What Maggie said about her makin’ a change kinder staid with me.
Great is the power of suggestion. She suggested it to me, and I
passed on the influence to my pardner.
I sez, “We’ve worked hard, and why not rest off and take a little
comfort?”
“Comfort! Who ever took any comfort a-visitin’! Bound up in your
best clothes settin’ round and talkin’ polite.”
“Your clothes don’t bind you, Josiah, and you know I always seek
comfort first, hopin’ mebby good lookin’ things may be added unto
me. And as for politeness, you don’t strain yourself much that way,
and I’d love to see some of these friends we owe visits to.”
He sez, “Don’t you want to go to Nestle Down agin?” And I sez, “No,
I did all the nestlin’ I wanted to once.”
Well, it wuz a number of days before he gin his consent, but
finally he did, and we sot off, and our first visit wuz to Alcander
and Fidelia Pogram’s.
We had been owin’ ’em visits for some time. They’re movin’
planets, and revolve round considerable, and always have. We are
stars, Josiah and me, that are more fixed in our orbits. It wuz
on one of Alcanderses revolutions (with of course his satellite
Fidelia a-revolvin’ round him) that they lived neighbor to us
for over two years, and I got real attached to Fidelia. She is a
conscientious, painstaking woman, and her husband is well off, and
naterally good-natered and well-meanin’. But when they wuz first
married Fidelia made a Molok of him, and burnt incense before him
day and night, burnin’ up on that altar all her own preferences
and desires, all her chances of recreation and rest, all her own
ideals, her own loves.
Never tryin’ to lift herself up and look abroad into the sunlight,
and foller it outdoors into happiness--no; she jest sot crouched
before that altar till her eyes got dim with the smoke of her
sacrifice and she couldn’t straighten up. And the cloud of incense
she wuz offerin’ up to him from day to day wuz so heavy between
’em that he’d lost sight of her; and bein’ at his feet, instead of
by his side where she belonged, he couldn’t see her very well, and
she seemed to be quite a distance away from him. She had made over
by such doin’s his naterally generous disposition into a selfish,
overbearin’ one. He wuz about as innocent as a babe of the way it
wuz done, and she, too. But, take it all in all, she had made about
the worst botch of married life that I had ever seen made, and she
all the time jest as conscientious and religious as old Job or
Zekiel or any of ’em; and he, too, thought that he wuz jest as good
as Obadiah or Jonah or Enoch. And, what made it seem still worse to
me, she wuz bringin’ up her girl in the same way.
Elinor wuz goin’ on twenty-one, and had a bo, Louis Arnold by name.
Her Ma had told me about it the year before, and I had noticed that
Elinor looked real rosy and sweet. That wuz in the first days of
courtship, and I could see that the spell wuz upon her. The earth
wuz glorified; the heavens bent down clost to her; she and Louis
wuz a-walkin’ through Eden. But the next time I see Elinor she
looked considerable faded and anxious-eyed; for all the world her
eyes looked like her Ma’s--lovin’ and faithful as a dog’s, and as
anxious lookin’ as a dog’s when it has been doin’ sunthin’ and
expects a whippin’. I had hearn from a neighbor that Louis wuz of
late growin’ cool in his attentions to Elinor. And I felt bad, for
I mistrusted how it wuz done. She had sot him up on such a hite
that he looked down on her. Good land! with her poster, he had
to look down if he see her at all. The neighbor said that it wuz
spozed that Elinor wuz goin’ into a decline, and sez she: “That
Louis Arnold is a villian. He paid her attention for a year and
won her love, and wuz as good as engaged to her, and she doin’
everything under the sun to keep his love, and then he grew cool
and drawed off. He is a villian!” she repeated.
“Well, mebby there is blame on both sides.”
And agin she sez, “Elinor did everything to hold him, and duz yet,
for she still hopes to keep him.”
And I sez, “Mebby she did too much.”
And the neighbor glared at me, and sez coldly, “I don’t understand
you.”
And I sez, “No, I spoze not.” And I didn’t explain furder, nor she
didn’t.
And this neighbor, bein’ a sharp-eyed-and-nosed woman, who
evidently loved scandal, sez, “Have you hearn anything more about
Fidelia’s troubles?”
And I sez, “No.”
And she sez, “Poor creeter! she is passin’ through the waters.”
