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  • 1890
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Mother Charnick stood with her bag in her hand, and the other hand on the puckerin’ string. I don’t say what she had in the bag, but I do say this, that she had it fixed so’s she could have ondone it in a secont’s time. And her eyes wuz intent on the heavens overhead. But they kep calm and serene and cloudless, nothin’ to be seen there–no sign, no change–and Ma Charnick kep still and didn’t draw the puckerin’ string.

But oh, how excitement reined and grew rampant around that school-house! Miss Pool and Joe seemin’ to outdo all the rest (she always did try to), till at last, jest as the pinter swung round to the very minute, Joe, more than half by the side of himself, with the excitement he had been in for a week, and bein’ urged onto it by Miss Pool, as he sez to this day, he jumped up onto the tall stump he had been a standin’ by, and stood there in his long white robe, lookin’ like a spook, if anybody had been calm enough to notice it, and he sung out in a clear voice–his voice always did have a good honest ring to it:

Farewell my friends,
Farewell my foes;
Up to Heaven
Joe Charnick goes.

And jest as the clock struck, and they all shouted and screamed, he waved his arms, with their two great white wings a-flutterin’, and sprung upwards, expectin’ the hull world, livin’ and dead, would foller him–and go right up into the heavens.

And Trueman’s wife bein’ right by the stump, waved her wings and jumped too–jest the same direction es he jumped. But she only stood on a camp chair, and when she fell, she didn’t crack no bones, it only jarred her dretfully, and hurt her across the small of her back, to that extent that I kep bread and milk poultices on day and night for three weeks, and lobelia and catnip, half and half; she a-arguin’ at me every single poultice I put on that it wuzn’t her way of makin’ poultices, nor her way of applyin’ of ’em.

[Illustration: “FAREWELL MY FRIENDS, FAREWELL MY FOES.”]

I told her I didn’t know of any other way of applyin’ ’em to her back, only to put ’em on it. But she insisted to the last that I didn’t apply ’em right, and I didn’t crumble the bread into the milk right, and the lobelia wuzn’t picked right, nor the catnip.

Not one word did she ever speak about the end of the world–not a word–but a-naggin’ about everything else.

Wall, I healed her after a time, and glad enough wuz I to see her healed, and started off.

But Joe Charnick suffered worse and longer. He broke his limb in two places and cracked his rib. The bones of his arm wuz a good while a-healin’, and before they wuz healed he was wounded in a new place.

He jest fell over head and ears in love with Jenette Finster. For bein’ shet up to home with his mother and her (his mother wouldn’t hear to Jenette leavin’ her for a minute) he jest seemed to come to a full realizin’ sense of her sweet natur’ and bright, obleegin’ ways; and his old affection for her bloomed out into the deepest and most idolatrous love–Joe never could be megum.

Jenette, and good enough for him, held him off for quite a spell–but when he got cold and relapsted, and they thought he wuz goin’ to die, then she owned up to him that she worshipped him–and always had.

And from that day he gained. Mother Charnick wuz tickled most to death at the idea of havin’ Jenette for her own girl–she thinks her eyes on her, and so does Jenette of her. So it wuz agreeable as anything ever wuz all around, if not agreeabler.

Jest as quick as she got well enough to walk, and before he got out of his bed, Trueman’s wife walked over to see Joe. And Joe’s mother hatin’ her so, wouldn’t let her step her foot into the house. And Joe wuz glad on’t, so they say.

Mother Charnick wuz out on the stoop in front of the house, when Trueman’s wife got there, and told her that they had to keep the house still; that is, they say so, I don’t know for certain, but they say that Ma Charnick offered to take Trueman’s wife out to see her chickens, the ones she had brought up by hand, and Trueman’s wife wantin’ to please her, so’s to get in, consented. And Miss Charnick showed her the hull 14 of ’em, all fat and flourishing–they wuz well took care of. And Miss Charnick looked down on ’em fondly, and sez:

“I lay out to have a good chicken pie the day that Joe and Jenette are married.”

[Illustration: “I LAY OUT TO HAVE A GOOD CHICKEN PIE THE DAY THAT JOE AND JENETTE ARE MARRIED.”]

“Married!” sez Trueman’s wife, in faint and horrified axcents. “Yes, they are goin’ to be married jest as soon as my son gets well enough. Jenette is fixin’ a new dress for me to wear to the weddin’–with a bask,” sez she with emphasis. And es she said it, they say she stooped down and gathered some sprigs of thoroughwert, a-mentionin’ how much store she set by it for sickness.

But if she did, Trueman’s wife didn’t sense it, she wuz dumbfoundered and sot back by the news. And she left my home and board the week before the weddin’.

They had been married about a year, when Jenette wuz here a-visitin’–and she asked me in confidence (and it _must_ be kep, it stands lo reason it must), “if I s’posed that book muslin robe would make two little dresses?”

And I told her, “Good land! yes, three on ’em,” and it did.

She dresses the child beautiful, and I don’t know whether she would want the neighbors to know jest what and when and where she gets the materials–

It looks some like her and some like Joe–and they both think their eyes on it–but old Miss Charnick worships it–Wall, though es I said (and I have eppisoded to a extent that is almost onprecidented and onheard on).

Though Josiah Allen made a excuse of borrowin’ a plow (a _plow_, that time of night) to get away from my arguments on the Conference, and Submit’s kinder skairt face, and so forth, and so on–

He resumed the conversation the next mornin’ with more energy than ever. (He never said nuthin’ about the plow, and I never see no sign on it, and don’t believe he got it, or wanted it.)

He resumed the subject, and kep on a-resumin’ of it from day to day and from hour to hour.

He would nearly exhaust the subject at home, and then he would tackle the wimmen on it at the Methodist Meetin’ House, while we Methodist wimmen wuz to work.

After leavin’ me to the meetin’ house, Josiah would go on to the post-office for his daily _World_, and then he would stop on his way back to give us female wimmen the latest news from the Conference, and give us his idees on’t.

[Illustration: “HE NEVER HAD TIME TO HELP.”]

And sometimes he would fairly harrow us to the very bone, with his dretful imaginins and fears that wimmen would be allowed to overdo herself, and ruin her health, and strain her mind, by bein’ permitted to set!

Why Submit Tewksbury, and some of the other weaker sisters, would look fairly wild-eyed for some time after he would go.

He never could stay long. Sometimes we would beset him to stay and do some little job for us, to help us along with our work, such as liftin’ somethin’ or movin’ some bench, or the pulpit, or somethin’.

But he never had the time; he always had to hasten home to get to work. He wuz in a great hurry with his spring’s work, and full of care about that buzz saw mill.

And that wuz how it wuz with every man in the meetin’ house that wuz able to work any. They wuz all in a hurry with their spring’s work, and their buzz saws, and fheir inventions, and their agencys, etc., etc., etc.

And that wuz the reason why we wimmen wuz havin’ such a hard job on the meetin’ house.

CHAPTER XVII.

You see the way on’t wuz: we had to do sumthin’ to raise the minister’s salary, which wuz most half a year behindhand, to say nothin’ of the ensuin’ year a-comin’. And as I have hinted at before but hain’t gi’n petickulers, the men in the meetin’ house had all gi’n out, and said they had gi’n every cent they could, and they couldn’t and they wouldn’t do any more, any way.

As I have said more formally, there wuz a hardness arozen amongst the male brethern.

Deacon Peedick thought he had gi’n more than his part in proportion, and come right out plain and said so.

And Deacon Bobbet said “he wuzn’t the man to stand it to be told right to his face that he hadn’t done his share,” and he said “he wuzn’t the man either, to be hinted at from the pulpit about things.” I don’t believe he wuz hinted at, and Sister Bobbet don’t And she felt like death to have him so riz up in his mind, and act so. I know what the tex’ wuz; it wuz these words:

“The Lord loveth a cheerful giver.”

The minister didn’t mean nothin’ only pure gospel, when he preached about it. But it proved to be a tight-breasted, close-fittin’ coat to several of the male brothers, and it fitted ’em so well it fairly pinched ’em.

But there it wuz, Deacon Bobbet wouldn’t gi’n a cent towards raisin’ the money. And there wuz them that said, and stuck to it, that he said “he wouldn’t give a _darn_ cent.”

But I don’t know as that is so. I wouldn’t want to be the one that said that he had demeaned himself to that extent.

Wall, he wouldn’t give a cent, and Peedick wouldn’t give, and Deacon Henzy and Deacon Sypher wouldn’t. They said that there wuz certain members of the meetin’ house that had said to certain people suthin’ slightin’ about buzz saws.

I myself thought then, and think still, that the subject of buzz saws had a great deal to do in makin’ ’em act so riz up and excited. I believe the subject rasped ’em, and made ’em nervous. But when these various hardnesses aroze amongst some of the brethern, the rest of the men kinder joined in with ’em, some on one side, and some on the other, and they all baulked right out of the harness. (Allegory.) And there the minister wuz, good old creeter, jest a-sufferin’ for the necessities of life, and most half a year’s salery due.

I tell you it looked dark. The men all said they couldn’t see no way out of the trouble, and some of the wimmen felt about so. And old Miss Henn, one of our most able sisters, she had gi’n out, she wuz as mad as her own sirname about how her Metilda had been used.

The meetin’ house had just hauled her up for levity. And I thought then, and think now, that the meetin’ house wuz too hard on Metilda Henn.

She did titter right out in protracted meetin’, Sister Henn don’t deny it, and she felt dretful bad about it, and so did I. But Metilda said, and stuck to it, that she couldn’t have helped laughin’ if it had been to save her life. And though I realized the awfulness of it, still, when some of the brethern wuz goin’ on dretful about it, I sez to ’em:

“The Bible sez there is a time to laugh, and I don’t know when that is, unless it is when you can’t help it.”

What she wuz a-laughin’ at wuz this:

There wuz a widder woman by the name of Nancy Lum that always come to evenin’ meetin’s.

She wuz very tall and humbly, and she had been on the look out (so it wuz s’pozed) for a 3d husband for some time.

She had always made a practice of saying one thing over and over to all the protracted and Conference meetin’s, and she would always bust out a-cryin’ before she got it all out.

She always said “she wanted to be found always at the foot of the Cross.”

She would always begin this remark dretful kinder loud and hysterical, and then would dwindle down kinder low at the end on’t, and bustin’ out into tears somewhere through it from first to last.

But this evenin’ suthin’ had occurred to make her more hysterical and melted down than usial. Some say it wuz because Deacon Henshaw wuz present for the first time after his wive’s death.

