I see I was frightenin’ her by my delerious tone and I continued more mildly, as I stirred down the strugglin’ sugar with one hand--removed a cake from the oven with the other--watched my apple preserves with a eagle vision, and listened intently to the voice of the twins, who was playin’ in the woodhouse.
“I had jest as soon soothe lacerations as not, Betsey, if I hadn’t everything else to do. I had jest as lives set down and smile at Josiah by the hour, but who would fry him nut-cakes? I could smoothe down his bald head affectionately, but who would do off this batch of sugar? I could coo at him day in and day out, but who would skim milk--wash pans--get vittles--wash and iron--and patch and scour--and darn and fry--and make and mend--and bake and bile while I was a cooin’, tell me?” says I.
Betsey spoke not, but quailed, and I continued--
“Women haint any stronger than men, naturally; thier backs and thier nerves haint made of any stouter timber; their hearts are jest as liable to ache as men’s are; so with thier heads; and after doin’ a hard day’s work when she is jest ready to drop down, a little smilin’ and cooin’ would do a woman jest as much good as a man. Not what,” I repeated in the firm tone of principle “Not but what I am willin’ to coo, if I only had time.”
A pause enshued durin’ which I bent over the wash-tub and rubbed with all my might on Josiah’s shirt sleeve. I had got one sleeve so I could see streaks of white in it, (Josiah is awful hard on his shirt sleeves), and I lifted up my face and continued in still more reesonable tones, as I took out my rice puddin’ and cleaned out the bottom of the oven, (the pudden had run over and was a scorchin’ on), and scraped the oven bottom with a knife,
“Now Josiah Allen will go out into that lot,” says I, glancein’ out of the north window “and plough right straight along, furrow after furrow, no sweat of mind about it at all; his mind is in that free calm state that he could write poetry.”
“Speaking of poetry, reminds me,” said Betsey, and I see her hand go into her pocket; I knew what was a comin’, and I went on hurriedly, wavin’ off what I knew must be, as long as I could. “Now, I, a workin’ jest as hard as he accordin’ to my strength, and havin’ to look 40 ways to once, and 40 different strains on my mind, now tell me candidly, Betsey Bobbet, which is in the best condition for cooin’, Josiah Allen or me? but it haint expected of him,” says I in agitated tones, “I am expected to do all the smilin’ and cooin’ there is done, though you know,” says I sternly, “that I haint no time for it.”