long line of Earls, he said he wuz, when questioned about it.
But he wuzn’t no such thing; his Pa wuz in the peanut line on the
Bowery. The governess would have gladly married him herself, but
she wuz older and kinder humbly, so he proposed to Eudora, and
they run away and wuz married. There wuz no need of their runnin’
away, there wuz no one to interfere with ’em, for Mr. Green Smythe
out on the back steps wouldn’t have noticed what wuz goin’ on. But
the governess thought it would be so much more romantick to depart
by midnight sarahuptishusly, so I spoze she helped rig up a rope
ladder by which Medora descended to her coachman.
Well, he didn’t use her well, it wuzn’t hereditary in his family
to use wimmen well, they generally struck at ’em with their
fists, instead of polite tongue abuse when they offended ’em, and
take it with her ill usage and the wild clamor her Ma made when
she discovered the marriage, the poor awakening wits of Eudora
Francesca fled utterly. The coachman wuz bought off with a small
sum of ready money, and Eudora wuz taken back to the asylum for
good and all.
Well, as I say, the two little Tweedle children, boy and girl, are
queer little creeters, they are about eight or nine years old now,
and are with their Ma to Jonesville for the summer, with a nurse
for each one. The baby, the only child of Mr. Smith, is not with
its Ma to Jonesville, he is at another private asylum, not fur from
the one that Eudora Francesca is in; it is an asylum for idiots and
a sort of school to try to teach ’em what they can be taught.
And that he is there isn’t the fault of any nurse. No, I should
say it riz higher in profession and wuz the fault of the medical
fraternity. All the year before he wuz born Miss Green Smythe
wuz very delicate, but bein’ so fashionable, she considered it
necessary to wear a tight, a very tight cosset till the very day
the baby wuz born, and her doctor never said a word agin it, so
fur as I know, but realizin’ how delicate she wuz and that her
strength must be kep’ up in some way, he ordered her to take
stimulants, and she drinked, and she drinked, and she drinked. Why,
I spoze from what I’ve hearn that she jest took barrels of wine
and champagne and brandy. She never went half way in anything, not
even Hottentots, of which more hereafter. And the stimulants bein’
ordered she drinked continually. And when the boy wuz born it wuz
a perfect idiot. Her fashionable doctor who ordered the stimulants
said it wuz a “melancholy dispensation of Providence.”
The doctor who attended Mr. Green Smythe, and an old friend of
hisen, said it wuz “a melancholy judgment on fools.” He wuz a quick
tempered man, but honest and high learnt, and he wuz mad at the
fashionable doctor and Miss Green Smythe, too. Well, it cured her
of drinkin’, anyway; she had always wanted a boy dretfully, and
when the only one she had ever had wuz born a idiot it mortified
her most to death, and she could never bear the sight of it, and
had never laid her eyes on it since it wuz took to the private
asylum.
A pretty lookin’ child, too, they said it wuz, only not knowin’
anything. They said about this time Ebenezer Smith’s hair changed
from iron gray to pretty near white, for he loved the baby, his
only child and heir to all his millions. And he kep’ lookin’ and
watchin’ for some signs of sense in it for a long time. And the
only reason he gin his consent to have it go to the asylum wuz that
he didn’t know but they might help it to some spark of reason. He
read his old letters more than ever, they said, out on the back
steps, and looked more at Alice’s face in the old velvet covered
case, and then he would look away from that sweet, fresh face off
onto the sky or ocean as the case might be, either in New York
or Newport, he would look off for some time and wuz spozed to be
thinkin’ of a good many things.
Well, it wuz to get a divorce for Medora and see to her own Tweedle
bizness that Miss Green Smythe had come to Jonesville. She had
employed a big New York lawyer, but he hadn’t been very successful,
and she wanted Thomas J.’s help. Tweedle had once lived in this
vicinity for some time, and she wanted Thomas J. to try and collect
evidence for her and help her. But he will walk round the subject
on every side and look at it sharp before he tackles it.
I spoze it is a great compliment to have such rich folks as the
Green Smythes so anxious to secure his services. But that won’t
make any difference to our son, he won’t touch it unless he thinks
she is in the right on’t. He follers these two old rules that his
Ma laid down before him when he first set out to be a lawyer. Sez
I, “Always, Thomas Jefferson, foller them two rules, and you will
be sure to come out right in the end:
“First rule, ‘Be sure you are in the right on’t,’” then,
“Second rule, ‘Go ahead.’”
