They ort to respect and reverence each other’s individuality.—(That is a long hefty word, but I have got it all right, for I looked it out in Thomas Jefferson’s big dictionary, see what it meant, and spelt it all out as I went along; nobody need to be afraid of sayin’ it jest as I have got it down.) Because Miss Horn, and the rest of ’em git lonesome, they hadn’t ort to inflict themselves and their gossip onto a busy man or woman who don’t git lonesome. Good land! if anybody lays holt of life as they ort to, they haint no time to be lonesome. Now Serepta Simmons meant well, and liked her neighbors, and their childern, and wanted to treat ’em friendly and handsome. But she hankered dretfully after havin’ a home of her own, and not livin’ with ’em all premiscous (as it were.) But they wouldn’t let her; she didn’t have a minute she could call her own. The Shackvillians seemed to think she belonged to ’em, jest as much as the clock on the meetin’ house did, and they perused her every minute jest as they did that. It made her feel curious, sunthin’ as if she was livin’ out doors, or in an open cage in the menagery way.
They flocked in on her all the hull time without knockin’, at all times of the day and night, before breakfast, and after bedtime, and right along through the day, stiddy; watchin’ her with as keen a vision as if she was a one-eyed turkey carried round for a side-show; findin’ fault with everything she did or didn’t do, inflictin’ their gossip on her, and collectin’ all they could to retail to other folks’es housen; watchin’ every motion she made, and commentin’ on it in public; catchin’ every little word she dropped in answer to their gossipin’ remarks, and addin’ and swellin’ out that little word till it wouldn’t know itself it was so different, and then repeatin’ it on the house tops (as it were).
I declare, it madded me to see a likely woman so imposed upon, and I thought to myself, if it was me, I should ruther have ’em steal pork right out of my pork barrell, than to have ’em steal my peace and comfort.
But as I was sayin’, this woman come in right through the back door without knockin’, as independent as you please, and as she sot down she looked all round the house so’s to remember how everything looked, so’s to tell it again, though Serepta wasn’t no more to blame than a babe two or three hours old, for her work not bein’ done up. I see that this woman glared at Miss Horn, and Miss Horn glared back at her, and I knew in a minute she was gittin’ up another society. And so it turned out. She wanted Serepta to head the list of the “Weepin’ Marys” a opposition party to the “Cumberin’ Marthas.”
Serepta looked as if she would sink. But I spoke right up, for I was determined to take her part. And says I, “Mom, I am of a investigatin’ turn, and am collectin’ information on a tower, and may I ask as a well-wisher to the sect, what job has the ‘Weepin’ Marys’ got ahead of ’em. What are they expected to tackle?” says I in a polite way.
Says she, “They are expected to spend the hull of their time, day and night, a learnin’, pryin’ into docterines, and studyin’ on some way to ameliorate the condition of the heathen, and the African gorillas.”
Says I, “In them cases if Serepta jines ’em, what chance would the Elder run of gittin’ anything to eat, or Serepta, or the childern?”
“Eatin’,” says she, “what is eatin’ compared to a knowledge of the docterines and the condition of the perishin’ heathen?”
“But,” says I in reasonable axents, “folks have got to eat or else die—and if they haint able to hire a girl, they have got to cook the vittles themselves or else they’ll perish, and die jest as dead as a dead heathen.”
Speakin’ about Serepta’s time, always seemed to set Miss Horn off onto her poetry, and she repeated again,—“Go to the ant—”