“Eatin’,” says she, “what is eatin’ compared to a knowledge of the docterines and the condition of the perishin’ heathen?”
“But,” says I in reasonable axents, “folks have got to eat or else die—and if they haint able to hire a girl, they have got to cook the vittles themselves or else they’ll perish, and die jest as dead as a dead heathen.”
Speakin’ about Serepta’s time, always seemed to set Miss Horn off onto her poetry, and she repeated again,—“Go to the ant—”
But I interrupted of her, and says I, “You have advised Serepta several times to go to her _aunt_ and be _wise_. _I_ am her aunt, and I motion she falls in with the advice you have give her, in a handsome way. I advise her to do up her work. And I advise you to clear out, all of you, and give her a chance to wash her dishes, and nurse her babies, and get her dinner.” For truly dinner time was approachin’.
They acted mad, but they started off. Serepta’s face was as white as a white cotton sheet, as she seen ’em go, she was that skairt; but I kep’ pretty cool and considerable firm, for I see she needed a friend. I laid to and helped her do up her work, and git her dinner. And she owned up to me that her work wouldn’t seem to be nothin’ to her if she could have her house and her time to herself some. I see plain, that she was a carryin’ the hull meetin’ house on her back, though she didn’t say so. I could see that she dassant say her soul was her own, she was so afraid of offendin’ the flock.
She happened to say to me as we was a washin’ up the dishes, how much she wanted a new dress. Her uncle had give her the money to git one, and she wanted it the worst way.
“Oh,” says she, “the church don’t like to have me git anything to wear, and they make so many speeches about my bein’ extravagant, and breakin’ down my husband’s influence, and settin’ a wicked example of extravagance, and ruinin’ the nation, that I can’t bear to git a rag of clothes to wear.”
“Well,” says I calmly wipin’ the butter plate, “if you feel like that, I don’t see anything to hinder you from goin’ naked. I don’t s’pose they would like that.”
“Oh no,” says she, ready to burst out a cryin’. “They don’t like it if I haint dressed up slick. They say I am a stumblin’ block, if I haint as dressy as the other minister’s wife.”