So I sot her to rubbin' onto Josiah's shirts, and I took my bowl of raisins and English currants and things into the kitchen and sot down calmly to pickin' 'em over and choppin' 'em.
My fruit cake is good, though I say it that ort not to; it is widely known and admired.
Wall, I sot there middlin' calm, and a-hummin' over a sam tune loud enough so's Mary Ann could hear it; and I hummed it, too, in a strictly moral way, and for a pattern; it was this:
"Put not your trust in mortal man,
Set not your hopes on him," etc., etc., etc.
And I see I wuz impressin' of her, for I could hear after a while from the wood-shed that she too had broke forth in song, and she was a-jinin' in, low and dretful impressive, with—
"Hark from the tombs a mournful sound."
I don't think she meant my singin'—Josiah did when we talked it over afterwards.
He believed it firm.
I believe I wuz a-moralizin' of her, and should have done good if I hadn't been broke in on.
But all of a sudden Josiah Allen fairly bust into the house, all wrought up, and fearful excited.