Wall, Martin wuz as good as his word, we didn’t stay long in Germany, but seein’ that Adrian wanted to see the Rhine, we sot out for it. We went through Valenciennes on the night train, which Josiah sed wuz indeed a blessin’, and he sed that Martin, in some things, did show great tax.
Sez I, “What do you mean?”
“Why, you’d been a-wantin’ to git some of that lace of theirn for a nightcap, or sunthin’, if you hadn’t been sound asleep and a-snorin’.”
I never snore, and he knows it. He is the one. I may sometimes breathe a little hard, that’s all. And I sez, willin’ to give him a woond for the onmerited snore eppisode, sez I—
“I can git some in Brussels; their lace wears like iron.”
He wuz earnest in a minute, deeply earnest. Sez he—
“If you knew, Samantha, how becomin’ your nightcaps are, and how perfectly sweet you look with the plain muslin ruffles round your dear face, you wouldn’t speak of lace.”
That “dear” touched my heart. He hadn’t used the adjective in some time. But I wouldn’t promise not to git any. I think he worried all the time we wuz in Brussels, but he needn’t. I am a good economizer, I didn’t lay out to git any—I had above a yard of good Torchon to home. I didn’t need any lace.
Godfrey D. Bouillon stood up in plain sight jest as he has been a-standin’ for a number of years, a-holdin’ up the banner of the Cross. Good, determined creeter he wuz.
Wall, we went to see public buildin’s and towers, from them one to three or four hundred feet high to more megum ones, and galleries of paintin’s, and parks and statutes; and one little statute rigged up as a kind of a fountain, I won’t say nothin’ about—the least sed the soonest mended. But it wuz a shame and a disgrace, and if I’d had my way the poor little creeter would have had at least a shirt put onto him, or I would know the reason why.