And I sez: “What waters? Has she fell into the creek, or has her
suller overflowed?”
And then she sez, right out, “Her hired girl gits more of her
husband’s attention than she duz. Folks talk a sight!” sez she.
And I sez, coolly, “They generally do; they mostly make out not to
lose the use of their tongues by tyin’ ’em to their teeth.”
And I wouldn’t ask a word more; but she went on: “Everybody sez
Minnie acts more like the mistress of the house than Fidelia
duz, dressed up and loiterin’ round; though they do say that she
is faithful and honest; but Fidelia duz the hardest of the work
herself, and folks say that Minnie eats with them, and if anything
is wanted Fidelia gits up and gits it, and Minnie sits like a lady.”
“Well,” sez I, “most probable that is Fidelia’s fault. She wouldn’t
do it unless she wuz a fool!” sez I.
“And some one told me,” sez the neighbor, “that hearn it from one
that wuz knowin’ to it, that Alcander had been known to pay Minnie
compliments on her good looks and pretty dresses and find fault
with Fidelia.”
“Well,” sez I, “that is nothin’ but human man-nater; they will
always find fault with their wives in preference to other wimmen;
they’re built in jest that way, and mebby they can’t help it. I
spoze mebby they think that they’re complimentin’ ’em, payin’
attention to ’em; men are so queer.”
And agin she looked real meanin’, and sez, “Well, folks talk a
sight.”
And I sez agin, “They most generally do.”
Well, Fidelia Pogram wuz dretful glad to see me, and so wuz Elinor.
Alcander, owin’ to the course of treatment he had had, acted some
hauty, bein’ I wuz a woman--Fidelia’s fault, every mite on’t.
Alcander wuz warm-hearted when he wuz married, and liked wimmen
jest as well as he did men--and better, too, his wife bein’ a
woman. Well, I see in a minute that Elinor looked bad, holler-eyed,
pale, wan, and some stoopin’ in the shoulders (but of that more
anon). Well, they hurried round and got a good supper. Fidelia is
a splendid cook and duz all the cookin’, for Alcander likes her
cookin’ better than he duz anybody else’s; and Fidelia, bein’ so
anxious to please him, duz it all, every mite; and he thinks that
Fidelia duz up his shirt bosoms better, and so she irons all the
fine clothes; and Alcander finds a sight of fault if the house
hain’t kep’ jest so; and, Minnie not bein’ a nateral housekeeper,
Fidelia jest slaves round all the time, cleanin’ and pickin’ up,
and looks fagged out and tired and worn all the time, and the hired
girl pert and rosy; and Alcander paid her a compliment on her good
looks, and wished right before me that Fidelia could look more like
Minnie, and Minnie bridled up and looked tickled, and Fidelia’s
head drooped like a droopin’ dove’s. And I don’t know when I have
been madder, both as a friend and as a woman.
And I spoke right up, and sez, “Mebby if Minnie had been in the
kitchen over a hot stove, and br’iled the steak and creamed the
potatoes and made the coffee, and if Fidelia had been out on the
piazza part of the time, mebby she would have looked more fresh.” I
had seen Minnie there half of the time she wuz a-settin’ the table,
a-leanin’ over the railin’, actin’ lazy and uppish.
“But,” sez Alcander coolly, “Fidelia prefers to do the cookin’.”
“Yes,” sez Fidelia faintly--for she wuz wore out--“yes, I prefer
to.”
“Well,” sez I, “if you do, it is the least we can do, who enjoys
your delicious supper, to be thankful to you, and sorry that you
have wore yourself out for our enjoyment.” Fidelia’s cheeks flushed
and her eyes brightened at the unusual thing of a word of praise
bein’ gin to her; and the hired girl looked mad and black; and
Alcander looked on with perfect wonder at the turn things had took,
and spoke quite soft to Fidelia, and she brightened up still more.
Sez he, “Nobody can cook a steak equal to Fidelia.”
And my Josiah looked real tempersome, and as if he wuz a-goin’ in
to combat for my rights as a stak’ist. But I spoke right up and sez:
“That is so, Alcander. Fidelia is one of the most splendid cooks
in the county, and you must be proud of her, and do all you can to
make her rest and recreate between meals, jest out of gratitude to
the one that furnishes such delicious food.”
He looked kinder cheap; and Fidelia looked troubled, for she
mistrusted that there wuz a shadder of blame bein’ cast onto
Alcander; but I changed the subject, like a good mistress of
ticktacks.
