“There is one! catch it! take holt of ’em Nance.” Oh, how I pitied my pardner, for I knew’ he was on the back of a Nite-Mare (as it were) a chasin’ flies; and then he’d kinder shy off one side of the bed, and I’d hunch him, and he’d say there was a hull regiment of wimmen after him with mops.
But towards mornin’ I got a little good sleep, and so did he.
The next mornin’ Mahala kinder atted me about my house; said she s’posed it wasn’t half as nice, nor furnished near so well as hern. Her mean was proud, and I could see she felt hauty with her nice things, though I couldn’t see half on ’em when she led me through the rooms they was so shet up and dark, dark as a dark pocket, a most; and the air was musty and tight, tight as a drum; she said she didn’t air it only in the night for fear of flies.
Says she again, “I s’pose your house haint furnished near so nice as mine.”
Says I, “I have got two elegant things in my house that you haint got in yourn, Mahala.”
“What are they?” says she.
Says I, “Sunshine and air;” says I, “our house haint a big one, but it is comfortable and clean, and big enough to hold Josiah and me, and comfort, and the childern.” Says I, “My parlor looks well, everybody says it does. The carpet has got a green ground work that looks jest like moss, with clusters of leaves all scattered over it, crimson and gold colored and russet brown, that look for all the world as if they might have fell offen the maple trees out in the yard in the fall of the year. I have got a good honorable set of chairs; two or three rockin’ chairs, and a settee covered with handsome copper-plate; lots of nice pictures and books, for Thomas J. will have ’em, and I am perfectly willin’ and agreeable in that respect.” Says I, “Everybody says it is as pleasant and cozy a room as they ever laid eyes on; and that room, Mahala, is open every day to my companion Josiah, fresh air, sunshine, myself and the childern;” says I, “when we have got our work done up and want to rest, there is the place we go to rest in; it makes anybody feel as chirk again as a poor dull lookin’ room; and what under the sun do I want of a pleasant bright lookin’ room if it haint to take some comfort with it?”
Says she, with a horrified look, “the idee of lettin’ the sunshine in on a nice carpet; it fades ’em, it fades green awfully.”
Says I, “My carpet haint fadin’ colors, and if it was, there is more where that come from. But,” says I, “there is other things that fade besides carpets;” says I, “there is such a thing as fadin’ all the greenness and brightness of life out;” says I, “I had ruther have my carpet fade, than to have my childern’s fresh gayety, and my companion’s happiness and comfort fade out as grey as a rat;” says I, “the only way to git any comfort and happiness out of this old world, is to take it as you travel on, day by day, and hour by hour.”
Says I, “In my opinion it is awful simple to stent yourselves, and scrimp yourselves along all your lives lookin’ for some future time, fur ahead, when you are goin’ to enjoy things and live agreeable;” says I, “if such folks don’t look out, the street of By and By they are travellin’ on, will narrow down to that road that is only broad enough for one to travel on it at a time, and the house they are expectin’ to take so much comfort in, will have a marble door to it, and be covered over with the grasses of the valley.”