Part 44 (2/2)

He looked real sort o' meachin' as I spoke; and he said in considerable of a meek voice,-

”I was talkin' to you about a new feller, jest got up by the richest firm in North America.”

”What difference does it make to me who he belongs to? I don't care if he belongs to Vanderbilt, or Aster'ses family. Principle-that is what I am a workin' on; and the same principle that would hender me from buyin' a feller that was poor as a snail, would hender me from buyin' one that had the riches of Creshus; it wouldn't make a mite of difference to me.

”As the poet Mr. Burns says,-I have heard Thomas J. repeat it time and agin, and I always liked it: I may not get the words exactly right, but the meanin' is,-

”Rank is only the E pluribus Unum stamp, on the trade dollar: a feller is a feller for all that.”

But I'll be hanged if he didn't, after all my expenditure of wind and eloquence, and quotin' poetry, and every thing-if he didn't turn round at the foot of that doorstep, and strikin' that same patient, determined att.i.tude of hisen, say, says he,-

[Ill.u.s.tration: ”CAN'T I SELL YOU A FELLER?”]

”You are mistaken, mom. I merely stopped this mornin' to see if I could sell you”-

But I jest shet the door in his face, and went off upstairs into the west chamber, and went to windin' bobbin's for my carpet. And I don't know how long he stayed there, nor don't care. He had gone when I come down to get dinner, and that was all I cared for.

I told Josiah about it when he and the boy come home; and I tell you, my eyes fairly snapped, I was that mad and rousted up about it: but he said,-

”He believed it was a sewin'-machine man, and wanted to sell me a feller for my sewin'-machine. He said he had heard there was a general agent in Jonesville that was a sendin' out agents with all sorts of attachments, some with hemmers, and some with fellers.”

But I didn't believe a word of it: I believe he was mean. A mean, low-lived, insultin' creeter.

CHAPTER XIV.

Wall, Cicely died in June; and how the days will pa.s.s by, whether we are joyful or sorrowful! And before we knew it (as it were), September had stepped down old Time's dusty track, and appeared before us, and curchied to us (allegory).

Ah, yes! time pa.s.ses by swiftly. As the poet observes, In youth the days pa.s.s slowly, in middle life they trot, and in old age they canter.

But the time, though goin' fast, had pa.s.sed by very quietly and peacefully to Josiah Allen and me.

Every thing on the farm wus prosperous. The children was well and happy; the babe beautiful, and growin' more lovely every day.

Ury had took his money, and bought a good little house and 4 acres of land in our neighborhood, and had took our farm for the next and ensuin' year. And they was happy and contented. And had expectations. They had (under my direction) took a tower together, and the memory of her lonely pilgrimage had seemed to pa.s.s from Philury's mind.

The boy wus a gettin' healthier all the time. And he behaved better and better, most all the time. I had limited him down to not ask over 50 questions on one subject, or from 50 to 60; and so we got along first- rate.

And we loved him. Why, there hain't no tellin' how we did love him. And he would talk so pretty about his ma! I had learned him to think that he would see her bime by, and that she loved him now jest as much as ever, and that she wanted him to be a good boy.

And he wuz a beautiful boy, if his chin wuz sort o' weak. He would try to tell the truth, and do as I would tell him to-and would, a good deal of the time. And he would tell his little prayers every night, and repeat lots of Scripture pa.s.sages, and would ask more'n 100 questions about 'em, if I would let him.

There was one verse I made him repeat every night after he said his prayers: ”Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see G.o.d.”

And I always would say to him, earnest and deep, that his ma was pure in heart.

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