Elder. I can only repeat what I said yesterday in my 21stly. That it is flyin’ in the face of the Bible for a woman not to marry. It is heaven’s design that women should be a vine, and man a tree.
Wid. D. I always thought my Doodle was a tree. I knew he was.
Sam. Well Elder, your wife is jest dead with the tyfus, and I ask you this queston. Are you willing to let Betsey Bobbett cling to you? She believes jest as you do, and she is fairly dying to make a runnin’ vine of herself; and are you willing to be a tree?
Elder. Wall—as it were—Mrs. Allen—I—that is—the religious state of the country at present is—as it were—
Sam. Are you willing to be a tree?
Elder. I believe Mrs. Allen you are a strong Grant woman. Now I favor Blaine.
Sam. Are you willing to be a tree?
Elder. I guess I’ll go to the barn and get my saddle bags.
Exit Elder.
Sam. I knew jest how it would be; I knew he wouldn’t be a tree.