“Did you Widder?” says he, and his tone seemed to be some chirker than it was. “I wish you had been acquainted with the corpse, I believe you would have loved each other like sisters.”
Sister Doodle took her snuff handkerchief down from her face and says she in a more cheerful tone:
“You must chirk up, Mr. Cypher; you must look forred to happier days.”
“Yes,” says he, “I know there is another spear, and I try to keep it in view, and hang my hopes upon it; a spear where hired girls are unknown, and partin’s are no more.”
“I can’t bear hired girls,” says sister Doodle. “I wouldn’t have one round when I was a keepin’ house.”
“Can’t you bear hired girls?” says Solomon. “You make me feel better, Widder, than I did feel when I come in here! You chirk me up Widder! I believe you look like the corpse; you look out of your eyes as she looked out of hern. Oh what a woman that was; she knew her place so well; you couldn’t have hired her to vote; she said she’d drather dig potatoes any time—she was as good as a man at that, when I’d git kinder belated with my work; she’d dig as fast as I could any day.”
“I love to dig potatoes,” says the Widder.
“I do feel better,” says Solomon. “I know I don’t feel nigh so cast down as I did.”
“And no money wouldn’t hire me to vote.”
“You do look like her,” says he bustin’ out in a real convinced tone, “I know you do; I can see it plainer and plainer. You make me think on her.”