“I spoze, Elinor, you have read the last great book of----?” and I
named a book very upliftin’, and beloved by young wimmen.
“No,” she said; she hadn’t much time for readin’, she wuz so busy
makin’ Christmas gifts.
Sez Fidelia, proudly, “Elinor has hem-stitched twenty-two fine
linen han’kerchiefs for the aunts and cousins on both sides, and
made home-made lace to trim them with out of one-hundred-and-twenty
thread.”
And I sez, “I don’t know that there wuz any thread so fine.”
“Yes,” sez Fidelia; “it looks like a cobweb; and out of that same
thread she has made twenty yards of that lace to trim underclothes
for her two sister-in-laws.”
“Isn’t it bad for her eyes, Fidelia?” sez I, lookin’ at the worn,
red eyelids of Elinor.
“Yes,” sez Fidelia, “it wuz very hard on her; but she wanted to do
it, for she thought they would prize ’em higher; and then,” sez
Fidelia, “she has made two dozen doilies for Louis’ mother out of
that same thread.”
“How long did it take you to do it?” sez I dryly.
“Oh,” sez she, “I had them for work all summer; I begun ’em the 1st
of June, so I could be sure to get them done for Christmas. I think
that I could have done them in two months if I had worked all the
time.”
And I sez to myself, all these long golden summer hours, sweet with
bird-song, fragrant with flowers and beauty, she had sot over her
one-hundred-and-twenty thread patiently weavin’ cobwebs, hopin’
mebby to ketch Happiness in it; but ’tennyrate doin’ this slow
work, stitch by stitch, and lettin’ all the beauty and glory of
summer and life go by. For I begun to see plainer than ever why
Louis Arnold wuz a defaulter in the bank of love.
“Afterwards in her room,” sez Fidelia, “I want you to see the
slippers she has embroidered for Louis--I never see the beat of it;
they are so fine you can’t tell where the stitches are put; each
one took her three weeks of stiddy work; they are a design of pink
roses on a sky-blue ground.”
Sez I, “She could have bought a pair for five dollars that would
have done jest as well, and I would have loved to have seen some
of the pink roses on her cheeks, and some of the bright sky-blue
in her eyes. They used to look like bits of the sky peeping out of
rosy clouds.” (Them wuz her cheeks in metafor.) “But they look
faded now, Fidelia,” sez I--“dretful faded and wore out.”
“Yes,” sez she, “she has injured her eyesight this summer--injured
it a sight. She has sot up till midnight, night after night,
workin’, for fear she wouldn’t git ’em done in time. And then,” sez
she, bustin’ out into a confidential tone, “she has cried a good
deal. Oh, Samantha,” sez she, “you don’t know how much that girl is
a-sufferin’. There she is, jest the same as engaged, and she jest
as faithful as the north star to the pole, and he growin’ cool all
the time and indifferent.”
“Well,” sez I, “the stiddy faithfulness of the star can’t be
changed, Fidelia, nor the coldness of the north pole, for it is the
nater of that pole to be frigid, and we can’t do anything to warm
it up. But,” sez I, “as for this matter of Elinor and Louis Arnold,
I believe my soul that I could make a change in their doin’s if I
had my way.”
“Oh, dear Samantha! Could you, could you?” sez Fidelia, a-wipin’ up
her tears and lookin’ some brighter.
“But,” sez I, sort of lookin’ off mentally some distance, “it
hain’t no ways likely that she would do what I would want her to.”
“Oh, she would!” sez Fidelia.
“I would, I would!” cried Elinor, advancin’ from behind the
porchair. “Forgive me; I wuz behind the curtain a-catchin’ the
last daylight on these slippers, and I overheard your talk. I will
do jest as you say, for my heart is breakin’, Aunt Samantha,” sez
she. They always auntied and uncled us, our children did, Fidelia’s
and mine. “I will do jest what you tell me to,” sez she, standin’
before me, tears streamin’ down her white cheeks, her work-box in
one hand, and the oncompleted slipper a-danglin’ in the other.
“Well,” sez I, “the first thing to do is to put them aside,” sez I,
motionin’ to the slippers, two-thirds of which wuz not done; “and
them, too,” sez I, p’intin’ to the delicate cobweb-work hangin’
over the sides of her work-basket.