But any way, she riz up lookin’ awful tall and humbly–she was most a head taller than any man there–and she sez out loud and strong:

“I want to be found–“

And then she busted right out a-cryin’ hard. And she sobbed for some time. And then she begun agin,

“I want to be found–“

And then she busted out agin.

And so it went on for some time–she a-tellin’ out ever and anon loud and firm, “that she wanted to be found–” and then bustin’ into tears.

Till finally Deacon Henshaw (some mistrust that he is on the point of gettin’ after her, and he always leads the singin’ any way) he struck right out onto the him–

“Oh, that will be joyful!”

And Sister Lum sot down.

Wall, that wuz what made Metilda Henn titter. And that was what made me bring forward that verse of scripter. That the Bible said “‘there wuz a time to laugh,’ and I didn’t know when it wuz unless it wuz when you couldn’t help it–“

But I didn’t say it to uphold Metilda–no, indeed. I only said it because they wuz so bitter on her, and laid the rules of the meetin’ house down on her so heavy.

But Josiah said, “What would become of the meetin’ house if it didn’t punish its unruly members?”

And I sez to Josiah, “Do you remember the case of Deacon Widrig over in Loontown. He wuz rich and influential, and when he wuz complained of, and the meetin’ house sot on him, they sot light, and you know it, Josiah Allen. And he was kep in the church, the meen old creeter. And Miss Henn is a widder and poor.”

“Yes,” sez Josiah, calmly, “she hain’t been able to help the meetin’ house much, and Brother Widrig contributes largely.”

Sez I, in a fearful meanin’ axent, “I hearn he did at the time he wuz up–I hearn he contributed _lots_ to the male brethren who was a-judgin’ him–but,” sez I, “do you spoze, Josiah Allen, that if wimmen wuz allowed their way in the matter, that that man would be allowed to stay in the meetin’ house, and keep on a-makin’ and a-sellin’ the poisen that is sendin’ men to ruin all round him–

“Makin’ his hard cider by the barell and hogset and fixin’ it some way so it will make a far worse drunk than whiskey, and then supplyin’ every low saloon fur and near with it, and peddlin’ it out to every man and boy that wants it.

“And boys think they can drink cider without doin’ any harm–so he jest entices ’em down into the road to ruin–doin’ as much agin harm as a whiskey seller.

“And mothers have to set still and see it go on. It is men that are always appinted to deal with sinners, male or female. Men are judged by their peers, but wimmen never are.

“I wonder if that is just? I wonder how Deacon Widrig would have liked it to have had Miss Henn set on him? He wuz dretful excited, so I hearn, about Metilda’s case–thought it wuz highly incumbient on the meetin’ house to have her made a example of, so’s to try to abolish such wicked doin’s as snickerin’ out in meetin’.

[Illustration: “SUPPLYIN’ EVERY LOW SALOON FUR AND NEAR.”]

“I wonder how he would have liked it to have had Charley Lanfear’s mother set on him? She is a Sister in the meetin’ house and Charley is a ruined boy–and Deacon Widrig is jest as much the cause of his ruin– jest as guilty of murderin’ all that wuz sweet and lovely in him es if he had fed arsenic to him with a teaspoon.”

Sez I, “In that very meetin’ house to Loontown, there are mothers who have to set and take the bread and wine tokens of the blood and body of their crucified Redeemer from a man’s hands that they know are red with the blood of their own sons. Fur redder than human blood and deeper-stained with the ruin of their immortal souls.

“What thoughts does these mothers keep on a-thinkin’ as they set there and see a man guilty of worse than murder set up as a example to other young souls? What thoughts do they keep on a-thinkin’ of the young hearts that wuz pure before this man laid holt of ’em. Young eyes that wuz true and tender till this man made ’em look on his accursed drink. Young lips that smiled on their mothers till he gin ’em that that changed the smiles to curses?

“Would a delegation of wimmen keep such a man in the meetin’ house if he paved the hull floor with fine gold? No, you know they wouldn’t. Let a jury of mothers set on such a man, and see if he could get up agin very easy.

“They are the ones who have suffered by him, who have agonized, who went down into deeper than the Valley of Death led by his hand. They went down into that depth where they lose their boy. Lose him eternally.

“Death, jest death, would give ’em a chance to meet their child again. But what hope does a mother have when down in the darkness that has no mornin’, her boy tears his hand from her weak grasp and plunges downward?

“How does such a mother feel as she sets there in a still meetin’ house, and the man who has done all this passes her the emblems of a deathless love, a divine purity?”

Josiah sat demute and, didn’t say nuthin’, and I went on, for I wuz very roze up in my mind, and by the side of myself with emotions.

And sez I, “Take the case of Simeon Lathers. Why wuz it that Sister Irene Filkins wuz turned out of the meetin’ house and the man who wuz the first cause of her goin’ astray kep in–the handsome, smooth-faced hypocrite?–it wuz because he wuz rich as a Jew, and jest plastered over the consciences of them that tried him with his fine speeches and his money.”

[Illustration: “JOSIAH LOOKED UP AND SEZ, ‘HOW A STEEPLE WOULD LOOK A-PINTIN’ DOWN'”]

“Fixed over the meetin’ house there in Zoar, built a new steeple, a towerin’ one. If wimmen had had their way, that steeple would have pinted the other way.”

Josiah looked up from Ayers’ Almanac, which he wuz calmly perusin’, and sez he,

“How a steeple would look a-pintin’ down!”

CHAPTER XVIII.

Josiah’s face wuz smooth and placid, he hadn’t took a mite of sense of what I had been a-sayin’, and I knew it. Men don’t. They know at the most it is only _talk_, wimmen hain’t got it in their power to _do_ anything. And I s’pose they reason on it in this way–a little wind storm is soon over, it relieves old Natur and don’t hurt anything.

Yes, my pardner’s face wuz as calm as the figger on the outside of the almanac a-holdin’ the bottle, and his axent wuz mildly wonderin’ and gently sarcestickle.

“How a steeple would look a-pintin’ down! That is a true woman’s idee.”

[Illustration: SISTER FILKINS.]

Sez I, “I would have it a-pintin’ down towards the depths of darkness that wuz in that man’s heart that roze it up, and the infamy of the deed that kep him in the meetin’ house and turned his victim out of it.”

“I d’no as she wuz his victim,” sez Josiah.

Sez I, “Every one knows that in the first place Simeon Lathers wuz the man that led her astray.”

“It wuzn’t proved,” sez Josiah, a-turnin’ the almanac over and lookin’ at the advertisement on the back side on’t.

“And why wuzn’t it proved?” sez I, “because he held a big piece of gold against the mouths of the witnesses.”

“I didn’t see any in front of my mouth,” sez Josiah, lookin’ ‘shamed but some composed.

“And you know what the story wuz,” sez he, “accordin’ to that, he did it all to try her faith.”

I wouldn’t encourage Josiah by even smilin’ at his words, though I knew well what the story wuz he referred to.

It wuz at a Conference meetin’, when Simeon Lathers wuz jest a-beginnin’ to take notice of how pretty Irene Filkins wuz.

She had gone forward to the anxious seat, with some other young females, their minds bein’ wrought on, so it wuz spozed, by Deacon Lathers’s eloquent exhortations, and urgin’s to ’em to come forward and be saved.

And they had gone up onto the anxious seat a-sheddin’ tears, and they all knelt down there, and Deacon Lathers he went right up and knelt down right by Sister Irene Filkins, and them that wuz there say, that right while he wuz a-prayin’ loud and strong for ’em all, and her specially, he put his arm round her and acted in such a way that she resented it bitterly.

She wuz a good, virtuous girl then, any way.

And she resented his overtoors in such a indignant and decided way that it drawed the attention of a hull lot of brothers and sisters towards ’em.

And Deacon Lathers got right up from his knees and sez, “Bretheren and sisters, let us sing these lines:

“He did it all to try her faith.”

I remembered this story, but I wuzn’t goin’ to encourage Josiah Allen by lettin’ my attention be drawed off by any anectotes–nor I didn’t smile–oh, no I But I went right on with a hull lot of burnin’ indignatin in my axents, and sez I, “Josiah Allen, can you look me in the face and say that it wuzn’t money and bad men’s influence that keep such men as Deacon Widrig and Simeon Lathers in the meetin’ house?” Sez I, “If they wuz poor men would they have been kep’, or if it wuzn’t for the influence of men that like hard drink?”

“Wall, as it were,” sez Josiah, “I–that is–wall, it is a-gettin’ bed-time, Samantha.”

And he wound up the clock and went to bed.

And I set there, all rousted up in my mind, for more’n a hour–and I dropped more’n seven stitches in Josiah’s heel, and didn’t care if I did.

But I have episoded fearfully, and to resoom and go on.

Miss Henn wuz mad, and she wuz one of our most enterprizen’ sisters, and we felt that she wuz a great loss.

Things looked dretful dark. And Sister Bobbet, who is very tender hearted, shed tears several times a-talkin’ about the hard times that had come onto our meetin’ house, and how Zion wuz a-languishin’, etc., etc.

And I told Sister Bobbet in confidence, and also in public, that it wuz time to talk about Zion’s languishin’ when we had done all we could to help her up. And I didn’t believe Zion would languish so much if she had a little help gin her when she needed it.

And Miss Bobbet said “she felt jest so about it, but she couldn’t help bein’ cast down.” And so most all of the sisters said. Submit Tewksbury wept, and shed tears time and agin, a-talkin’ about it, and so several of ’em did. But I sez to ’em–

“Good land!” sez I. “We have seen jest as hard times in the Methodist meetin’ house before, time and agin, and we wimmen have always laid holt and worked, and laid plans, and worked, and worked, and with the Lord’s help have sailed the old ship Zion through the dark waters into safety, and we can do it agin.”

Though what we wuz to do we knew not, and the few male men who didn’t jine in the hardness, said they couldn’t see no way out of it, but what the minister would have to go, and the meetin’ house be shet up for a spell.

But we female wimmen felt that we could not have it so any way. And we jined together, and met in each other’s housen (not publickly, oh no! we knew our places too well as Methodist Sisters).

We didn’t make no move in public, but we kinder met round to each other’s housen, sort o’ private like, and talked, and talked, and prayed–we all knew that wuzn’t aginst the church rules, so we jest rastled in prayer, for help to pay our honest debts, and keep the Methodist meetin’ house from disgrace, for the men wuz that worked up and madded, that they didn’t seem to care whether the meetin’ house come to nothin’ or not.

Wall, after settin’ day after day (not public settin’, oh, no! we knew our places too well, and wouldn’t be ketched a-settin’ public till we had a right to).

After settin’ and talkin’ it over back and forth, we concluded the very best thing we could do wuz to give a big fair and try to sell things enough to raise some money.

