And then he gin in to once.
And we did go to the Place De Pucelle, where she wuz burned to death for bein’ more speritual and riz up than her burners.
I had a sight of emotions as I stood on that spot—sights on ’em.
You see, I had her story at my tongue’s end, Thomas J. had read it to me so much. She wuz a common country girl, whose parents wuz day laborers. She herself couldn’t read or write. Into this sile, prepared, as you may say—speakin’ from the laws of heredity—for only coarse labor, coarse thoughts, common desires and hopes—
In this sile sprung up the consummit flower of speritual communion. Angels talked with her. She held communion with the Exalted One. From her thirteenth year she heard voices speakin’ to her. They did not tell her to go forth to labor like her brothers and sisters; no, they told her to free France from the English, put her young king on the throne. The onseen one that talked with her enabled her to know her troubled young king, amidst a crowd of his own age and dressed jest as he wuz.
She had hard work to even see him to tell her mission, so sure wuz the Common Sense about her that the Oncommon Sense she had wuz only imposter.
But she headed the army, made that wicked, dissolute body of soldiers some like Christian Endeavorers, so ardent and sincere wuz her piety.
She won the battle. Agin and agin she defeated the enemy. She saw her young king crowned. Then she wanted to go back into her quiet home—into the garden where in the cool of the evenin’ she heard the heavenly message. She said her work wuz done. But they wouldn’t let her go. And wuz it because she didn’t foller the Voice that told her to go back to her old home—did a little personal pride, gratified ambition, ozze in and flavor the human mandate to make her stay?
I d’no, nor Josiah don’t. But she begun to make mistakes after this—lost battles, and at last her own countrymen, though allies of the English, called her a sorceress. The Common Sense found her guilty; the same C. S. burnt her up root and branch.
But the Oncommon Sense didn’t desert her. The heavenly influence that the multitude wuz blind as a bat to, and as deef as a adder, made her say in them last supreme moments—