“Josiah, you shall have as good a supper as hands can get.” Says I, “Besides the common run of vittles we jenerally have for supper, cake and tarts and such stuff, what do you say, Josiah Allen, to havin’ a briled chicken, and toast, and mashed-up potatoes, and cream biscuit, and peaches?”
His mean changed in a minute. I never see a mean in my hull life look more radient than hisen did as I spoke them words. And my breast heaved with such happy and grateful emotion that it most bust off 2 buttens in front (them buttens wuzn’t what they was recommended to be; there was sunthin’ wrong about ’em in the shanks). Though the mournful and mysterious episode and Widder Bump was remembered, yet I felt a feelin’ that I should win my pardner back—I should save his sole alive.
But yet I had solemn feelin’s, I can tell you, all the while I was a mixin’ up them cream biscuit, and brilein’ that chicken, and makin’ that toast, and mashin’ up them potatoes, and puttin’ plenty of cream and butter into ’em.
I well knew I was a handlin’ my most powerful weepons. I knew if them failed, I was ondone.
I had meditated so many times and so deep onto this subject, that I knew every crook and turn in it. How a man’s conscience, his moral faculties, and his affections was connected by mighty and resistless cords to his appetite. I knew well that when his morals was tottlin’, when he was wild, balky, fractious, and oneasy, good vittles was the panaky that soothes. And when the mighty waves of temptation was tostin’ him to and fro—when scoldin’s seemed futile, and curtain lectures seemed vain, extra good vittles was the anchor that wimmin could drop down into them seethin’ waters, knowin’ that if that didn’t holt, she could, in the words of the Sammist, “give up the ship.”
Yes, as Josiah Allen see me a gettin’ that supper he grew calm, peaceful, his demeaner towards me grew sweet and lovin’, his affections seemed to be stabled and firm sot onto me. I see, and I can tell you I was a proud and happy woman as I see it, that the anchor I had throwed overboard was a grapplin’ the rock. Agin, as in days past and gone, in different crysises of my life, philosophy, principle, and Samantha conquered.
The supper was a success. The spring chicken was plump and tender, but not more tender than Josiah’s demeanor to me as he partook of that refreshment. The cream biscuit was light and warm; so was my heart as I see my happy pardner eat the 7th one. The peaches was delicious and sweet; so was my Josiah’s smile onto me, as I dipped out the 4th sass plate full and handed it to him. And after supper he sot there by my side calm and peaceful, and the Widder Bump and all other earthly cares and agonys seemed to be forgot.
But it wuzn’t till long afterwards, it wuzn’t till the 4th day of the next September, though I mistrusted, I mistrusted strong before, but it wuzn’t till then, that I knew for certain what a glorious and momentious victory I had won that day. What great and awful responsibilities was a devolvin’ onto them cream biscuit, and hangin’ round that chicken and toast and potatoes. I felt solemn feelin’s a gettin’ that supper, and curious ones a eatin’ of it. But oh, what feelin’s should I have felt if I had known what a earthquake was a rumblin’ and a roarin’ under that table unbeknown to me.
Oh, what blind creeters the fur seein’est of us are, how powerless are the most magnifyest spectacles to see the brinks that pardners are a hangin’ over unbeknown to us. But of this, more hereafter and anon.