It wuz a fearful tuff job we had took onto ourselves, for we had got to make all the things to sell out of what we could get holt of, for, of course, our husbands all kep the money purses in their own hands, as the way of male pardners is. But we laid out to beset ’em when they wuz cleverer than common (owin’ to extra good vittles) and get enough money out of ’em to buy the materials to work with, bedquilts (crazy, and otherwise), embroidered towels, shawl straps, knit socks and suspenders, rugs, chair covers, lap robes, etc., etc., etc.

It wuz a tremendus hard undertakin’ we had took onto ourselves, with all our spring’s work on hand, and not one of us Sisters kep a hired girl at the time, and we had to do our own house cleanin’, paintin’ floors, makin’ soap, spring sewin’, etc., besides our common housework.

But the very worst on’t wuz the meetin’ house wuz in such a shape that we couldn’t do a thing till that wuz fixed.

The men had undertook to fix over the meetin’ house jest before the hardness commenced. The men and wimmen both had labored side by side to fix up the old house a little.

The men had said that in such church work as that wimmen had a perfect right to help, to stand side by side with the male brothers, and do half, or more than half, or even _all_ the work. They said it wuzn’t aginst the Discipline, and all the Bishops wuz in favor of it, and always had been. They said it wuz right accordin’ to the Articles. But when it come to the hard and arjuous duties of drawin’ salleries with ’em, or settin’ up on Conferences with ’em, why there a line had to be drawed, wimmen must not be permitted to strain herself in no such ways–nor resk the tender delicacy of her nature, by settin’ in a meetin’ house as a delegate by the side of a man once a year. It wuz too resky. But we could lay holt and work with ’em in public, or in private, which we felt wuz indeed a privelege, for the interests of the Methodist meetin’ house wuz dear to our hearts, and so wuz our pardners’ approvals–and they wuz all on ’em unanimus on this pint–we could _work_ all we wanted to.

So we had laid holt and worked right along with the men from day to day, with their full and free consents, and a little help from ’em, till we had got the work partly done. We had got the little Sabbath-school room painted and papered, and the cushions of the main room new covered, and we had engaged to have it frescoed, but the frescoer had turned out to be a perfect fraud, and, of all the lookin’ things, that meetin’ house wuz about the worst. The plaster, or whatever it wuz he had put on, had to be all scraped off before it could be papered, the paper wuz bought, and the scrapin’ had begun.

[Illustration: “APPEARIN’ IN PUBLIC.”]

The young male and female church members had give a public concert together, and raised enough money to get the paper–it wuz very nice, and fifty cents a roll (double roll). These young females appearin’ in public for this purpose wuz very agreeable to the hull meetin’ house, and wuz right accordin’ to the rules of the Methodist Meetin’ House, for I remember I asked about it when the question first come up about sendin’ female delegates to the Conference, and all the male members of our meetin’ house wuz so horrified at the idee.

I sez, “I’ll bet there wouldn’t one of the delegates yell half so loud es she that wuz Mahala Gowdey at the concert. Her voice is a sulferino of the very keenest edge and highest tone, and she puts in sights and sights of quavers.”

But they all said that wuz a _very_ different thing.

And sez I, “How different? She wuz a yellin’ in public for the good of the Methodist Meetin’ House (it wuz her voice that drawed the big congregatin, we all know). And them wimmen delegates would only have to ‘yea’ and ‘nay’ in a still small voice for the good of the same. I can’t see why it would be so much more indelicate and unbecomin’ in them”–and sez I, “they would have bonnets and shawls on, and she that wuz Mahala had on a low neck and short sleeves.” But they wouldn’t yield, and I wouldn’t nuther.

But I am a eppisodin fearful, and to resoom. Wall, as I said, the scrapin’ had begun. One side of the room wuz partly cleaned so the paper could go on, and then the fuss come up, and there it wuz, as you may say, neither hay nor grass, neither frescoed nor papered nor nuthin’. And of all the lookin’ sights it wuz.

Wall, of course, if we had a fair in that meetin’ house, we couldn’t have it in such a lookin’ place to disgrace us in the eyes of Baptists and ‘Piscopals.

No, that meetin’ house had got to be scraped, and we wimmen had got to do the scrapin’ with case knives.

It wuz a hard job. I couldn’t help thinkin’ quite a number of thoughts as I stood on a barell with a board acrost it, afraid as death of fallin’ and a workin’ for dear life, and the other female sisters a standin’ round on similar barells, all a-workin’ fur beyond their strengths, and all afraid of fallin’, and we all a-knowin’ what we had got ahead on us a paperin’ and a gettin’ up the fair.

CHAPTER XIX.

Couldn’t help a-methinkin’ to myself several times. It duz seem to me that there hain’t a question a-comin’ up before that Conference that is harder to tackle than this plasterin’ and the conundrum that is up before us Jonesville wimmen how to raise 300 dollars out of nuthin’, and to make peace in a meetin’ house where anarky is now rainin’ down.

But I only thought these thoughts to myself, fur I knew every women there wuz peacible and law abidin’ and there wuzn’t one of ’em but what would ruther fall offen her barell then go agin the rules of the Methodist Meetin’ House.

Yes, I tried to curb down my rebellous thoughts, and did, pretty much all the time. And good land! we worked so hard that we hadn’t time to tackle very curius and peculier thoughts, them that wuz dretful strainin’ and wearin’ on the mind. Not of our own accord we didn’t, fur we had to jest nip in and work the hull durin’ time.

[Illustration: “EVERY NIGHT JOSIAH WOULD TACKLE ME ON IT.”]

And then we all knew how deathly opposed our pardners wuz to our takin’ any public part in meetin’ house matters or mountin’ rostrums, and that thought quelled us down a sight.

Of course when these subjects wuz brung up before us, and turned round and round in front of our eyes, why we had to look at ’em and be rousted up by ’em more or less. It was Nater.

And Josiah not havin’ anything to do evenin’s only to set and look at the ceilin’. Every single night when I would go home from the meetin’ house, Josiah would tackle me on it, on the danger of allowin’ wimmen to ventur out of her spear in Meetin’ House matters, and specially the Conference.

It begin to set in New York the very day we tackled the meetin’ in Jonesville with a extra grip.

So’s I can truly say, the Meetin’ House wuz on me day and night. For workin’ on it es I did, all day long, and Josiah a-talkin’ abut it till bed time, and I a-dreamin’ abut it a sight, that, and the Conference.

Truly, if I couldn’t set on the Conference, the Conference sot on me, from mornin’ till night, and from night till mornin’.

I spoze it wuz Josiah’s skairful talk that brung it onto me, it wuz brung on nite mairs mostly, in the nite time.

He would talk _very_ skairful, and what he called deep, and repeat pages of Casper Keeler’s arguments, and they would appear to me (drawed also by nite mairs) every page on ’em lookin’ fairly lurid.

I suffered.

Josiah would set with the _World_ and other papers in his hand, a-perusin’ of ’em, while I would be a-washin’ up my dishes, and the very minute I would get ’em done and my sleeves rolled down, he would tackle me, and often he wouldn’t wait for me to get my work done up, or even supper got, but would begin on me as I filled up my tea kettle, and keep up a stiddy drizzle of argument till bed time, and as I say, when he left off, the nite mairs would begin.

I suffered beyond tellin’ almost.

The secont night of my arjuous labors on the meetin’ house, he began wild and eloquent about wimmen bein’ on Conferences, and mountin’ rostrums. And sez he, “That is suthin’ that we Methodist men can’t stand.”

[Illustration: “IS ROSTRUMS MUCH HIGHER THAN THEM BARELLS TO STAND ON?”]

And I, havin’ stood up on a barell all day a-scrapin’ the ceilin’, and not bein’ recuperated yet from the skairtness and dizziness of my day’s work, I sez to him:

“Is rostrums much higher than them barells we have to stand on to the meetin’ house?”

And Josiah said, “it wuz suthin’ altogether different.” And he assured me agin,

“That in any modest, unpretendin’ way the Methodist Church wuz willin’ to accept wimmen’s work. It wuzn’t aginst the Discipline. And that is why,” sez he, “that wimmen have all through the ages been allowed to do most all the hard work in the church–such as raisin’ money for church work–earnin’ money in all sorts of ways to carry on the different kinds of charity work connected with it–teachin’ the children, nursin’ the sick, carryin’ on hospital work, etc., etc. But,” sez he, “this is fur, fur different from gettin’ up on a rostrum, or tryin’ to set on a Conference. Why,” sez he, in a haughty tone, “I should think they’d know without havin’ to be told that laymen don’t mean women.”

Sez I, “Them very laymen that are tryin’ to keep wimmen out of the Conference wouldn’t have got in themselves if it hadn’t been for wimmen’s votes. If they can legally vote for men to get in why can’t men vote for them?”

“That is the pint,” sez Josiah, “that is the very pint I have been tryin’ to explain to you. Wimmen can help men to office, but men can’t help wimmen; that is law, that is statesmanship. I have been a-tryin’ to explain it to you that the word laymen _always_ means woman when she can help men in any way, but _not_ when he can help her, or in any other sense.”

Sez I, “It seemed to mean wimmen when Metilda Henn wuz turned out of the meetin’ house.”

“Oh, yes,” sez Josiah in a reasonin’ tone, “the word laymen always means wimmen when it is used in a punishin’ and condemnatory sense, or in the case of work and so fourth, but when it comes to settin’ up in high places, or drawin’ sallerys, or anything else difficult, it alweys means men.”

Sez I, in a very dry axent, “Then the word man, when it is used in church matters, always means wimmen, so fur as scrubbin’ is concerned, and drowdgin’ round?”

“Yes,” sez Josiah haughtily, “And it always means men in the higher and more difficult matters of decidin’ questions, drawin’ sallerys, settin’ on Conferences, etc. It has long been settled to be so,” sez he.

“Who settled it?” sez I.

“Why the men, of course,” sez he. “The men have always made the rules of the churches, and translated the Bibles, and everything else that is difficult,” sez he. Sez I, in fearful dry axents, almost husky ones, “It seems to take quite a knack to know jest when the word laymen means men and when it means wimmen.”

“That is so,” sez Josiah. “It takes a man’s mind to grapple with it; wimmen’s minds are too weak to tackle it It is jest as it is with that word ‘men’ in the Declaration of Independence. Now that word ‘men’, in that Declaration, means men some of the time, and some of the time men and wimmen both. It means both sexes when it relates to punishment, taxin’ property, obeyin’ the laws strictly, etc., etc., and then it goes right on the very next minute and means men only, as to wit, namely, votin’, takin’ charge of public matters, makin’ laws, etc.

