“Matter enuff,” says she, “No wondeh there is earthquakes and jars. I heard the news jest as I came out of our gate, and it made me weak as a cat, I had to stop to every house on the way doun heah, to rest, and not a soul had heard of it, till I told ’em. Such a shock as it gave me, I shant get over it for a week, but it is just as I always told you, I always said the minister’s wife wasn’t any too good. It didn’t surprise me not a bit.”
“You can’t tell me one word against Mary Morton that I’ll believe,” says Maggie Snow.
“You will admit that the minister went North last Tuesday, won’t you.”
Seven wimmin spoke up at once and said: “Yes, his mother was took sick, and telegraphed for him.”
“So he said,” said Betsey Bobbet, “so he said, but I believe it is for good.”
“Oh dear,” shrieked Ophelia Dagget, “I shall faint away, ketch hold of me, somebody.”
“Ketch hold of yourself,” says I coolly, and then says I to Betsey, “I don’t believe he has run away no more than I believe that I am the next President of the United States.”
“Well, if he is not, he will wish he had, his wife come home this morning on the cars.”
Four wimmens said “Did she,” two said, “Do tell,” and three opened their mouths and looked at her speechless. Amongst these last was Miss Deacon Dobbins. But I spoke out in a collected manner, “What of it?”