“Lay them aside!” sez she, in wonderin’, horrer-struck axents;
“these Christmas gifts?”
And I leaned back in my chair and looked indifferent, and sez I, “I
knew you wouldn’t do what I wanted you to.”
“Oh, I will, I will!” sez she. “I will do it.” And she went to a
side table and laid the work-basket on it and throwed a scarf over
it. I see she meant bizness, and she come back and sot down on a
low stool at my feet and leaned her pretty head against my knee,
and I smoothed down the clusterin’ curls on her pale forward and
went on.
“Now,” sez I, “the first thing you do, you go to the book-store
and buy a handsome copy of ‘Is Marriage a Failure?’ for Louis
Arnold, and some other nice book or piece of useful silver-ware
for his mother. Wrop these oncompleted gifts up in silk paper and
put them in the draw; and as you shet that draw up, shet up in it
all your cares and anxieties for Christmas; keep in your mind only
the beauty and blessedness of the day, and its holy and hallowed
meanin’. Keep this cobweb-work you have done for yourself as a
motto that means ‘I will never do it agin,’ and buy of some poor
girl that wants the money some of this hem-stitchin’ and tattin’
and drawn-work you want for your relations, and do them up, ready
to send away, and put them in draws; and when you shet up them
draws, shet up all anxieties for them. Then,” sez I, “all this off
your mind, bathe your wore-out eyes and pale face in some good pure
water, go to bed at nine, and get up in the early mornin’ fresh and
vigorous, and go out into the sunlight and drink down the sweet air
like a healin’ cordial.”
The weather wuz wonderful for October; Injun summer had made the
country beautiful; the roads wuz hard and smooth as summer roads.
Sez I, “Forgit all your cares, put on the pretty short dress you
used to wear, and go out for a long ride.”
“Oh,” sez she, “I don’t ride the wheel any more.”
“Why?” sez I wonderin’ly.
“Oh, Louis don’t like to have me. He thinks it is old-fashioned and
unladylike and unwomanly.”
“Don’t he ride?” sez I.
“Oh, yes--he has to for his nerves. He has an auto, but he thinks
that ridin’ a wheel almost cured him. He used to be dretful nervous
and weak. He can’t bear bein’ shut up in the house all the time.”
“Well,” sez I, “didn’t you think that it helped you to ride? Your
Ma told me that you felt like a new creature after you had had your
wheel for a month.”
“Oh, yes, Aunt Samantha,” sez she, “it did help me more than I
can tell, and you don’t know how I have missed it; I have felt
that it would have been such a help to me while I was makin’ these
Christmas gifts.”
“Well, why under the sun and moon, to say nothin’ of the stars and
meteors, haven’t you kept on with what you knew helped you so?”
“Oh, Louis doesn’t approve of my ridin’, and he wuz bitterly
opposed to my wearin’ short skirts; he considered it immodest, and
I had jest about as soon not go at all as to go in my long skirts.
The last time I rode, to please Louis I wore my long dress, and
right in the middle of the village my dress wound round the wheel,
and it wound my dress right up offen me, and I fell over onto my
head.”
“I suppose he considered that more modest?” sez I, dry as a chip.
“He is dretful opposed to short skirts,” sez she; “he talked awful
to me about ’em.”
“Why don’t you insist on his wearin’ his bath-robe on his wheel?
Let him try it once, and then see. Why didn’t you say that you wuz
shocked at the sight of his long limbs, and favored the Eastern
garb for men? Your dress wuz modest and mejum, it come to the tops
of your shoes, and you wore a divided skirt of the same cloth;
you can tell him, from me, your dress wuz jest twice as modest as
his’n.”
“Oh,” sez she, “I wouldn’t think of criticisin’ his dress.”
“Why not, as long as he criticises yours? But as for your dress
and his’n, they’re both all right. And now do you, within the next
fifteen minutes, don that garb, and go out on that wheel and take a
good long ride.”
“Oh, I don’t feel as though I could go right against his wishes. I
have done everything I could to hold his love.”
“You have done too much,” sez I coolly. “And now, Elinor Pogram, do
you brace up and have a little gumption. Get right onto your wheel
and go out into the sweet air and sunlight; and if you meet Louis
Arnold, jest nod at him cool as a cowcumber, and go right on and
foller it up next day and next, or as long as good weather lasts.