“I tell you it takes deep minds to foller on and see jest to a hair where the division is made. It takes statesmanship.

“Now take that claws, ‘All men are born free and equal.’

“Now half of that means men, and the other half men and wimmen. Now to understand them words perfect you have got to divide the tex. ‘Men are born.’ That means men and wimmen both–men and wimmen are both born, nobody can dispute that. Then comes the next claws, ‘Free and equal.’ Now that means men only–anybody with one eye can see that.

“Then the claws, ‘True government consists.’ That means men and wimmen both–consists–of course the government consists of men and wimmen, ‘twould be a fool who would dispute that. ‘In the consent of the governed.’ That means men alone. Do you see, Samantha?” sez he.

I kep’ my eye fixed on the tea kettle, fer I stood with my tea-pot in hand waitin’ for it to bile–“I see a great deal, Josiah Allen.”

[Illustration: CHURCH WORK.]

“Wall,” sez he, “I am glad on’t. Now to sum it up,” sez he, with some the mean of a preacher–or, ruther, a exhauster–“to sum the matter all up, the words ‘bretheren,’ ‘laymen,’ etc., always means wimmen so fur as this: punishment for all offenses, strict obedience to the rules of the church, work of any kind and all kinds, raisin’ money, givin’ money all that is possible, teachin’ in the Sabbath school, gettin’ up missionary and charitable societies, carryin’ on the same with no help from the male sect leavin’ that sect free to look after their half of the meanin’ of the word–sallerys, office, makin’ the laws that bind both of the sexes, rulin’ things generally, translatin’ Bibles to suit their own idees, prcachin’ at ’em, etc., etc. Do you see, Samantha?” sez he, proudly and loftily.

“Yes,” sez I, as I filled up my tea-pot, for the water had at last biled. “Yes, I see.”

And I spoze he thought he had convinced me, for he acted high headeder and haughtier for as much as an hour and a half. And I didn’t say anything to break it up, for I see he had stated it jest as he and all his sect looked at it, and good land! I couldn’t convince the hull male sect if I tried–clergymen, statesmen and all–so I didn’t try, and I wuz truly beat out with my day’s work, and I didn’t drop more than one idee more. I simply dropped this remark es I poured out his tea and put some good cream into it–I merely sez:

“There is three times es many wimmen in the meetin’ house es there is men.”

“Yes,” sez he, “that is one of the pints I have been explainin’ to you,” and then he went on agin real high headed, and skairt, about the old ground, of the willingness of the meetin’ house to shelter wimmen in its folds, and how much they needed gaurdin’ and guidin’, and about their delicacy of frame, and how unfitted they wuz to tackle anything hard, and what a grief it wuz to the male sect to see ’em a-tryin’ to set on Conferences or mount rostrums, etc., etc.

And I didn’t try to break up his argument, but simply repeated the question I had put to him–for es I said before, I wuz tired, and skairt, and giddy yet from my hard labor and my great and hazardus elevatin’; I had not, es you may say, recovered yet from my recuperation, and so I sez agin them words–

“Is rostrums much higher than them barells to stand on?” And Josiah said agin, “it wuz suthin’ entirely different;” he said barells and rostrums wuz so fur apart that you couldn’t look at both on ’em in one day hardly, let alone a minute. And he went on once more with a long argument full of Bible quotations and everything.

And I wuz too tuckered out to say much more. But I did contend for it to the last, that I didn’t believe a rostrum would be any more tottlin’ and skairful a place than the barell I had been a-standin’ on all day, nor the work I’d do on it any harder than the scrapin’ of the ceilin’ of that meetin house.

And I don’t believe it would, I stand jest as firm on it to-day as I did then.

CHAPTER XX.

Wall, we got the scrapin’ done after three hard and arjous days’ works, and then we preceeded to clean the house. The day we set to clean the meetin’ house prior and before paperin’, we all met in good season, for we knew the hardships of the job in front of us, and we all felt that we wanted to tackle it with our full strengths.

Sister Henzy, wife of Deacon Henzy, got there jest as I did. She wuz in middlin’ good spirits and a old yeller belzerine dress.

Sister Gowdy had the ganders and newraligy and wore a flannel for ’em round her head, but she wuz in workin’ spirits, her will wuz up in arms, and nerved up her body.

Sister Meechim wuz a-makin’ soap, and so wuz Sister Sypher, and Sister Mead, and me. But we all felt that soap come after religion, not before. “Cleanliness _next_ to godliness.”

So we wuz all willin’ to act accordin’ and tackle the old meetin’ house with a willin’ mind.

Wall, we wuz all engaged in the very heat of the warfare, as you may say, a-scrubbin’ the floors, and a-scourin’ the benches by the door, and a-blackin’ the 2 stoves that stood jest inside of the door. We wuz workin’ jest as hard as wimmen ever worked–and all of the wimmen who wuzn’t engaged in scourin’ and moppin’ wuz a-settin’ round in the pews a-workin’ hard on articles for the fair–when all of a suddin the outside door opened and in come Josiah Allen with 3 of the other men bretheren.

They had jest got the great news of wimmen bein’ apinted for Deaconesses, and had come down on the first minute to tell us. She that wuz Celestine Bobbet wuz the only female present that had heard of it.

Josiah had heard it to the post-office, and he couldn’t wait till noon to tell me about it, and Deacon Gowdy wuz anxius Miss Gowdy should hear it as soon es possible. Deacon Sypher wanted his wife to know at once that if she wuzn’t married she could have become a deaconess under his derectin’.

And Josiah wanted me to know immegietly that I, too, could have had the privilege if I had been a more single woman, of becomin’ a deaconess, and have had the chance of workin’ all my hull life for the meetin’ house, with a man to direct my movements and take charge on me, and tell me what to do, from day to day and from hour to hour.

And Deacon Henzy was anxious Miss Henzy should get the news as quick as she could. So they all hastened down to the meetin’ house to tell us.

And we left off our work for a minute to hear ’em. It wuzn’t nowhere near time for us to go home.

Josiah had lots of further business to do in Jonesville and so had the other men. But the news had excited ’em, and exhilerated ’em so, that they had dropped everything, and hastened right down to tell us, and then they wuz a-goin’ back agin immegietly.

I, myself, took the news coolly, or as cool as I could, with my temperature up to five or five and a half, owin’ to the hard work and the heat.

[Illustration: THE LAST NEWS FROM THE CONFERENCE.]

Miss Gowdy also took it pretty calm. She leaned on her mop handle, partly for rest (for she was tuckered out) and partly out of good manners, and didn’t say much.

But Miss Sypheris such a admirin’woman, she looked fairly radiant at the news, and she spoke up to her husband in her enthusiastik warm-hearted way–

“Why, Deacon Sypher, is it possible that I, too, could become a deacon, jest like you?”

“No,” sez Deacon Sypher solemnly, “no, Drusilly, not like me. But you wimmen have got the privelege now, if you are single, of workin’ all your days at church work under the direction of us men.”

“Then I could work at the Deacon trade under you,” sez she admirin’ly, “I could work jest like you–pass round the bread and wine and the contribution box Sundays?”

“Oh, no, Drusilly,” sez he condesendinly, “these hard and arjuous dutys belong to the male deaconship. That is their own one pertickiler work, that wimmen can’t infringe upon. Their hull strength is spent in these duties, wimmen deacons have other fields of labor, such as relievin’ the wants of the sick and sufferin’, sittin’ up nights with small-pox patients, takin’ care of the sufferin’ poor, etc., etc.”

“But,” sez Miss Sypher (she is so good-hearted, and so awful fond of the deacon), “wouldn’t it be real sweet, Deacon, if you and I could work together as deacons, and tend the sick, relieve the sufferers–work for the good of the church together–go about doin’ good?”

“No, Drusilly,” sez he, “that is wimmen’s work. I would not wish for a moment to curtail the holy rights of wimmen. I wouldn’t want to stand in her way, and keep her from doin’ all this modest, un-pretendin’ work, for which her weaker frame and less hefty brain has fitted her.

“We will let it go on in the same old way. Let wimmen have the privelege of workin’ hard, jest as she always has. Let her work all the time, day and night, and let men go on in the same sure old way of superentendin’ her movements, guardin’ her weaker footsteps, and bossin’ her round generally.”

Deacon Sypher is never happy in his choice of language, and his method of argiment is such that when he is up on the affirmative of a question, the negative is delighted, for they know he will bring victery to their side of the question. Now, he didn’t mean to speak right out about men’s usual way of bossin’ wimmen round. It was only his unfortunate and transparent manner of speakin’.

And Deacon Bobbet hastened to cover up the remark by the statement that “he wuz so highly tickled that wimmen wuzn’t goin’ to be admitted to the Conference, because it would _weaken_ the Conference.”

“Yes,” sez my Josiah, a-leanin’ up aginst the meetin’ house door, and talkin’ pretty loud, for Sister Peedick and me had gone to liftin’ round the big bench by the door, and it wuz fearful heavy, and our minds wuz excersised as to the best place to put it while we wuz a-cleanin’ the floor.

“You see,” sez he, “we feel, we men do, we feel that it would be weakenin’ to the Conference to have wimmen admitted, both on account of her own lack of strength and also from the fact that every woman you would admit would keep out a man. And that,” sez he (a-leanin’ back in a still easier attitude, almust a luxurious one), “that, you see, would tend naterally to weakenin’ the strength of a church.”

[Illustration: “WALL,” SEZ I, “MOVE ROUND A LITTLE, WON’T YOU, FOR WE WANT TO SET THE BENCH.”]

“Wall,” sez I, a-pantin’ hard for breath under my burden, “move round a little, won’t you, for we want to set the bench here while we scrub under it. And,” sez I, a-stoppin’ a minute and rubbin’ the perspiratin and sweat offen my face, “Seein’ you men are all here, can’t you lay holt and help us move out the benches, so we can clean the floor under ’em? Some of ’em are very hefty,” sez I, “and all of us Sisters almost are a-makin’ soap, and we all want to get done here, so we can go home and bile down; we would dearly love a little help,” sez I.

“I would help,” sez Josiah in a willin’ tone, “I would help in a minute, if I hadn’t got so much work to do at home.”

And all the other male bretheren said the same thing–they had got to git to get home to get to work. (Some on ’em wanted to play checkers, and I knew it.)

But some on ’em did have lots of work on their hands, I couldn’t dispute it.

CHAPTER XXI.

