Part 33 (1/2)

”You are a unbeliever,” says she bitterly.

”Yes, mom: I s'pose I am. I s'pose I should be called Samantha Allen, U.S., which Stands, Unbeliever in Spiritual Seansys, and also United States. It has a n.o.ble, martyrous look to me,” says I firmly. ”It makes me think of my errent.”

She tosted her head in a high-headed way, which is gaulin' in the extreme to see in another female. And she says,-

”You are not receptive to truth.”

I s'pose she thought that would scare me, but it didn't. I says,-

”I believe in takin' truth direct from G.o.d's own hand and revelation. But I don't have any faith in modern spiritual seansys. They seem to me,-and I would say it in a polite, courtous way, for I wouldn't hurt your feelin's for the world,-all mixed up with modern greed and humbug.”

But, if you'll believe it, for all the pains I took to be almost over- polite to her, and not say a word to hurt her feelin's, that woman acted mad, and flounced out of the room as if she was sent.

Good land! what strange creeters there are in the world, anyway!

Wall, I had fairly forgot that the boy wus in the room. But 1,000 and 5 is a small estimate of the questions he asked me after she went out.

”What a seansy was? And did folks appear there? And would his papa appear if he should tie himself up in a box? And if I would be sorry if his papa didn't appear, if he didn't appear? And where the folks went to that I said, come out of their graves? And did they die again? Or did they keep on a livin' and a livin' and a livin'? And if I wished I could keep on a livin' and a livin' and a livin'?”

Good land! it made me feel wild as a loon, and Cicely put the boy to bed.

But I happened to go into the bedroom for something; and he opened his eyes, and says he,-

”Say! if the dead live men's little boys that had grown up and lived and died before their pa's come out, would they come out too? and would the dead live men know that they was their little boys? and say”-

But I went out immegiatly, and s'pose he went to sleep.

Wall, the next mornin' I got up feelin' kinder mauger. I felt sort o' weary in my mind as well as my body. For I had kep' up a powerful ammount of thinkin' and medetatin'. Mebby right when I would be a talkin' and a smilin' to folks about the weather or literatoor or any thing, my mind would be hard at work on problems, and I would be a takin' silent observations, and musin' on what my eyes beheld.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”SAY!”]

And I had felt more and more satisfied of the wisdom of the conclusion I reached on my first interview with Allen Arthur,-that I dast not, I dast not let my companion go from me into Was.h.i.+ngton.

No! I felt that I dast not, as his mind was, let him go into temptation.

I felt that he wanted to make money out of the Government I loved; and after I had looked round me, and observed persons and things, I felt that he would do it.

I felt that I dast not let him go.

I knew that he wanted to help them that helped him, without no deep thought as to the special fitness of uncle Nate Gowdy and Ury Henzy for governmental positions. And after I had enquired round a little, and considered the heft of his mind, and the weight of example, I felt he would do it.

And I dast not let him go.

And, though I knew his hand was middlin' free now, still I realized that other hands just as free once had had rings slipped into 'em, and was led by 'em whithersoever the ring-makers wished to lead them.

I dast not let him go.

I knew that now his morals, though small (he don't weigh more'n a hundred,-bones, moral sentiments, and all), was pretty sound and firm, the most of the time. But the powerful winds that blew through them broad streets of Was.h.i.+ngton from every side, and from the outside, and from the under side, powerful breezes, some cold, and some powerful hot ones-why, I felt that them small morals, more than as likely as not, would be upsot, and blowed down, and tore all to pieces.

I dast not let him go.