“I say it wuzn’t in the bill,” he hollered out agin. I s’pose he meant it wasn’t in the bargain, but he was nearly delirious (he is very close—nearly tight). But jest that minute,—before I could say a word,—we heard a awful noise right over our heads; it sounded as if the hull top of the house had fell in.
Says Josiah: “The old chimbly has fell in.”
Says I: “I think it is the ruff.”
And we both started for up-stairs on the run. I sent him back from the head of the stairs, for in the awful fright he hadn’t realized his condition, and wasn’t dressed. I waited for him at the top of the stairs, for to tell the truth, I dassent go on. He hurried on his clothes, and went in ahead,—and there she lay; there Miss Danks was on the floor in a historical fit. Josiah, thinkin’ she was dead, run in and ketched her up, and went to puttin’ her on the bed; and she, jest as they will in historicks, clawed right into his hair, and tore out above half he had on that side. She then struck him a fearful blow in the eye—made it black and blue for over two weeks. She didn’t know what she was about; she wuzn’t to blame—though the hair was a great loss to him, and I won’t deny it.
Wall, we stood over her most all night to keep the breath of life in her; and the oldest boy, bein’ skairt, it brought on some fits that he was in the habit of havin’,—a sort of fallin’ fits; he would fall anywheres; he fell onto Josiah twice that night, and almost knocked him down. He was awful large for his age; dretful big and fat. It seemed as if there was sunthin’ wrong about his heft, it was so oncommon hefty for a boy of his age. He looked bloated. His eyes, which was a pale blue, seemed to be kinder sot back in his head, and his cheeks stood out below, some like baloons; and his mouth was kinder open a good deal of the time, as if it was hard work for him to breathe; he breathed thick and wheezy,—dretful oncomfortable. His complexion was bad, too; sallow and sort o’ tallery lookin’. He acted dretful logy and heavy at the best of times, and in them fits he was as heavy and helpless as lead.
Wall, that was the third night after they got there, and from that night, as long as they stayed there, she had the historicks frequent and violent, and Bill had his fallin’ fits. And you wouldn’t believe if you hadn’t seen ’em, how many things he broke a fallin’ on ’em in them fits. It beat all how unfortunate he was. They always come onto him unexpected, and it seemed as if they would always come onto him while he was in front of sunthin’ to smash all to bits. And I says to Josiah, says I: “Did you ever see, Josiah Allen, anybody so unfortunate as that boy in his fits? It seems as if he’ll break everything in the house if it goes on.”
Says he, “’Tis a pity his cussed neck don’t break!”
A SURPRISED COLT.
I don’t know as I ever gin Josiah Allen a firmer, eloquenter lecture against swearin’ than I did then. But in my heart I pitied him, for it was only the day before that he fell as he was a lookin’ at the colt. It was only a week old, but Josiah sot his eyes by it, and the boy was admirin’ of it—there wasn’t nothin’ ugly about him—but a fit come on, and he fell onto the colt, and the colt not expectin’ of it, and bein’ unprepared, fell flat down, and the boy on it; and the colt jest lived, that is all. Josiah says it never will be worth any thing; he thinks it broke sunthin’ inside. As I said, there wasn’t a ugly thing about Bill. He’d be awful sorry when he broke things, and squshed ’em, and flatted ’em all out a fallin’ on ’em.