Why, Deacon Henzy, besides all his cares about the buzz saw mill, and his farm work, had bought a steam threshin’ machine that made him sights of work. It was a good machine. But it wuz fairly skairful to see it a-steamin’ and a-blowin’ right along the streets of Jonesville without the sign of a horse or ox or anything nigh it to draw it. A-puffin’ out the steam, and a-tearin’ right along, that awful lookin’ that it skairt she that wuz Celestine Bobbet most into fits.

She lived in a back place where such machines wuz unknown, and she had come home to her father’s on a visit, and wuz goin’ over to visit some of his folks that day, over to Loontown.

And she wuz a-travellin’ along peacible, with her father’s old mair, and a-leanin’ back in the buggy a readin’ a article her father had sent over by her to Deacon Widrig, a witherin’ article about female Deaconesses, and the stern necessity of settin’ ’em apart and sanctifyen’ ’em to this one work–deacon work–and how they mustn’t marry, or tackle any other hard jobs whatsumever, or break off into any other enterprize, only jest plain deacon work.

It wuz a very flowery article. And she wuz enjoyin’ of it first rate, and a-thinkin’, for she is a little timid and easily skairt, and the piece had convinced her–

She wuz jest a-thinkin’ how dretful it would be if sum female deaconess should ever venter into some other branch of business, and what would be apt to become of her if she did. She hated to think of what her doom would most likely be, bein’ tender hearted.

[Illustration: “SHE SEE THIS WILD AND SKAIRFUL MACHINE APPROACHIN’.”]

When lo, and behold! jest as she wuz a-thinkin’ these thoughts, she see this wild and skairful machine approachin’, and Deacon Henzy a-standin’ up on top of it a-drivin’. He looked wild and excited, bein’ very tickled to think that he had threshed more with his machine, by twenty bushels, than Deacon Petengill had with his. There was a bet upon these two deacons, so it wuz spozed, and he wuz a-hastenin’ to the next place where he wuz to be setup, so’s to lose no time, and he was kinder hollerin’.

And the wind took his gray hair back, and his long side whiskers, and kinder stood ’em out, and the skirts of his frock the same.

His mean wuz wild.

And it wuz more than Celestine’s old mair and she herself could bear; she cramped right round in the road (the mair did) and set sail back to old Bobbet’ses, and that great concern a-puffin’ and a-steamin’ along after ’em.

And by the time that she that wuz Celestine got there she wuz almost in a fit, and the mair in a perfect lather.

Wall, Celestine didn’t get over it for weeks and weeks, nor the mair nuther.

And besides this enterprize of Deacon Henzy’s, he had got up a great invention, a new rat trap, that wuz peculier and uneek in the extreme.

It wuz the result of arjous study on his part, by night and day, for a long, long time, and it wuz what he called “A Travellin’ Rat Trap.” It wuz designed to sort o’ chase the rats round and skair ’em.

[Illustration: DEACON HENZY’S RAT TRAP (LIKE A CIRCUS FOR THE RATS).]

It was spozed he got the idee in the first place from his threshin’ machine. It had to be wound up, and then it would take after ’em–rats or mice, or anything–and they do say that it wuz quite a success.

Only it had to move on a smooth floor. It would travel round pretty much all night; and they say that when it wuz set up in a suller, it would chase the rats back into their holes, and they would set there and look out on it, for the biggest heft of the night. It would take up their minds, and kep ’em out of vittles and other mischief.

It wuz somethin’ like providin’ a circus for ’em.

But howsumever, the Deacon wuz a-workin’ at this; he wuzn’t quite satisfied with its runnin’ gear, and he wuz a-perfectin’ this rat trap every leisure minute he had outside of his buzz saw and threshin’ machine business, and so he wuz fearful busy.

Deacon Sypher had took the agency for “The Wild West, or The Leaping Cow Boy of the Plain,” and wuz doin’ well by it.

And Deacon Bobbet had took in a lot of mustangs to keep through the winter. And he wuz a ridin’ ’em a good deal, accordin’ to contract, and tryin’ to tame ’em some before spring. And this work, with the buzz saw, took up every minute of his time. For the mustangs throwed him a good deal, and he had to lay bound up in linements a good deal of the time, and arneky.

[Illustration: “HE HAD TO LAY BOUND UP IN LINEMENTS A GOOD DEAL OF THE TIME.”]

So, as I say, it didn’t surprise me a mite to have ’em say they couldn’t help us, for I knew jest how these jobs of theirn devoured their time.

And when my Josiah had made his excuse, it wuzn’t any more than I had looked out for, to hear Deacon Henzy say he had got to git home to ile his threshin’ machine. One of the cogs wuz out of gear in some way.

He wanted to help us, so it didn’t seem as if he could tear himself away, but that steam threshin’ machine stood in the way. And then on his way down to Jonesville that very mornin’ a new idee had come to him about that travellin’ rat trap, and he wanted to get home jest as quick as he could, to try it.

And Deacon Bobbet said that three of them mustangs he had took in to break had got to be rid that day, they wuz a gettin’ so wild he didn’t hardly dast to go nigh ’em.

And Deacon Sypher said that he must hasten back, for a man wuz a-comin’ to see him from way up on the State road, to try to get a agency under him for “The Leaping Cow Boy of the Plain.” And he wanted to show the “Leaping Cow Boy” to some agents to the tavern in Jonesville on his way home, and to some wimmen on the old Plank road. Two or three of the wimmen had gin hopes that they would take the “Leaping Cow Boy.”

And then they said–the hull three of the deacons did–that any minute them other deacons who wuz goin’ into partnership with ’em in the buzz saw business wuz liable to drive down to see ’em about it.

And some of the other men brethren said their farms and their live stock demanded the hull of their time–every minute of it.

So we see jest how it wuz, we see these male deacons couldn’t devote any of their time to the meetin’ house, nor those other brethren nuther.

We see that their time wuz too valuable, and their own business devoured the hull on it. And we married Sisters, who wuz acestemed to the strange and mysterius ways of male men, we accepted the situation jest es we would any other mysterius dispensation, and didn’t say nothin’.

Good land! We wuz used to curius sayin’s and doin’s, every one on us. Curius as a dog, and curiuser.

But Sister Meechim (onmarried), she is dretful questinin’ and inquirin’ (men don’t like her, they say she prys into subjects she’s no business to meddle with). She sez to Josiah:

“Why is it, Deacon Allen, that men deacons can carry on all sorts of business and still be deacons, while wimmen deacons are obleeged to give up all other business and devote themselves wholly to their work?”

“It is on account of their minds,” sez Josiah. “Men have got stronger minds than wimmen, that is the reason.”

And Sister Meechim sez agin–

“Why is it that wimmen deacons have to remain onmarried, while men deacons can marry one wife after another through a long life, that is, if they are took from ’em by death or a divorce lawyer?”

“Wall,” sez Josiah, “that, too, is on account of their brains. Their brains hain’t so hefty es men’s.”

But I jest waded into the argument then. I jest interfered, and sez in a loud, clear tone,

“Oh, shaw!”

And then I sez further, in the same calm, clear tones, but dry as ever a dry oven wuz in its dryest times. Sez I,

“If you men can’t help us any about the meetin’ house, you’d better get out of our way, for we wimmen have got to go to scrubbin’ right where you are a-standin’.”

“Certainly,” sez Josiah, in a polite axent, “certainly.”

And so the rest of the men said.

And Josiah added to his remarks, as he went down the steps,

“You’d better get home, Samantha, in time to cook a hen, and make some puddin’, and so forth.”

And I sez, with quite a lot of dignity, “Have I ever failed, Josiah Allen, to have good dinners for you, and on time too?”

“No,” sez he, “but I thought I would jest stop to remind you of it, and also to tell you the last news from the Conference, about the deaconesses.”

And so they trailed down one after another, and left us to our work in the meetin’ house; but as they disapered round the corner, Sister Arvilly Lanfear, who hain’t married, and who has got a sharp tongue (some think that is why, but I don’t; I believe Arvilly has had chances).

But any way, she sez, as they went down the steps,

“I’ll bet them men wuz a-practisen’ their new parts of men superentendents, and look on us as a lot of deaconesses.”

[Illustration: “JOSIAH ADDED TO HIS REMARKS.”]

“Wall,” sez Sister Gowdy–she loves to put on Arvilly–“wall, you have got one qualificatin’, Arvilly!”

“Yes, thank the Lord,” sez she.

And I never asked what she meant, but knew well enough that she spoke of her single state. But Arvilly has had chances, _I_ think.

CHAPTER XXII.

I got home in time to get a good supper, though mebbe I ortn’t to say it.

Sure enough, Josiah Allen had killed a hen, and dressed it ready for me to brile, but it wuz young and tender, and I knew it wouldn’t take long, so I didn’t care.

Good land! I love to humor him, and he knows it. Casper Keeler come in jest as I wuz a-gettin’ supper and I thought like as not he would stay to supper; I laid out to ask him. But I didn’t take no more pains on his account. No, I do jest as well by Josiah Allen from day to day, as if he wuz company, or lay out to.

Casper came over on a errent about that buzz saw mill. He wuz in dretful good spirits, though he looked kinder peaked.

He had jest got home from the city.

It happened dretful curius, but jest at this time Casper Keeler had had to go to New York on business. He had to sign some papers that nobody else couldn’t sign.

[Illustration: CASPER KEELER.]

His mother had hearn of a investment there that promised to pay dretful well, so she had took a lot of stock in it, and it had riz right up powerful. Why the money had increased fourfold, and more too, and Casper bein’ jest come of age, had to go and sign suthin’ or other.

Wall, he went round and see lots of sights in New York. His ma’s money that she had left him made him fairly luxurius as to comfort, and he had plenty of money to go sight seein’ as much as he wanted to.

He went to all the theatres, and operas, and shows of all kinds, and museums, and the Brooklyn Bridge, and circuses, and receptions, and et cetery, et cetery.

He wuz a-tellin’ me how much money he spent while he wuz there, kinder boastin’ on it; he had went to one of the biggest, highest taverns in the hull village of New York, where the price wuz higher than the very highest pinakle on the top of it, fur higher.

And I sez, “Did you go to the Wimmen’s Exchange and the Workin’ Wimmen’s Association, that wuz held there while you wuz there?”

And he acted real scorfin’.

“Wimmen’s work!” sez he. “No, indeed! I had too much on my hands, and too much comfort to take in higher circles, than to take in any such little trifles as wimmen’s work.”

Sez I, “Young man, it is a precious little you would take in in life if it hadn’t been for wimmen’s work. Who earned and left you the money you are a-usin’?” sez I, “who educated you and made your life easy before you?”

And then bein’ fairly drove into a corner, he owned up that his mother wuz a good woman.

