Alzina Ann quailed the minute she sot her eyes on me, as much or more than any minister ever made a congregation quail, and, says she, in tremblin’ tones:
“You know anybody will take liberties with a friend that they wouldn’t with anybody else.”
Says I, in deep, awful tones, “I never believed in knockin’ folks down to show off that we are intimate with ’em.”
“Wall,” says she, “you know I do think everything in the world of you. You know I shouldn’t have said a word aginst you if I wuzn’t such a warm friend of yourn.”
“Friend!” says I, in awful axents, “friend! Alzina Ann Rickerson, you don’t know no more about that word than if you never see a dictionary. You don’t know the true meanin’ of that word no more than a African babe knows about slidin’ down hill.”
Says I, “The Bible gives a pretty good idee of what it means: it speaks of a man layin’ down his life for his friend. Dearer to him than his own life. Do you s’pose such a friendship as that would be a mistrustin’ round, a tryin’ to rake up every little fault they could lay holt of, and talk ’em over with everybody? Do you s’pose it would creep round under windows and backbite and slander a Josiah?”
I entirely forgot for the moment that she had been a talkin’ about me, for truly abuse heaped upon my pardner seems ten times as hard to bear up under as if it was heaped upon me.
Josiah whispered to me: “That is right, Samantha! give it to her!” and, upheld by duty and that dear man, I went on, and says I:
“My friends, those I love and who love me, are sacred to me. Their well-being and their interest is as dear to me as my own. I love to have others praise them, prize them as I do; and I should jest as soon think of goin’ round tryin’ to rake and scrape sunthin’ to say aginst myself as aginst them.”
Agin I paused for breath, and agin Josiah whispered: