Josiah and me put on our strongest specks.
Till at last, one notable day, long to be remembered, there come a letter in Martin’s awful chirography. And when we had studied out its contents, we looked at each other in a astounded astonishment and a sort of or.
“Would I go to Europe with him and his children as his guest?” He thought Alice seemed to be a little delicate, and mebby the trip would do her good, and he also thought she needed the company of some good, practical woman to see to her, and mother her a little.
That last sentence tugged at my heart strings.
But my answer went back by next mail—
“I wuz afraid of the ocean, and couldn’t leave Josiah.”
The answer come back by telegraph—
“The ocean wuz safer than land, and take Josiah along, too. He expected he would go.”
Then I writ back—“I never had been drownded on dry land, and didn’t believe I should be, and Josiah didn’t feel as though he could leave the farm.”