But his nose wuz kinder lifted up the hull of the time he wuz a-sayin’ it, as if he hated to own it up, hated to like a dog.

But he got real happified up and excited afterwards, in talkin’ over with Josiah what he see to the Conference.’ He stayed to supper; I wuz a seasonin’ my chicken and mashed potatoes, and garnishin’ ’em for the table. I wuz out to one side a little, but I listened with one side of my brain while the other wuz fixed on pepper, ketchup, parsley, etc., etc.

[Illustration: “HE SEEMED TO HAVE A HORROW OF WOMAN A-RAISIN’ OUT OF HER SPEAR.”]

Sez Casper, “It wuz the proudest, greatest hour of my life,” sez he, “when I see a nigger delegate git up and give his views on wimmen keepin’ down in their place. When I see a black nigger stand up there in that Conference and state so clearly, so logically and so powerfully the reasons why poor weak wimmen should _not_ be admitted into that sacred enclosure–

“When I see even a nigger a-standin’ there and a-knowin’ so well what wimmen’s place wuz, my heart beat with about the proudest emotions I have ever experienced. Why, he said,” sez Casper, “that if wimmen wuz allowed to stand up in the Conference, they wouldn’t be satisfied. The next thing they would want to do would be to preach. It wuz a masterly argument,” sez Casper.

“It must have been,” sez my Josiah.

“He seemed to have such a borrow of a weak-minded, helpless woman a-raisin’ herself up out of her lower spear.”

“Well he might,” sez Josiah, “well he might.”

Truly, there are times when women can’t, seeminly, stand no more. This wuz one on ’em, and I jest waded right into the argiment. I sez, real solemn like, a-holdin’ the sprig of parsley some like a septer, only more sort o’ riz up like and mysteriouser. Yes, I held that green sprig some as the dove did when it couldn’t find no rest for the soles of its feet–no foundation under it and it sailed about seekin’ some mount of truth it could settle down on. Oh how wobblin’ and onsubstantial and curius I felt hearin’ their talk.

“And,” sez I, “nobody is tickleder than I be to think a colored man has had the right gin him to stand up in a Conference or anywhere else. I have probable experienced more emotions in his behalf,” sez I, “deep and earnest, than any other female, ancient or modern. I have bore his burdens for him, trembled under his lashes, agonized with him in his unexampled griefs and wrongs and indignities, and I have rejoiced at the very depths of my soul at his freedom.

“But,” sez I, “when he uses that freedom to enchain another and as deservin’ a race, my feelin’s are hurt and my indignations are riz up.

“Yes,” sez I, a-wavin’ that sprig some like a warlike banner, as my emotions swelled up under my bask waste,

“When that negro stands there a-advocatin’ the slavery of another race, and a-sayin’ that women ortn’t to say her soul is her own, and wimmen are too weak and foolish to lift up their right hands, much less preach, I’d love to ask him where he and his race wuz twenty-five years ago, and where they would be to-day if it wuzn’t for a woman usin’ her right hand and her big heart and brain in his behalf, and preachin’ for him all over the world and in almost every language under the sun. Everybody says that ‘Uncle Tom’s Cabin’ wuz the searchin’ harrow that loosened the old, hard ground of slavery so the rich seed of justice could be planted and bring forth freedom.

“If it hadn’t been for that woman’s preachin’, that negro exhauster would to-day most likely be a hoin’ cotton with a overseer a-lashin’ him up to his duties, and his wife and children and himself a-bein’ bought and sold, and borrowed and lent and mortgaged and drove like so many animals. And I’d like to have riz right up in that Conference and told him so.”

“Oh, no,” sez Josiah, lookin’ some meachin’, “no, you wouldn’t.”

“Yes, I would,” sez I. “And I’d ‘ve enjoyed it _richly_” sez I, es I turned and put my sprig round the edge of the platter.

[Illustration: SAMANTHA EXPRESSES HER VIEWS.]

Casper wuz demute for as much as half a minute, and Josiah Allen looked machin’ for about the same length of time.

But, good land! how soon they got over it. They wuz as chipper as ever, a-runnin’ down the idee of women settin’, before they got half through dinner.

After hard and arjuous work we got the scrapin’ done, and the scrubbin’ done, and then we proceeded to make a move towards puttin’ on the paper.

But the very day before we wuz to put on our first breadth, Sister Bobbet, our dependence and best paperer, fell down on a apple parin’ and hurt her ankle jint, so’s she couldn’t stand on a barell for more’n several days.

And we felt dretful cast down about it, for we all felt as if the work must stop till Sister Bobbet could be present and attend to it.

But, as it turned out, it wuz perfectly providential, so fur as I wuz concerned, for on goin’ home that night fearfully deprested on account of Sister Sylvester Bobbet, lo and behold! I found a letter there on my own mantletry piece that completely turned round my own plans. It come entirely onexpected to me, and contained the startlin’ intelligence that my own cousin, on my mother’s own side, had come home to Loontown to his sister’s, and wuz very sick with nervous prostration, neuralgia, rheumatism, etc., and expected paralasys every minute, and heart failure, and such.

[Illustration: “SISTER BOBBET, OUR DEPENDENCE, FELL DOWN ON A APPLE PARIN'”.]

And his sister, Miss Timson, who wrote the letter, beset me to come over and see him. She said, Jane Ann did (Miss Timson’ses name is Jane Ann), and sez she in Post scriptum remark to me, sez she–

“Samantha, I know well your knowledge of sickness and your powers of takin’ care of the sick. Do come and help me take care of Ralph, for it seems as if I can’t let him go. Poor boy, he has worked so hard, and now I wuz in hopes that he wuz goin’ to take some comfort in life, unbeknown to him. Do come and help him for my sake, and for Rosy’s sake.” Rosy wuz Ralph’s only child, a pretty girl, but one ruther wild, and needin’ jest now a father’s strong hand.

Rosy’s mother died when she wuz a babe, and Ralph, who had always been dretful religius, felt it to be his duty to go and preach to the savages. So Miss Timson took the baby and Ralph left all his property with Miss Timson to use for her, and then he girded up his lions, took his Bible and him book and went out West and tackled the savages.

Tackled ’em in a perfectly religius way, and done sights of good, sights and sights. For all he wuz so mild and gentle and religius, he got the upper hand of them savages in some way, and he brung ’em into the church by droves, and they jest worshipped him.

Wall, he worked so hard a-tryin’ to do good and save souls that wuz lost–a-tryin’ single-handed to overthrow barberus beliefs and habits, and set up the pure and peaceful doctrines of the Master.

[Illustration: RALPH SMITH ROBINSON.]

He loved and followed, that his health gin out after a time–he felt weak and mauger.

And jest about this time his sister wrote to him that Rosy havin’ got in with gay companions, wuz a gettin’ beyond her influence, and she _needed_ a father’s control and firm hand to guide her right, or else she would be liable to go to the wrong, and draw lots of others with her, for she wuz a born leader amongst her mates, jest as her father wuz–so wouldn’t Ralph come home.

Wall, Ralph come. His sister and girl jest worshipped him, and looked and longed for his comin’, as only tender-hearted wimmen can love and worship a hero. For if there wuz ever a hero it wuz Ralph Smith Robinson.

Wall, Ralph had been in the unbroken silences of nature so long, that the clack, and crash, and clamor of what we call civilized life almost crazed him.

He had been where his Maker almost seemed to come down and walk with him through the sweet, unbroken stillnesses of mornin’ and evenin’. The world seemed so fur off to him, and the Eternal Verities of life so near, that truly, it sometimes seemed to him as if, like one of old, “he walked with God.” Of course the savages war-whooped some, but they wuz still a good deal of the time, which is more than you can say for Yankees.

And Loontown when he got home was rent to its very twain with a Presidential election.

Ralph suffered.

But above all his other sufferin’s, he suffered from church bells.

Miss Timson lived, as it wuz her wish, and often her boast, right under the droppin’s of the sanctuary.

She lotted on it when she bought the place. The Baptist steeple towered up right by the side of her house. Her spare bed wuz immegietly under the steeple.

Wall, comin’ as he did from a place where he wuz called to worship by the voice of his soul and his good silver watch–this volume of clamor, this rushin’ Niagara of sound a-pourin’ down into his ears, wuz perfectly intolerable and onbeerable. He would lay awake till mornin’ dreadin’ the sound, and then colapse under it, till it run along and he come down with nervous fever.

He wuz worn out no doubt by his labors before he come, and any way he wuz took bed-sick, and couldn’t be moved so’s the doctor said, and he bein’ outside of his own head, delerius, couldn’t of course advance no idees of his own, so he lay and suffered.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Miss Timson’s letter wuz writ to me on the 6th day of his sickness, and Josiah and me set sail for Loontown on the follerin’ day after we got it.

I laid the case before the female Sisters of the meetin’ house, and they all counselled me to go. For, as they all said, on account of Sister Bobbet’s fallin’ on the apple parin’ we could not go on with the work of paperin’ the meetin’ house, and so the interests of Zion wouldn’t languish on account of my absence for a day or two any way. And, as the female Sisters all said, it seemed as if the work I wuz called to in Loontown wuz a fair and square case of Duty, so they all counselled me to go, every one on ’em. Though, as wuz nateral, there wuz severel divisions of opinions as to the road I should take a-goin’ there, what day I should come back, what remiedies wuz best for me to recommend when I got there, what dress I should wear, and whether I should wear a hankerchif pin or not–or a bib apron, or a plain banded one, etc., etc., etc., etc.

But, as I sez, as to my goin’ they wuz every one on ’em unanimus. They meen well, those sisters in the meetin’ house do, every one on ’em.

Josiah acted real offish at first about goin’. And he laid the case before the male brothers of the meetin’ house, for Josiah wuz fearful that the interests of the buzz saw mill would languish in his absence. One or two of the weaker brethren joined in with him, and talked kinder deprestin’ about it.

But Deacon Sypher and Deacon Henzy said they would guard his interests with eagle visions, or somethin’ to that effect, and they counselled Josiah warmly that it wuz his duty to go.

We hearn afterwards that Deacon Sypher and Deacon Henzy wanted to go into the North Woods a-fishin’ and a-huntin’ for 2 or 3 days, and it has always been spozed by me that that accounted for their religeus advice to Josiah Allen.

Howsumever, I don’t _know_ that. But I do know that they started off a-fishin’ the very day we left for Loontown, and that they come back home about the time we did, with two long strings of trout.

[Illustration: THE RETURN OF THE HUNTERS.]

And there wuz them that said that they ketched the trout, and them that said they bought ’em.