As I sez to him impressive, “You will be sure to come out right if
you foller them two rules. Mebby you won’t always win your case
before earthly judges, though I believe you will be more apt to.
But that hain’t the important thing, my son,” I would say, “the
important thing is to win your case before the Great Judge that is
above all. Why,” sez I, “wouldn’t you ruther win a case before the
Supreme Court in Washington, D. C., than before a Jonesville jury?”
And he would say, “Why, yes, of course.”
“Well,” sez I, “wouldn’t you ruther win the case before the Great
Judge that sets as high above them Supreme Judges as Heaven is
above the earth?”
I tell you them simelys sunk into Thomas J.’s heart; he follers
them rules day by day. As I said more formerly, he is inquirin’
round about Miss Green Smythe’s case, and if he makes up his mind
that she and Medora are in the right on’t he will help ’em (and
thereby ensure her success), and if she hain’t in the right on’t he
won’t touch the case with a pair of tongs or leather mittens.
Well, to stop retrospectin’ and resoom backwards a little. Miss
Green Smythe greeted me and Maggie with considerable warmth, about
as warm as hot dish water, while our greetin’s to her wuzn’t any
warmer than new milk. Maggie wuz holdin’ Snow in her arms when Miss
Green Smythe wuz ushered in, leadin’ a pug dog by a ribbon, and
one of her danglers wuz out in the carriage lookin’ at the house
through a eye glass. Miss Green Smythe made a great flutter and
excitement in comin’ in, and made a sight of Maggie and me, but we
didn’t seem fluttered or excited by her, nor we didn’t make any
more of her than we did of any of the neighbors, though we used her
well, and she sot down and took her pug into her lap, for Maggie’s
cat riz up her back that high at the sight of it that I thought it
would break into, and I got up and let her out.
I knew what the call wuz for, it wuz to molify Thomas J. and make
him willin’ to take her case in hand. Well, she wuz dretful good to
Maggie, over good, I thought; she called her lots of kinder foolish
names, “Petteet Ongey,” and “belle amey,” and lots of other trash.
Maggie’s name hain’t Amy, nor never wuz.
Maggie took it all in good part and sot there smilin’ and holdin’
little Snow close to her heart. Miss Green Smythe didn’t notice the
baby at all, no more than as if it wuz a rag babe. But she begun to
talk about a big entertainment she wuz goin’ to have and wanted us
to come to, and she called it a real curous name, it sounded some
like Fate Sham Peter.
I guess it wuzn’t exactly that, for it sounded so curous to me I
sez to her, sez I, “I spoze Peter is all for fashion and outside
gildin’ and sham, and that’s how he got his name?” And I sez, “Is
Peter any relation of yourn?” And then she explained it out to me
as well as she could.
But I sez, “I guess I’ll call it Sham Peter, for that is nigh
enough to distinguish it from other Peter’s and other shams, and
that is the main thing.”
She acted as if she didn’t like it, and answered my questions
kinder short and uppish. I never took to her, for I had hearn all
these things I have sot down about her babies and husbands and
danglers and everything, and I spozed like as not I should have to
give her a piece of my mind before she left; I spozed that I might
have to onbeknown to me.
Well, Maggie excused herself from goin’ on account of little Snow,
she said she didn’t go out much to evening parties for they took
her strength so, and she felt that she needed all her strength to
take care of her baby. “Take care of your baby!” Miss Green Smythe
fairly screamed out the words, she wuz that horrow struck. “You
take care of your baby? Why, my dear Mrs. Allen, I could not have
understood you aright, you take care of your baby yourself!”
“Yes,” sez Maggie quietly, “I take most of the care of my child
myself, and I intend to do so.”
Miss Green Smythe held up both of her hands in horrow and leaned
back in her chair, “Well, that is something I wouldn’t have
believed if I hadn’t heard it myself, that you are goin’ to take
care of your own child,” and the idee seemed to upset her so that
she hurried off earlier, I believe, than she would otherwise. But
before she went she did git me to promise to attend a reception she
wuz goin’ to give before long; Maggie said she believed it would do
me good to git out and have a little change.