“I believe you rusted and tired out your faculties bendin’
over your fine work from day to day, and he didn’t find your
companionship exhilaratin’ and inspirin’ at all. He is a bright
chap,” sez I, “you know, and he will seek bright, inspirin’
company.”
She looked up gratefully as I abused her and excused Louis, in a
real womanly way, and left the room to put on her short bicycle
rig. It wuz dark blue braided with white, and a coquettish little
white cap with some black feathers stuck up real cute on one side,
and she looked as pretty as a pink--a white pink--and real cunnin’
as she sot off. Well, she come back lookin’ perter considerable;
she hadn’t met Louis, but she had met the sunshine and soft autumn
air, and they had invigorated her.
The next mornin’ I went with her, at her request, to git the books
and presents I had named, and, at my request, they wuz locked up
at 12 M., and backaches and eye-smarts and fevered anxieties and
pricked finger-ends with ’em. And at 3 P. M. she sot off agin on
her wheel. This time she come back lookin’ considerable white
around her lips, but her eyes bright and cheeks rosy, after all;
she had met Louis and done what I told her, and left him in such a
state of complete stupefication she wuz alarmed about him. Sez she
anxiously, “His looks wuz so wonder-struck and alarmed that I fear
for his safety; I fear that he may be led to extreme lengths,” sez
she.
“Wuz he on his wheel?” sez I.
“Yes,” she replied, “he wuz on his wheel, and the picture of health
and strength.”
“And so will you be,” sez I, “now you have laid aside your
eye-harrowin’, nerve-destroyin’ needle-work; and when I say this,
understand distinctly that I might applaud, though I pitied, your
work if it earned you your livelihood. But in your case it is
needless, and so I have said lay it aside; there is no fear but
that you will perform all the domestic duties you ort to, for it
is in your nater, and you will resoom your music and books, for
you will want to get brightness from them; but be out, care-free,
under the blue heavens all you can. Respect yourself, and insist on
bein’ respected. Be thoughtful of Louis’ rights, and insist on his
bein’ thoughtful of yours; respect his opinions so fur as you can
consistently; but as for his selfishness and whims, git onto your
wheel and ride right through ’em. If you are to walk through life
together, stand up straight by his side; don’t crouch at his feet
doin’ drawn-work and tattin’ all your days; he will like you enough
sight better. If you find him worthy, and you are to be his wife,
make his home the most delightful place on earth--a clean, sweet
restin’-place from the toils of life and a shelter from its storms;
but don’t burn up your own individuality as incense before him;
keep it to make his home more charmin’ than any other. Make him
love you for your sweet love and care for him; make him admire you
for your thought and care for yourself; use a lot of common sense
in the receipt of married life, and mejumness, use that lavish, and
you’ll git along first rate.”
Well, they urged me to stay a week or so; and Josiah havin’ bizness
to ’tend to right there, we gin consent. Elinor kep’ on jest as I
had planned, and stimulated by the example of plain common sense
right before her eyes, Fidelia braced up and began to use some
common sense and some mejumness herself. She spoke out of her own
accord one afternoon, and sez she:
“I have three night-shirts done, embroidered for Alcander, and I am
not goin’ to make any more of them for Christmas; and you, Minnie,”
sez she, turnin’ to the pert-faced domestic, “you may wash them and
do them up the next time you wash.”
“Why,” sez Minnie, “I can’t do the washin’ and ironin’ as well as
you can, Mis’ Pogram. Mr. Pogram won’t like my ironin’, I am sure.”
“Well, he will have to stand it,” sez Fidelia, lookin’ some pale,
but real decided; “and when you broil the steak for supper, Minnie,
be sure you don’t burn it; have a hot platter ready for it, and put
on the butter and pepper and salt even, and bring it to the table
pipin’ hot.”
The girl’s hauty feathers seemed to droop, and she spoke more
respectful to Fidelia than I had hearn her speak, and sez she, “I
will do my best, mom.”
And sez Fidelia, “If Mr. Pogram comes here before we do, tell him
that Josiah Allen’s wife and I have gone out for a long drive.”
In my inmost heart I said, “Bravo, Fidelia! bravo!” But outside I
only said, “I shall be real glad to have a good long drive with
you, Fidelia; it will put me in mind of old times.”