And they brung back the antlers of a deer in their game bags, and some bones of a elk. And there are them that sez that they dassent, either one of ’em, shoot off a gun, not hardly a pop gun. But I don’t know the truth of this. I know what they _said_, they _said_ the huntin’ wuz excitin’ to the last degree, and the fishin’ superb.

And there wuz them that said that they should think the huntin’ would be excitin’, a-rummagin’ round on the ground for some old bones, and they should think the fishin’ would be superb, a-dippin’ ’em out of a barell and stringin’ ’em onto their own strings.

But their stories are very large, that I know. And each one on ’em, accordin’ to their tell, ketched more trouts than the other one, and fur bigger ones, and shot more deers.

Wall, Deacon Sypher’ses advice and Deacon Henzy’s influenced Josiah a good deal, and I said quite a few words to him on the subject, and, suffice it to say, that the next day, about 10 A.M., we set out on our journey to Loontown.

[Illustration: “MISS TIMSON AND ROSY SEEMED DRETFUL GLAD TO SEE ME.”]

Miss Timson and Rosy seemed dretful glad to see me, but they wuz pale and wan, wanner fur than I expected to see ’em; but after I had been there a spell I see how it wuz. I see that Ralph wuz their hero as well as their love, and they worshipped him in every way, with their hearts and their souls and their idealized fancies.

Wall, he wuz a noble lookin’ man as I ever see, fur or near, and as good a one as they make, he wuz strong and tender, so I couldn’t blame ’em.

And though I wouldn’t want Josiah to hear me say too much about it, or mebby it would be best that he shouldn’t, before I had been there 24 hours I begun to feel some as they did.

But my feelin’s wuz strictly in a meetin’ house sense, strictly.

But I begun to feel with them that the middle of the world wuz there in that bedroom, and the still, white figure a-layin’ there wuz the centre, and the rest of the world wuz a-revolvin’ round him.

His face wuz worn and marked by the hand of Time and Endeaver. But every mark wuz a good one. The Soul, which is the best sculptor after all, had chiselled into his features the marks of a deathless endeavor and struggle toward goodness, which is God. Had marked it with the divine sweetness and passion of livin’ and toilin’ for the good of others.

He had gi’n his life jest as truly to seek and save them that wuz lost as ever any old prophet and martyr ever had sense the world began. But under all these heavenly expressions that a keen eye could trace in his good lookin’ face, could be seen a deathly weakness, the consumin’ fire that wuz a-consumin’ of him.

Miss Timson wept when she see me, and Rosy threw herself into my arms and sobbed. But I gently ondid her arms from round my neck and give Miss Timson to understand that I wuz there to _help_ ’em if I could.

“For,” sez I softly, “the hull future time is left for us to weep in, but the present wuz the time to try to help Ralph S. Robinson.”

Wall, I laid to, Josiah a-helpin’ me nobly, a-pickin’ burdock leaves or beet leaves, as the case might be, and a-standin’ by me nobly all through the follerin’ night (that is, when he wuz awake).

Josiah and I took care on him all that night, Miss Timson refusin’ to give him into the charge of underlin’s, and we a-offerin’ and not to be refused.

Wall, Josiah slept some, or that is, I s’poze he did. I didn’t hear much from him from 10 P.M. to 5 A.M., only once I heard him murmer in his sleep, “buzz saw mill.”

[Illustration: “DIDN’T SEE HOW FOLKS NEEDED SO MUCH SLEEP.”]

But every time I would come out into the settin’ room where he sot and roust him up to get sunthin’ for me, he would say, almost warmly–

“Samantha, that last remark of your’n wuz very powerful.” And I wouldn’t waste my time nor hisen by tellin’ him that I hadn’t made no remark, nor thought on’t. I see it would hurt his feelin’s, specilly as he would add in haste–

“That he didn’t see how folks needed so much sleep; as for him, it wuz a real treat to keep awake all night, now and then.”

No, I would let it go, and ask him for burdock or beet, as the case might be. Truly I had enugh on my mind and heart that night without disputin’ with my Josiah.

Ralph S. Robinson would lay lookin’ like a dead man some of the time, still and demute, and then he would speak out in a strange language, stranger than any I ever heard. He would preach sermons in that language, I a-knowin’ it wuz a sermen by his gestures, and also by my feelin’s. And then he would shet up his eyes and pray in that strange, strange tongue, and anon breakin’ out into our own language. And once he said:

“And now may the peace of God be with you all. Amen. The peace of God! the peace! the peace!”

His voice lingered sort o’ lovin’ly over that word, and I felt that he wuz a-thinkin’ then of the real peace, the onbroken stillness, outside and inside, that he invoked.

Rosy would steal in now and then like a sweet little shadow, and bend down and kiss her Pa, and cry a little over his thin, white hands which wuz a-lyin’ on the coverlet, or else lifted in that strange speech that sounded so curius to us, a-risin’ up out of the stillness of a Loontown spare bedroom on a calm moonlit evenin’.

Wall, Friday and Saturday he wuz crazier’n a loon, more’n half the time he wuz, but along Saturday afternoon the Doctor told us that the fever would turn sometime the latter part of the night, and if he could sleep then, and not be disturbed, there would be a chance for his life.

Wall, Miss Timson and Rosy both told me how the ringin’ of the bells seemed to roust him up and skair him (as it were) and git him all excited and crazy. And they both wuz dretful anxius about the mornin’ bells which would ring when Ralph would mebby be sleepin’. So thinkin’ it wuz a case of life and death, and findin’ out who wuz the one to tackle in the matter, I calmly tied on my bonnet and walked over and tackled him.

CHAPTER XXIV.

It wuz Deacon Garven and he wuz a close communion Baptist by perswaision, and a good man, so fur as firm morals and a sound creed goes.

Some things he lacked: he hadn’t no immagination at all, not one speck. And in makin’ him up, it seems as if he had a leetle more justice added to him to make up a lack of charity and pity. And he had a good deal of sternness and resolve gin him, to make up, I spoze, for a lack of tenderness and sweetness of nater.

A good sound man Deacon Garven wuz, a man who would cheat himself before he would cheat a neighber. He wuz jest full of qualities that would hender him from ever takin’ a front part in a scandel and a tragedy. Yes, if more men wuz like Deacon Garven the pages of the daily papers would fairly suffer for rapiners, embezzlers, wife whippers, etc.

Wall, he wuz in his office when I tackled him. The hired girl asked me if I come for visitin’ purposes or business, and I told her firmly, “business!”

So she walked me into a little office one side of the hall, where I spoze the Deacon transacted the business that come up on his farm, and then he wuz Justice of the Peace, and trustee of varius concerns (every one of ’em good ones).

He is a tall, bony man, with eyes a sort of a steel gray, and thin lips ruther wide, and settin’ close together. And without lookin’ like one, or, that is, without havin’ the same features at all, the Deacon did make me think of a steel trap. I spoze it wuz because he wuz so sound, and sort o’ firm. A steel trap is real firm when it lays hold and tries to be.

[Illustration: “THE DEACON DID MAKE ME THINK OF A STEEL TRAP.”]

Wall, I begun the subject carefully, but straight to the pint, as my way is, by tellin’ him that Ralph S. Robinson wuz a-layin’ at death’s door, and his life depended on his gettin’ sleep, and we wuz afraid the bells in the mornin’ would roust him up, and I had come to see if he would omit the ringin’ of ’em in the mornin’.

“Not ring the bells!” sez he, in wild amaze. “Not ring the church bells on the Sabbath day?”

His look wuz skairful in the extreme, but I sez–

“Yes, that is what I said, we beg of you as a Christian to not ring the bells in the mornin’.”

“A Christian! A Christian! Advise me as a _Christian_ to not ring the Sabbath bells!”

I see the idee skairt him. He wuz fairly pale with surprise and borrow. And I told him agin’, puttin’ in all the perticilers it needed to make the story straight and good, how Ralph S. Robinson had labored for the good of others, and how his strength had gin out, and he wuz now a-layin’ at the very pint of death, and how his girl and his sister wuz a-breakin’ their hearts over him, and how we had some hopes of savin’ his life if he could get some sleep, that the doctors said his life depended on it, and agin I begged him to do what we asked.

But the Deacon had begin to get over bein’ skairt, and he looked firm as anybody ever could, as he sez: “The bells never hurt anybody, I know, for here I have lived right by the side of ’em for 20 years. Do I look broke down and weak?” sez he.

“No,” sez I, honestly. “No more than a grannit monument, or a steel trap.”

“Wall,” sez he, “what don’t hurt me won’t hurt nobody else.”

“But,” sez I, “folks are made up different.” Sez I, “The Bible sez so, and what might not hurt you, might be the ruin of somebody else. Wuz you ever nervous?” sez I.

“Never,” sez he. And he added firmly, “I don’t believe in nerves. I never did. There hain’t no use in ‘m.”

“It wuz a wonder they wuz made, then,” sez I. “As a generel thing the Lord don’t make things there hain’t no use on. Howsumever,” sez I, “there hain’t no use in disputin’ back and forth on a nerve. But any way, sickness is so fur apart from health, that the conditions of one state can’t be compared to the other; as Ralph S. Robinson is now, the sound of the bells, or any other loud noise means torture and agony to him, and, I am afraid, death. And I wish you would give orders to not have ’em rung in the mornin’.”

“Are you a professor?” sez he.

“Yes,” sez I.

“What perswaision?” sez he.

“Methodist Episcopal,” sez I.

“And do you, a member of a sister church, which, although it has many errors, is still a-gropin’ after the light! Do you counsel me to set aside the sacred and time honored rules of our church, and allow the Sabbath to go by unregarded, have the sanctuary desecrated, the cause of religion languish–I cannot believe it. Think of the widespread desolation it would cause if, as the late lamented Mr. Selkirk sung:

“‘The sound of the church-going bells, These valleys and hills never heard.'”

“No church, no sanctuary, no religius observances.”

“Why,” sez I, “that wouldn’t hinder folks from goin’ to church. Folks seem to get to theatres, lectures, and disolvin’ views on time, and better time than they do to meetin’,” sez I. “In your opinin’ it hain’t necessary to beat a drum and sound on a bugle as the Salvation Army duz, to call folks to meetin’; you are dretful hard on them, so I hear.”

“Yes, they make a senseless, vulgar, onnecessary racket, disturbin’ and agrivatin’ to saint and sinner.”

“But,” sez I, “they say they do it for the sake of religion.”

“Religion hain’t to be found in drum-sticks,” sez he bitterly.

“No,” sez I, “nor in a bell clapper.”

“Oh,” sez he, “that is a different thing entirely, that is to call worshippers together, that is necessary.”

Sez I, “One hain’t no more necessary than the other in my opinion.”

