"What was the text?"
"Dere now, I'se can't jist tink ob de text all in a minit. It has popped right off all in a suddent, but 'twas a blessed un, all bout God."
"Well, Phebe, if you can't remember the text, you can tell me about the sermon,—it pleased you so much."
"Oh, yes, missus, pleased me berry much, powerful good discoors dat ar. Wall now, how kinder curis dis yer chile, can't jist tink ob nothing, only jist when don't want ter. Now I declar," said the perplexed woman, putting her hand to her head, "when I'se getting de supper de hull discoors 'ull come pouring into my ole brain, when I can't no way stop to 'tend to it."
"Can't you tell me the subject?" I asked, trying to repress my mirth.
"Oh, laws, yes, missus, 'twas all bout piousness, and serousness, dat's de idee. I'se glad," she added complacently, "I'se got some o' my senses left, 'twas a blessed discoors dat ar."
Tuesday, July 16th.
Dear Mother, I am up and dressed for the first time since Monday. I feel a general prostration of the system. My husband ascribes it to over excitement. Nothing could surpass the kindness of every one in the house. I fear Frank will make himself sick from anxiety. He returns home once or twice in the forenoon, runs to my chamber for a few minutes, and then off again to another part of the town. Phebe does wonders in her line, trying to make something "Missus will relish a bit." She complains that I do not eat enough to keep a canary bird alive, and indeed I have not much appetite. Frank would not allow me to arise until after dinner, when Ann came in with a dish which would be very tempting to a person in health. I readily recognized the kind hand which selected it for me. The breast of a fat pigeon, with a nice slice of crisp toast, and an excellent cup of tea. I almost relished it.
While I sat in bed bolstered by pillows with the waiter before me, madam Phebe came from the kitchen to pay me a visit. She wished to see with her own eyes why I did not eat.