“Yes,” sez I, “or to make Deacon Josiah Allen more willin’ to give to charitable objects.”
His liniment fell.
“Oh, the Charitable Object has more done for him than I do, they’re always raisin’ money for him.”
That wuz his favorite mode of puttin’ off from givin’ to charity.
“And,” sez I, “you see from Loyola and Cromwell down to Josiah Allen the carnal mind wants to punish somebody else for doin’ suthin’ different from what you want ’em to do.”
“Wall,” sez he, “I wonder if Martin hain’t a-goin’ back? I believe it’s a-goin’ to rain, and you ort to have sunthin’ to eat, Samantha. It worries me to have you see so much on an empty stumick.”
“Wall,” sez I, for his thoughtfulness touched me, “some dinner would taste good.”
Sez he, in a low, thrillin’ voice—“Samantha,” and tears wuz almost in his eyes as he spoke, “imagine I am in the barn door, and the smell of roast chicken, and baked potatoes, and lemon puddin’, and cream biscuit floats out, a-wroppin’ you all round, as you are a-standin’ in the back door a-callin’ me in to dinner. As you stand there a-lookin’ perfectly beautiful,” sez he.
Agin my heart wuz touched, and sez I, “And roses under the winders, and voyalets, and the blossomin’ trees, and the new-mown grass in the orchard a-smellin’ sweet as the scent comes in on the warm south breeze.”
“Yes,” sez he, “and the good, rich coffee, and cream cheese, and honey, and things.”