“Married!” sez Trueman's wife, in faint and horrified axcents. “Yes, they are goin' to be married jest as soon as my son gets well enough. Jenette is fixin' a new dress for me to wear to the weddin'—with a bask,” sez she with emphasis. And es she said it, they say she stooped down and gathered some sprigs of thoroughwert, a-mentionin' how much store she set by it for sickness.
But if she did, Trueman's wife didn't sense it, she wuz dumbfoundered and sot back by the news. And she left my home and board the week before the weddin'.
They had been married about a year, when Jenette wuz here a-visitin'—and she asked me in confidence (and it must be kep, it stands lo reason it must), “if I s'posed that book muslin robe would make two little dresses?”
And I told her, “Good land! yes, three on 'em,” and it did.
She dresses the child beautiful, and I don't know whether she would want the neighbors to know jest what and when and where she gets the materials—
It looks some like her and some like Joe—and they both think their eyes on it—but old Miss Charnick worships it—Wall, though es I said (and I have eppisoded to a extent that is almost onprecidented and onheard on).
Though Josiah Allen made a excuse of borrowin' a plow (a plow, that time of night) to get away from my arguments on the Conference, and Submit's kinder skairt face, and so forth, and so on—
He resumed the conversation the next mornin' with more energy than ever. (He never said nuthin' about the plow, and I never see no sign on it, and don't believe he got it, or wanted it.)
He resumed the subject, and kep on a-resumin' of it from day to day and from hour to hour.