I wuz mad. And I hain't a-goin' to deny that we had some words. Or at least I said some words to him, and gin him a middlin' clear idee of how I felt on the subject.
Why, the colt wuz more mine than his in the first place, and I didn't want a cent of money for myself, but only wanted it for the good of the Methodist meetin' house, which he ort to be full as interested in as I wuz.
Yes, I gin him a pretty lucid idee of what my feelin's wuz on the subject—and spozed mebby I had convinced him. I wuz a-standin' with my back to him, a-ironin' a shirt for him, when I finished up my piece of mind. And thought more'n as likely as not he'd break down and be repentent, and hand me out a ten dollar bill.
But no, he spoke out as pert and cheerful as anything and sez he:
“Samantha, I don't think it is necessary for Christians to give such a awful sight. Jest look at the widder's mit.”
I turned right round and looked at him, holdin' my flat-iron in my right hand, and sez I:
“What do you mean, Josiah Allen? What are you talkin' about?”
