Sam. Does she use you well, Simon?
Simon. She’s pretty hard on me. I hain’t had my way in anything sense the day she married me. She began to hold my nose to the grindstone, as the sayin’ is, before we had been married two hours; and she hain’t no house-heeper, or cook. I have had to live on pancakes ’most of the time since it took place, and they’re tougher than leather. I have been ’most tempted to cut some out of my boot-leg, to see if they wouldn’t be tenderer; but I never should hear the last of it if I did. She jaws me awfully, and orders me ’round as if I was a dog. If I was a yeller dog she couldn’t seem to look down on me more, and treat me any worse.
Sam. Wall; I always did mistrust them wimmen that don’t want any rights, only to cling and coo. But I don’t want to run anybody to their back. She thought it was her spear to marry.
Simon. I told you that spear of her’n would destroy me, and it has. (He weeps)
(Enter Betsey, with several pairs of ragged pantaloons to mend over her arm, and several sheets of foolscap paper in her hand.)
Bet. I thought perhaps I could get a few minutes to sew before the arrival of our guests. I have 7 pairs of pantaloons to mend before I retiah. Children wear out clothing so rapidly, and our children seem to make a specialty of ripping and tearing. We have been obleeged to put two of them to bed on that account, and they are swearing now violently in bed, at their step motheh, because I have not been able to mend their clothes in time for the reception.
Sam. Are you happy, Betsey?
Bet. I am at rest; more at rest than I have been for years!
Miss G. (Looking round at the sick children and taking up the ragged pantaloons and looking at them:) At rest!
Sam. Are you happy, Betsey?