She sot down by the table and began to take off her tow curls and frizzles, I should think by a careless estimate that there was a six quart pan full. And then she went to untwistin’ her own hair, which was done up at the back side of her head in a little nubbin about as big as ½ a sweet walnut. Says she,
“I always let down my haih, and take out my teeth when I write poetry, I feel moah free and soahing in my mind.” Says she in a sort of a apoligy way, “Genious is full of excentricities, that seem strange to the world’s people.”
Says I, calmly “You can let down, and take out, all you want to, I can stand it.”
But it was a fearful scene. It was a night never to be forgot while memory sets up on her high chair in my mind. Outside, the rain poured down, overhead on deck, the wind shrieked at the bags and boxes, threatenin’ ’em with almost an instant destruction. The stove pipe that run up through the floor shook as if every blast would unjinte it, and then the thought would rise up, though I tried to put it out of my head, who would put it up again. One of the horses was balky, I knew, for I could hear the driver swear at him. And every time he swore, I thought of Josiah, and it kep’ him in my mind most all the time. Yes, the storm almost raved outside, and inside, a still more depressin’ and fearful sight to me—Betsey Bobbet sot with her few locks streamin’ down over her pale and holler cheeks, for her teeth was out, and she wrote rapidly, and I knew, jest as well as I know my name is Josiah Allen’s wife, that I had got to hear ’em read. Oh! the anguish of that night! I thought of the happy people on shore, in thier safe and peaceful feather beds, and then on the treacherous element I was a ridin’ on, and then I thought of Josiah. Sometimes mockin’ fancy would so mock at me that I could almost fancy that I heard him snore. But no! cold reality told me that it was only the heavey horse, or the wind a blowin’ through the stove pipe, and then I would rouse up to the agonizin’ thought that I was at sea, far, far from home and Josiah. And then a solemn voice would sometimes make itself heard in my sole, “Mebby you never will hear him snore agin.” And then I would sithe heavily.
And the driver on the tow path would loudly curse that dangerous animal and the wind would howl ’round the boxes, and the stove pipe would rattle, and Betsey would write poetry rapidly, and I knew I had got to hear it. And so the tegus night wore away. Finally at ½ past 2, wore out as I was with fateegue and wakefullness, Betsey ceased writin’ and says she.
“It is done! I will read them to you.”
I sithed so deeply that even Betsey almost trembled, and says she,
“Are you in pain, Josiah Allen’s wife?”
Says I, “only in my mind.”
“Wall,” says she, “It is indeed a fearful time. But somehow my soul exults strangely in the perils environing us. I feel like courtin’ and keepin’ company with danger to-night. I feel as if I could almost dare to mount that steed wildly careering along the tow path, if I only had a side saddle. I feel like rushin’ into dangeh, I feel reckless to-night.”