So Fidelia ordered her pony and low phaeton brought to the door
and we sot off. It wuz a very comfortable carriage, cushioned with
blue. I see that Alcander did his part by Fidelia in furnishin’
comforts and luxuries for her, only, bein’ so much engaged in
incense-burnin’ and embroidery, she couldn’t take advantage of
’em. As I lay back on the soft cushions my mind roved off on
the strange turn things had took, and I wondered if it wuz the
atmosphere of my strong desire and goodwill to help her that had
stimulated Fidelia to use a little common-sense; for I had not
said a word to her about her affairs and Alcanderses. I knew
that high, clear mountain air would do wonders for sick folks
in a short time, and I knew that my will to help her towered up
perfectly mountainous and high, and I spoze mebby it braced her up.
We mortals are such strange creeters anyway that we can’t really
understand how things be thus and so. But, ’tennyrate, as we rolled
along the pleasant country roads, under trees orange and scarlet
and gold-colored, sweet with the birds’ late songs, out into
sunny stretches of open country roads, sun-glorified, and further
embellished on either side by cozy homesteads and loftier mansions,
and anon long green meadows stretchin’ away to green woods and
tree-covered hills, with a tender haze hangin’ about ’em--as our
phaeton rolled noiselessly on through the soft, sweet Injun-summer
air, Fidelia’s cheeks got to lookin’ considerable pink, and her
faded eyes brightened up considerable, and her faculties seemed to
sort o’ wake up, and she acted brighter than I had seen her act for
upwards of ten years.
Well, supper wuz all ready when we got home. Fidelia had only
jest time to go to her room and pin a pink bow onto the bosom of
her dress, but I don’t know when I have seen her look so well.
Alcander noticed it in a minute. He looked quite admirin’ at her;
and though the steak might not have been so delicious as Fidelia’s,
yet her directions had been carried out, and it wuz good enough.
’Tennyrate, Alcander seemed to enjoy his supper the best that ever
wuz, for he and Fidelia wuz talkin’ together in a way I hadn’t
hearn ’em for years. And take Fidelia when she wuzn’t so wore out
burnin’ incense, and br’ilin’ steaks and chops and chickens, and
drawin’ threads out of fine linen and workin’ ’em in agin, she wuz
a smart woman and very agreeable companion.
Minnie, I noticed, had retired more into the background, as it
were; she waited on the table with a different air, less as if she
wuz the mistress of ceremonies, and more as if she wuz the helper
instead of the giver of the feast.
Well, it wuz on the fifth day, as Alcander and Fidelia and I
wuz a-drivin’ along through the soft air in the luxurious easy
carriage, behind two prancin’ horses, real happy and contented, and
talkin’ good-naturedly, who should we meet but two young folks in
a runabout? The young man wuz bendin’ fondly over the young woman,
so engrossed in conversation that they didn’t notice our presence
till we got almost up to them. Then they looked up, and we see that
it wuz Elinor and Louis Arnold. But wuz it Elinor? Yes, it wuz. But
what a change from the pale, hollow-eyed drawn-work stitcher! Her
cheeks were pink, and happiness sparkled in her soft blue eyes like
two bright stars becalmed in the June heavens. They had made up,
and Louis Arnold looked handsome and happy and contented.
Well, I told Fidelia, the next day, that as Josiah had got his
business done, I guessed I wouldn’t stay any longer, and she bust
right out a-cryin’ onto my shoulder (it wuz a gray outin’-cloth,
and I knew that it would wash, so I didn’t care).
And sez she, “My preserver, how can I have you go?”
And Elinor, who wuz in the room, throwed herself onto my other
shoulder, and her tears drizzled down onto my shoulder-blade (but
agin the thought calmed me that the colors wuz fast).
Sez Elinor, “You have preserved my happiness; you have dragged me
back from the very brinks of ruin.”
“And me, too!” sez Fidelia.
And I sez gently, extricatin’ myself from the four encirclin’ arms:
“Oh, shaw! you have preserved yourselves, and drawed yourselves
back by the cords of common-sense and mejumness. And now,” sez I,
in confidence, “ere we part, let me adjure you to cling to them two
strings, and cling hard. Use common-sense day by day, be good and
true to them you love, and be good and true to yourselves; brace
up, have gumption, and may Heaven bless you!” sez I, and I turned
away and begun to pack my nightgown and barred-muslin night-cap
into my satchel-bag.