Sister Blanker is a good woman and a Christian, but she never so much as sot her foot on the fair plains of megumness, whose balmy, even climate has afforded me so much comfort all my life.
No; she is a woman who stalks on towards goles and don't mind who or what she upsets on her way.
She is a woman who a-chasin' sinners slams the door in the faces of saints.
And what I mean by this is that she is in such a hurry to git inside the door of Duty (a real heavy door sometimes, heavy as iron), she don't see whether or not it is a-goin' to slam back and hit somebody in the forward.
A remarkable instance of this memory onrolled on her panorama—a eppisode that took place in our own Jonesville meetin'-house.
The session room where we go to session sometimes and to transact other business has got a heavy swing door. And everybody who goes through it always calculates to hold it back if there is anybody comin' behind 'em, for that door has been known to knock a man down when it come onto him onexpected and onbeknown to him.
Wall, Sister Blanker wuz a-goin' on ahead of me one night; it wuz a charitable meetin' that we wuz a-goin' to—to quilt a bedquilt for a heathen—and she knew I wuz jest behind her—right on her tracts, as you may say, for we had sot out together from the preachin'-room, and we had been a-talkin' all the way there on the different merits of otter color or butnut for linin' for the quilt, and as to whether herrin'-bone looked so good as a quiltin' stitch as plain rib.
She favored rib and otter; I kinder leaned toward herrin'-bone and butnut.
We had had a agreeable talk all the way, though I couldn't help seein' she wuz too hard on butnut, and slightin' in her remarks on herrin'-bone.
Anyway, she knew I wuz with her in the body; but as she ketched sight of the door that wuz a-goin' to let her in where she could begin to do good, her mind jest soared right up, and she forgot everything and everybody, and she let that door slam right back and hit me on my right arm, and laid me up for over five weeks.