Sez he, “Look how fur back in the past the sweet bells have sounded out.”

“Yes,” sez I candidly, “and in the sweet past they wuz necessary,” sez I. “In the sweet past, there wuzn’t a clock nor a watch, the houses wuz fur apart, and they needed bells. But now there hain’t a house but what is runnin’ over with clocks–everybody knows the time; they know it so much that time is fairly a drug to ’em. Why, they time themselves right along through the day, from breakfast to midnight. Time their meals, their business, their pleasures, their music, their lessons, their visits, their visitors, their pulse beats, and their dead beats. They time their joys and their sorrows, and everything and everybody, all through the week, and why should they stop short off Sundays? Why not time themselves on goin’ to meetin’? They do, and you know it. There hain’t no earthly need of the bells to tell the time to go to meetin’, no more than there is to tell the time to put on the tea-kettle to get supper. If folks want to go to meetin’ they will get there, bells or no bells, and if they don’t want to go, bells hain’t a-goin’ to get ’em started.

“Take a man with the Sunday _World_ jest brung in, a-layin’ on a lounge, with his feet up in a chair, and kinder lazy in the first place, bells hain’t a-goin’ to start him.

“And take a woman with her curl papers not took down, and a new religeus novel in her hand, and a miliner that disapinted her the night before, and bells hain’t a-goin’ to start her. No, the great bell of Moscow won’t start ’em.

[Illustration: “BELLS HAIN’T A-GOIN’ TO START HIM.”]

“And take a good Christian woman, a widow, for instance, who loves church work, and has a good handsome Christian pasture, who is in trouble, lost his wife, mebby, or sunthin’ else bad, and the lack of bells hain’t a-goin’ to keep that women back, no, not if there wuzn’t a bell on earth.”

“Oh, wall, wavin’ off that side of the subject,” sez he (I had convinced him, I know, but he wouldn’t own it, for he knew well that if folks wanted to go they always got there, bells or no bells). “But,” sez he wavin’ off that side of the subject, “the observance is so time honored, so hallowed by tender memories and associations all through the past.”

“Don’t you ‘spoze, Deacon Garven,” sez I, “that I know every single emotion them bells can bring to anybody, and felt all those memorys and associations. I’ll bet, or I wouldn’t be afraid to bet, if I believed in bettin’, that there hain’t a single emotion in the hull line of emotions that the sound of them bells can wake up, but what I have felt, and felt ’em deep too, jest as deep as anybody ever did, and jest es many of ’em. But it is better for me to do without a upliftin’, soarin’ sort of a feelin’ ruther than have other people suffer agony.”

“Agony!” sez he, “talk about their causin’ agony, when there hain’t a more heavenly sound on earth.”

[Illustration: “A-LEANIN’ OVER THE FRONT GATE ON A STILL SPRING MORNIN’.”]

“So it has been to me,” sez I candidly. “To me they have always sounded beautiful, heavenly. Why,” sez I, a-lookin’ kinder fur off, beyond Deacon Garven, and all other troubles, as thoughts of beauty and insperation come to me borne out of the past into my very soul, by the tender memories of the bells–thoughts of the great host of believers who had gathered together at the sound of the bells–the great army of the Redeemed–

‘Some of the host have crossed the flood, and some are crossin’ now,’

thinks I a-lookin’ way off in a almost rapped way. And then I sez to Deacon Garven in a low soft voice, lower and more softer fur, than I had used to him,

“Don’t I know what it is to stand a-leanin’ over the front gate on a still spring mornin’, the smell of the lilacs in the air, and the brier roses. A dew sparklin’ on the grass under the maples, and the sunshine a-fleckin’ the ground between ’em, and the robins a-singin’ and the hummin’ birds a-hoverin’ round the honeysuckles at the door. And over all and through all, and above all clear and sweet, comin’ from fur off a-floatin’ through the Sabbath stillness, the sound of the bells, a-bringin’ to us sweet Sabbath messages of love and joy. Bringin’ memories too, of other mornin’s as fair and sweet, when other ears listened with us to the sound, other eyes looked out on the summer beauty, and smiled at the sound of the bells. Heavenly emotions, sweet emotions come to me on the melody of the bells, peaceful thoughts, inspirin’ thoughts of the countless multitude that has flocked together at the sound of the bells. The aged feet, the eager youthful feet, the children’s feet, all, all walkin’ to the sound of the bells. Thoughts of the happy youthful feet that set out to walk side by side, at their ringin’ sounds. Thoughts of the aged ones grown tired, and goin’ to their long dreamless sleep to their solemn sound. Thoughts of the brave hero’s who set out to protect us with their lives while the bells wuz ringin’ out their approval of such deeds. Thoughts of how they pealed out joyfully on their return bearin’ the form of Peace. Thoughts of how the bells filled the mornin’ and evenin’ air, havin’ throbbed and beat with every joy and every pain of our life, till they seem a part of us (as it were) and the old world would truly seem lonesome without ’em.

“As I told you, and told you truly, I don’t believe there is a single emotion in the hull line of emotions, fur or near, but what them bells have rung into my very soul.

“But such emotions, beautiful and inspirin’ though they are, can be dispensed with better than justice and mercy can. Sweet and tender sentiment is dear to me, truly, near and dear, but mercy and pity and common sense, have also a powerful grip onto my right arm, and have to lead me round a good deal of the time.

“Beautiful emotion, when it stands opposed to eternal justice, ort to step gently aside and let justice have a free road. Sentiment is truly sweet, but any one can get along without it, take it right along through the year, better than they can without sleep.

“You see if you can’t sleep you must die, while a person can worry along a good many years without sentiment. Or, that is, I have been told they could. I don’t know by experience, for I have always had a real lot of it. You see my experience has been such that I could keep sentiment and comfort too. But my mind is such, that I have to think of them that hain’t so fortunate as I am.

“I have looked at the subject from my own standpoint, and have tried also to look at it through others’ eyes, which is the only way we can get a clear, straight light on any subject. As for me, as I have said, I would love to hear the sweet, far off sound of the bells a-tremblin’ gently over the hills to me from Jonesville; it sounds sweeter to me than the voices of the robins and swallers, a-comin’ home from the South in the spring of the year. And I would deerly love to have it go on and on as fur as my own feelins are concerned. But I have got to look at the subject through the tired eyes, and feel it through the worn-out nerves of others, who are sot down right under the wild clamor of the bells.

“What comes to me as a heavenly melody freighted full of beautiful sentiment and holy rapture comes to them as an intolerable agony, a-maddenin’ discord, that threatens their sanity, that rouses ’em up from their fitful sleep, that murders sleep–the bells to them seem murderus, strikin’ noisily with brazen hands, at their hearts.

[Illustration: “TOSSIN’ ON BEDS OF NERVOUS SUFFERIN’.”]

“To them tossin’ on beds of nervous sufferin’, who lay for hours fillin’ the stillness with horror, with dread of the bells, where fear and dread of ’em exceed the agony of the clangor of the sound when it comes at last. Long nights full of a wakeful horror and expectency, fur worse than the realization of their imaginin’s. To them the bells are a instrument of torture jest as tuff to bear as any of the other old thumb screws and racks that wrung and racked our old 4 fathers in the name of Religion.

“I have to think of the great crowd of humanity huddled together right under the loud clangor of the bells whose time of rest begins when the sun comes up, who have toiled all night for our comfort and luxury. So we can have our mornin’ papers brought to us with our coffee. So we can have the telegraphic messages, bringing us good news with our toast. So’s we can have some of our dear ones come to us from distant lands in the morning. I must think of them who protect us through the night so we can sleep in peace.

“Hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of these, our helpers and benafacters, work all night for our sakes, work and toil. The least we can do for these is to help ’em to the great Restorer, sleep, all we can.

“Some things we can’t do; we can’t stop the creakin’ sounds of the world’s work; the big roar of the wheel of business that rolls through the week days, can’t be oiled into stillness; but Sundays they might get a little rest Sunday is the only day of rest for thousands of men and wimmen, nervous, pale, worn by their week’s hard toil.

“The creakin’ of the wheels of traffic are stopped on this day. They could get a little of the rest they need to carry on the fight of life to help support wife, child, father, husband; but religeon is too much for ’em–the religeon that the Bible declares is mild, peacible, tender. It clangs and bangs and whangs at ’em till the day of rest is a torment.

“Now the Lord wouldn’t approve of this. I know He wouldn’t, for He was always tender and pitiful full of compassion. I called it religeon for oritory, but it hain’t religeon, it is a relict of old Barberism who, under the cloak of Religeon, whipped quakers and hung prophetic souls, that the secrets of Heaven had been revealed to, secrets hidden from the coarser, more sensual vision.”

Sez Deacon Garven: “I consider the bells as missionarys. They help spread the Gospel.”

“And,” sez I, for I waz full of my subject, and kep him down to it all I could, “Ralph S. Robinson has spread the Gospel over acres and acres of land, and brung in droves and droves of sinners into the fold without the help of church or steeple, let alone bells, and it seems es if he ortn’t to be tortured to death now by ’em.”

“Wall,” he said, “he viewed ’em as Gospel means, and he couldn’t, with his present views of his duty to the Lord, omit ’em.”

Sez I, “The Lord didn’t use ’em. He got along without ’em.”

“Wall,” he said, “it wuz different times now.”

Sez I, “The Lord, if He wuz here to-day, Deacon Garven, if He had bent over that form racked with pain and sufferin’ and that noise of any kind is murderous to, He would help him, I know He would, for He wuz good to the sick, and tender hearted always.”

“Wall, _I_ will help him,” sez Deacon Garven, “I will watch, and I will pray, and I will work for him.”

Sez I, “Will you promise me not to ring the bells to-morrow mornin’; if he gets into any sleep at all durin’ the 24 hours, it is along in the mornin’, and I think if we could keep him asleep, say all the forenoon, there would be a chance for him. Will you promise me?”

“Wall,” sez he kinder meltin’ down a little, “I will talk with the bretheren.”

Sez I, “Promise me, Deacon Eben Garven, before you see ’em.”

Sez he, “I would, but I am so afraid of bringin’ the Cause of Religeon into contempt. And I dread meddlin’ with the old established rules of the church.”

Sez I, “Mercy and justice and pity wuz set up on earth before bells wuz, and I believe it is safe to foller ’em.”

But he wouldn’t promise me no further than to talk with the bretheren, and I had to leave him with that promise. As things turned out afterwuds, I wuz sorry, sorry es a dog that I didn’t shet up Deacon Garven in his own smoke house, or cause him to be shet, and mount a guard over him, armed nearly to the teeth with clubs.